Title: And Then There Were Two

Author: Smallvillian

Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine. I just wish they were.

Summary: What happened when Jonathan and Clark were left alone that first night?

Little 'Clark' sat on the floor with the toys that Martha had gathered for him, peering over his shoulder now and then. He regarded the man that watched him from the couch with the same leeriness and uncertainty as Jonathan Kent had felt all evening. With a quick glance and small smirk, the boy went back to playing with a tiny spaceship he had found among the pile of blocks, trucks, and cars.

Where was Martha anyway? She had told him she would just make a quick trip to the store and come straight home. He sighed to himself as he sat forward, chin on his hands, and tried to pretend that he had one inkling of an idea about what do to with a three-year-old child, let alone one from-wherever he was from. The trouble was he didn't, space-boy or not. The two were each an island unto themselves with an ocean of the unknown between them.

So he decided to simply watch. There was no harm in that, right? He watched. And then he...watched. Then he...watched some more-until it appeared as though the boy had finally lost interest in whatever game he had invented for himself and began to explore the other things around him- starting with the blocks he didn't seem to know what to do with. Jonathan couldn't help but smile as the little fellow took a block in each hand with a puzzled frown on his face then smacked them together, apparently deciding they must be musical. "Here," the man said, taking a seat on the floor next to the toddler, "I'll show you." One by one he stacked each block with the boy looking on, utterly absorbed in the whole process, until Jonathan had made what he thought to be a rather clever arrangement that bared some resemblance to the barn outside. "See?"

The child studied this new creation with such captivation and care that it might have been unnerving if not for the pure wonder in his eyes. After careful examination, he picked up a block and added it to the faux barn then looked to his playmate for approval. "I suppose you're right," Jonathan chuckled, "The silo should be taller." Little Clark clapped and smiled brightly at the man's happy expression, quite delighted with having pleased his new companion.

And somehow, just like that, the ocean between them had become a shallow river.

"She did this on purpose. You know that, don't you?" Jonathan teased. The boy just cocked his head at the question, still not understanding the actual words. "She's crafty, that woman."

But Clark apparently didn't care for conversation he couldn't participate in and handed Jonathan another block, inviting more play. "All right. What do you want to build next?" Jonathan asked, settling in and crossing his legs in front of him, something he hadn't done since he was a boy himself.

For the next half hour, the two built everything from houses, to cities, to bridges, including some things both could only guess at with all the joy that accompanied a job well done until young Clark discovered yet another oddity about these objects that had proved to be so entertaining. A tug on his shirt got Jonathan's attention, and he turned to see the youngster pointing at a carving on the side of one block, his eyes asking the question that his mouth couldn't yet articulate.

"Those? Those are letters," Jonathan explained. "That's called a 'C,' like 'Clark'." The child looked from him to the strange shape with no more understanding than he had had before. "Well, it's a little hard to explain," the man offered apologetically. "Stay right here."

When he stood, Jonathan remembered exactly why he didn't sit like that anymore, then headed into he kitchen to find the box full of children's books he and Martha had not yet gone through. Flipping quickly through it, he found the one he wanted and returned to little Clark who was now inspecting the other letters on each side of the cube. He caught the youngster's eye and gestured to him with a wave.

"Come'ere, little guy," he said, taking a seat back on the couch. Clark seemed to understand at least the gesture, if not the request. He stood and ambled over, leaving his toys behind, eager to see what else there might be to discover. Jonathan lifted the boy into his lap and waited while he wriggled about, getting comfortable. With Clark finally content, Jonathan held out the book in front of them. "My dad used to read this book to me when I was your age. The Cat in the Hat. 'C' is for cat and 'C' for Clark." With that, he opened the book and began to read. Whether the tike understood what Jonathan was reading or not was no matter. He was absolutely enraptured with this strange new thing called a 'book.' He looked up a time or two to see the man's eyes darting to and fro as he read then back at the book as if to be certain that there was indeed some meaning to the strange shapes on the pages, and this wasn't being made up as they went along. Finally convinced, he relaxed into the soothing rhythm of the warm voice above him and casually reached out and took a bit of soft plaid between his fingers, rolling it back and forth as he watched the pictures change from goldfish to silly cats again and again.

The two had been well on there way to "thing one and thing two" little Clark yawned and blinked tiredly, struggling to keep his eyes open. "Well, your mother is still out," Jonathan joked, quoting a phrase from the text. He lifted a sleepy Clark in his arms, and carried him to the extra room upstairs. "So I guess we should be getting you ready for bed."

Clark didn't resist and was snuggled safely in bed as Jonathan whispered a soft goodnight and turned to go-when the fact that his hand didn't accompany him pulled him back. "What's the matter, little guy?"

Innocent blue eyes stared back at Jonathan big and pleading as Clark held tightly to him. "I guess it would be scary. A new house. New people. New things. How about I sit with you a while?" He had barely taken a seat on the mattress when Clark scrambled up into his lap and nuzzled close, gathering fistfuls of shirt, then closed his eyes. Gentle, protective hands instinctively held the anxious child, snuggling him closer. "It's all right."

He watched for time while Clark stroked one side of the plaid shirt he'd held so tightly to, thrumming a button now and then. When the movement finally stopped, Jonathan was fairly certain the child had fallen asleep. Still, he sat holding little Clark in the quiet of an empty house; found himself exploring ten little fingers and ten little toes, so small and frail, and he grinned as the brush of his single finger down the center of one small foot curled its tiny toes. Clark pulled closer in his sleep, clinging to the shelter and warmth he knew would be there. There were no boundaries, no unknowns now. There was only the truth when Jonathan wrapped his arms around the boy again.

"Dad's got you, son."

The End