Lana looked out the window and marveled at the view. Blue sky, with white clouds scattered throughout, reigned over the green-blue-purple of the Rocky Mountains. Snow-capped peaks towered above the infinite shades of green of trees too numerous to count. Reluctantly, she turned away from the window and closed her suitcase. Time to go.

She had been in Lex's (and now mine, I suppose) lodge in the Canadian Rockies for the past two weeks. Down in Smallville, the weather continued hot and humid – over 100 degrees F and 97 percent humidity for the past twenty days. Here at the lodge, the temperature and humidity matched; a comfortable seventy each.

I couldn't stand it in Kansas another minute, Lana thought. She looked down at her belly and smiled ruefully. Over eight months pregnant in that weather. Cranky with no sleep, the baby kicking her every few minutes, having to go to the bathroom all the time, at the mercy of the pregnancy hormones, she had lapsed into a hysterical crying fit, clutching at Lex, sobbing and choking. He had looked alarmed, and, after a few questions, had said, "I know where."

With the usual Luthorcorp efficiency, administrative assistants practiced in gratifying Lex's every whim had arranged the chopper from Smallville to Metropolis, the corporate jet from Metropolis to a large metropolitan Canadian airport, and from there a combination of propeller planes and Range Rovers to the "rustic" Luthor lodge. Lana thought that "rustic" described the log exterior, not the five thousand square foot interior containing every possible convenience and luxury. The caretakers, a kindly middle-aged couple, had pampered Lana night and day. The cool mountain air was heavenly, and the first night she had actually gotten a full four hours of uninterrupted sleep before having to get up to pee again.

Lex had spent a full five days with her. They'd walked the mountain meadows (actually, more like a light ambling), had a picnic lunch on two of the days, and relaxed a little bit. Of course, he still worked on business in the early mornings and late evenings when she was in bed or resting, but it had been wonderful to spend the time with him.

The caretakers had arranged meals – plain food, but cooked excellently, with fresh ingredients. She had urged Lex to take some wine along on their picnics, but showing sensitivity to her pregnancy-enforced alcohol abstention, he had refrained from drinking all the time he was with her. Lana was secretly pleased; she felt that Lex could stand to cut down on his drinking.

Now it was time to leave; leave the idyll. She had to go back to Smallville for her obstetrician appointment; from now on it was weekly checks. She idly wondered if Lex would arrange OB house calls here; then she smiled – she knew that Lex would if she wanted it. Lana picked up her bag, and took her suitcase in the other hand. She went out into the hall.

"Mrs. Luthor!" Craig, the husband part of the caretaking team exclaimed. "You're not supposed to be carrying your luggage!" He looked disapproving. "In your condition…." He tailed off. "Mr. Luthor gave us strict orders."

"I'm sorry, Craig", Lana apologized. She still wasn't used to having servants, and especially not used to someone doing for her what she could do perfectly well herself. She realized what a position she'd put Craig in, though. "Can you take my suitcase out to the car?"

"Of course." Craig promptly picked up her suitcase and took it outside.

"Mrs. Luthor." Lana turned to face Priscilla, the other half of the caretaking team. "I hope you've had a good time here."

"It's been wonderful", Lana said. "You cook so well. The lunches were wonderful…actually, all the meals were wonderful. You've made the lodge so much like home…I've really had a good time here."

Priscilla smiled. "You take care of yourself, honey", she said. "I remember the last month when I was carrying my babies. It seemed to last forever!"

"It seems that way", Lana agreed ruefully.

"Now, we've got everything arranged", Priscilla said in a bustling tone, changing the subject. "Craig will drive you to the airstrip. Then Mr. Smith will pilot you to the big airport and the jet will be there for you. You should be home by evening."

"Thanks so much, Mrs. Anderson", Lana said, reaching over and hugging Priscilla. "You two take care, too." They smiled at each other, then Lana went out to the driveway.

Craig offered little conversation on the hour-long ride to the air field; that was just as well with Lana. She spent her time looking out the window, marveling at the view. By the time they reached the airfield, she had to go to the bathroom again, and walked quickly to the facilities. Once done, she got some water from the sink and used it to wash down two Dramamine tablets.

She came out and stared at the small two-seater propeller plane parked near the grass runway. Painted a jaunty white and blue, it looked smaller than she remembered. But then, on the other hand, when she'd come, she'd been dazed with lack of sleep and sticky with sweat. She really didn't remember a lot about the trip here.

Lana walked around the plane and almost ran into a heavy-set man inhaling on his cigarette, talking with Craig. His short-sleeved shirt, open at the neckline, revealed a set of dog tags dangling on a chain around his neck.

"Mrs. Luthor", he said.

"Hello", Lana replied.

"We're just about ready to go if you are", the man said. "Craig has given me your bag; I've filed the flight plan. Are you set?"

"Um, I guess so", Lana said, a little flustered at the quickness. On the other hand, we are the only ones here. This is a pretty small airstrip, so I guess he wouldn't be here if it weren't for me.

"Hop in then", the man said. "I'm John Smith and I'll be flying you to the big airport." He smiled at her; Lana thought that although he was much more heavyset, and dark-haired, he reminded her a bit of Jonathan Kent. Something about the way he stood and moved, maybe.

Smith helped her into the right-hand seat, then fussed with the seat belts and buckles, trying to make them fit her pregnancy-swollen body as comfortably as possible. He put her suitcase behind their seats; there was little cabin space in the small airplane, and she was grateful she had packed light. Lana put her small purse between her feet on the floor. Smith closed the door, then shook hands with Craig and headed around the plane to the pilot's seat.

"This might be a little bumpy", Smith said. "I don't know if you're used to flying in small planes?" He turned away from her a little bit to rub at his left arm.

"No. I did take two Dramamine."

"Probably a good idea, Mrs. Luthor. It can get a little choppy up there. We'll be a few hours in the air." He stopped his conversation and turned his attention to a laminated checklist, methodically performing or checking each item on the list. Lana remained quiet, not wanting to distract him.

"All OK?" he asked her one last time. She nodded.

"We're going up." And they did. Lana looked out the windows, marveling again at the wonderful view, so similar and yet so different as the one from her lodge window. Things looked totally different when you were up in the air. Smith seemed engrossed in his knobs and dials.

They hit a little air pocket, and suddenly to Lana, it was as if she were in an elevator that was dropping very quickly. Her stomach lurched. To distract it, she looked around the small cabin. Between their seats was a small toolbox. Smith caught her glancing at it.

"Tackle box", he said loudly, over the engine noise. "After I drop you off, I'm going to meet some friends up at a lake for a week of fishing."

"I hope I'm not delaying your vacation", Lana said politely.

"No problem, Mrs. Luthor, rest assured that I'm getting well paid to miss a day of it", Smith replied jocularly. He took his right hand off the control yoke to rub at his left arm again, a momentary grimace on his features.

"Do you fly a lot?" Lana asked.

"Do I fly! It's what I love to do!" She seemed to have hit the mother lode of reminiscence. "One time I was taking this group on a fishing trip, and they caught so many fish…" he launched into a long story, apparently not bothered by her lack of responses. As he continued his long tale, Lana felt her eyes closing.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Smith", she said. "I find myself so tired all the time right now."

"Don't you worry, Mrs. Luthor", he said. "Just close your eyes and lay back a little bit." He looked at the indicator dials and lights again. "Going to Smallville, eh? I remember one time I went fishing in Smallville – that Crater Lake there? I got some good fish there…" he went on.

Lana shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the baby kicked her. The pilot broke off his fish stories and glanced at her distended, pregnant abdomen. He looked away and started a new topic. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Luthor, it's a pretty long trip. I'll try and get you there as fast as I can. You probably want to get up and move around a little bit." Lana nodded, her eyes still closed.

Smith continued. "I remember one time when my wife was expecting…" he went into another long story. The steady droning of the engine and the Dramamine lulled Lana. She slipped into sleep.

She woke up, annoyed. There was a change in the engine sound and Mr. Smith had his arm on her thigh. In her twilight state between sleep and wakefulness, she was annoyed. Move it! She mentally told him. He didn't. She swam through the lethargy, slowly becoming more alert. "Move it!" This time the words were audible.

He didn't move his arm. It was getting heavy, resting there on her leg. With an effort of will, she opened her eyes. She still felt tired. Then she became aware of a bad smell in the cabin. She looked over at Mr. Smith, prepared to remove his hand from her thigh and give him an icy look. Her eyes widened and she gasped as she got a good look at Smith.

He was dead. She'd seen dead people before and knew what they were like – the lack of motion, the stillness. His head lolled on his chest, his eyes open but sightless. She looked down; apparently he had voided as he died and that was the source of the bad smell. She picked up his arm and moved it off her thigh. Lana realized his hand felt cool. She stared at it a moment, uncomprehending.

Then the seriousness of her plight hit her. Her stomach churned. The baby kicked, seeming to feel the adrenalin rush that coursed through her. "Oh my God", she whispered. She looked at the dials. She didn't know how to interpret them. They were still flying; maybe Smith had put them on autopilot or something?

She frantically cast her eyes over the dashboard. They focused on one gauge that seemed very familiar. FUEL, it said. The needle was just above "E". She looked out the window. No human structure was in sight. Trees filled the landscape, with the occasional small lake interrupting the green carpet.

She reached over, recoiling, but then screwing up her courage. She took the headset off Mr. Smith's head and put it on her own. "Mayday! Mayday!" she called. No answer. She saw where the headset plugged into the radio and started pushing buttons. "Mayday!" Only static. Her eyes widened in fear.


"Did you hear that Lana's plane is down?" Chloe rushed into Clark's barn the next morning.

"What?" he said, rattled. He had been leaning on his pitchfork, staring at nothing when she came in.

"It's all over the news. Lana was staying at the Luthor lodge in the Canadian Rockies. She was due to fly home yesterday. Her plane didn't show up. They've been flying over where it was supposed to be according to its flight plan, but no luck. Apparently they can't find the transponder signal either", Chloe said all in one breath. "Lex has got a major search going on."

Clark stood still for a moment, then blurred into superspeed. Chloe looked on as the stalls miraculously grew clean and the animals fed. Despite her worry, she smiled; it was always fun to see Clark use his powers in front of her.

He became visible once again, in front of her. "I'm going", he said flatly. He tensed up; Chloe knew he was getting ready to run off.

"Wait!" she cried.

"What?" Clark replied shortly.

"At least pack some stuff", Chloe said, her mind working quickly. "How are you going to explain your presence when" (or if, her mind niggled at her) "you find her?"

Clark looked thoughtful for a moment. "There is that", he allowed.

"Besides, if she's out there in the wilderness, she'll need food and blankets and stuff", Chloe continued.

"Good point." Clark blurred away again and when Chloe took her next breath, he was standing in front of her, wearing a large backpack. A rolled-up tent and sleeping bag were at the top of the full pack. "Hey, I've always wanted to go hiking in the Canadian wilderness", he said sardonically.

"Where is she?" he asked Chloe.

Chloe pulled out her laptop and displayed a map. "I knew you'd be asking this. Here's her flight plan." Clark looked at the display, committing it to memory.

"Take care, Clark", Chloe said, coming to him and hugging him. "Bring Lana home safe. Call me if you can."

"You take care, too, Chloe." He hugged her back. Then, with a gust of wind, he was gone.

Clark put on extra effort as he headed through the Dakotas. Soon he was at the Canadian border, speeding past the highway checkpoint. He sped northward till he was at the latitude of the beginning of Lana's flight plan. He entered the forest, then stopped. He stood, still. Then he listened.

Automobile and other motor noises were filtered out first. The few human voices heard amidst this wilderness were listened to, evaluated, and discarded. Clark heard the burrowing of small rodents, the chewing of beavers on aspen trees, the birdsong. All were catalogued, processed, and eliminated from attention. Then he heard a small gasp; something in his brain latched onto it as familiar. He focused his attention that way; the gasp was repeated, then turned into regular, although fast, breathing. It sounded like Lana. He grinned when he heard Lana's voice say, "Damn. This is all I have?"

With a whoosh, he was off again. The large backpack was a pain; it wanted to get caught on tree branches. Finally Clark resorted to taking it off and carrying it in front of him, shielding it with one hand outthrust to push away branches.

Soon he was at a lake, forest all around the lake clearing. Lana was stranded here. Clark remained in the forest for a short time, evaluating the situation. He looked in the lake; the plane rested on the sandy bottom, below twenty-five feet of cold water. Clark grimaced as he saw the unmoving human form in the pilot's seat. On the shore, about thirty feet from the lake, Lana sat, hunched up and shivering. She had gathered a small pile of wood but apparently had no way to make a fire. She looked tired and hungry. With a sigh, she sat down on a large log and rubbed her stomach.

Clark took a deep breath. This would be tough to explain. He walked out of the forest into Lana's view. Her eyes widened in surprise as she stood up.

"Lana!" Clark said, trying to put surprise into his voice. "What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" she retorted incredulously.

"I've always wanted to go hiking in the Canadian wilderness", Clark said innocently. "I figured after your wedding it would be a good time to be alone with my thoughts."

Lana stared at him, her mouth moving. She took breath to say something, then stayed quiet, visibly choosing to say nothing. She stared at him a moment longer. Then she gave a big smile.

"Clark, I don't know how you did it", she said softly. "But you're here to rescue me again."

"Rescue you?" he said, playing dumb.

"I was flying back from the lodge", she said earnestly, suddenly desperate to explain. "I fell asleep, and I woke up in the plane. The pilot was dead. I think he had a heart attack." She looked down and dug into the ground with one foot. "I tried using the radio, but I think we were out of range. I didn't get any answer." Suddenly she was crying. "I tried to fly the plane, but it crashed in the lake…I had to break the glass to get out…I was up all night…it was so cold…"

Clark came over and took her in his arms. "I'm here, Lana", he said softly.


Clark glanced at Lana that evening. Her color was better – she wasn't so pale and gray anymore. She seemed much more alert. She wore a sweatsuit of Clark's that he'd brought in his backpack. The waist stretched to accommodate her late pregnancy, but her arms and legs fell short of the long sleeves and legs. Clark had taken advantage of this by taking off her wet clothing, dressing her in his sweatsuit, rubbing her feet dry (and warming them up with a judicious use of heat vision), then pulling the pant legs down over her feet. He'd done the same with her hands and the sleeves of the sweatshirt.

He'd stretched out the ground cover, then put the sleeping bag on that. He'd also set up the tent a little closer to the forest, but wanted to have Lana in the sunshine. Now Lana sat on the sleeping bag, dressed in his sweatsuit, and wrapped up in a blanket. Clark had stretched a rope between two trees in the forest, and Lana's clothing dried on the line. Clark had packed some soap, too, and had given Lana's clothes a bit of a wash (again aided by discreet use of heat vision) before hanging them to dry. He couldn't hang up her shoes but settled for propping them up, upside down against a tree stump. The setting sun shone on the drying clothing.

Lana had taken a short nap in the sunshine that afternoon while Clark got things organized. He'd taken the opportunity to dive into the lake and check out the plane. The pilot's body remained strapped in his seat; Clark looked at him, then looked away, swallowing when he realized that the lake fish had already eaten out the eyes. He'd turned his attention to seeing what could be useful in the plane. Little was salvageable aside from Lana's small suitcase, scattered tools and a plastic fishing tackle box; Clark took the items to their campsite.

Clark had gone into the forest and collected more wood to add to their fuel supply. Glancing back to be sure that Lana was still preoccupied, he'd gone into the forest, and used super-speed to collect a large pile. He'd broken up large branches into small, burnable pieces. He set the pile a short distance in the forest, where it wasn't easily visible, but could be reached with a short walk. He'd carried out some to the clearing around the lake, and had built a fire. Pretending to light it with some matches, he'd actually started it with his heat vision.

Lana had gone to the lake and collected some water in Clark's mess kit. He had a small cooking rack to suspend pots and pans above the fire, and soon (again, aided by heat vision), the water was boiling. He added one of the dehydrated meals he had in his pack, and offered it to Lana.

"Aren't you hungry?" she asked, trying to keep her eyes away from the meal, looking very hungry herself.

"I had a late lunch", Clark said, truthfully. He didn't know how long they would be in getting back to civilization, and he wanted to save the meals for Lana. "Dig in."

She did, ravenously, washing it down with tea. She finished the meal and scraped for the last bits with the spoon. Clark handed her a granola bar.

"Dessert", he said.

"Thanks." She wolfed that down too. Clark took the dishes to the lake and washed them, then looked back at Lana to see if she was watching. She wasn't, so he sterilized the dishes with a short glance and blast of heat.

He came back to their fire and sat down on the ground. Across the fire from him, Lana sighed, and stretched her legs out straight from her cross-legged position. She cradled her abdomen with one arm, then stretched her arms above her head. A burning log collapsed in the fire, sparks flying into the twilight air, their brightness quickly dying out.

Clark looked at Lana; she returned his look. He shifted his position uncomfortably and looked away. Now that the necessities of food, heat, and shelter were taken care of, he had no excuse to avoid talking with her. He only hoped that he could avoid awkward questions.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"A lot better now", she said. "Clark, you're a lifesaver. And I mean that literally."

"Thanks, Lana", he said awkwardly. A moment of silence. "Are you warm enough now?"

She smiled. "Yes, Clark, I am, and I promise I'll give you back your sweatsuit and boxers tomorrow when my clothes are dry."

"Don't worry about it", he said. "My pleasure." Another moment of silence. "You're pretty lucky about surviving aircraft crashes – you must have nine lives like a cat."

"I think I definitely used up two of those lives – when Lex's helicopter crashed and again here." Lana sat with a pensive expression, remembering back to the horrible time when she'd crawled out of the crashed helicopter, the pilot dead beside her (just like now!) and then had seen the black ship. Then the aliens had come out of the black ship and burned everything, and killed all those police officers….I'm not going to think about that right now.

Clark broke into her thoughts. "I think we should make a plan how we're going to get you out of here."

"A plan?"

"I hiked here, but I don't think you're in any condition to hike out." He made a vague gesture at her swollen abdomen, the first overt acknowledgement of her condition all afternoon. They'd carefully not discussed her pregnancy, her marriage, and her husband all day long, avoiding the five-hundred-pound elephant in the room.

"I was thinking maybe I could leave you here in the campsite with the food and everything, and I could go get help", he continued.

Lana looked disappointed for a moment, then lifted her head. "That would probably be best", she agreed in a slightly trembling voice. "It's not like you could carry me all the way back to civilization."

"No", said Clark, just a little bit late. Actually, I could, and not break a sweat, he thought, but that would be…unwise.

"Can I look at your maps?" Lana asked. "I want to see where we are."

Oh-oh. "Actually, I didn't bring any maps", Clark said, realizing too late how stupid that sounded. "I was doing it all by GPS."

Lana raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. "Can I see the GPS, then? Please", she added.

"It's solar-powered and the fire doesn't give enough light", Clark said, scrambling for a semi-believable excuse. It would be tough to explain the lack of maps, compass, and GPS unit.

"OK, then", Lana said, accepting it. "But I want to see it in the morning."

"Let's take an inventory of what we have so far", Clark said, changing the subject. "You know, when you're in a situation like this, you have to "STOP" - stop, think, organize, and plan. Look at what you have and see what your priorities are, and what you can do with what you have."

"Sounds like good advice", Lana said.

"So, our assets are a tent, sleeping bag, and ground cover." Clark made a vague gesture in the direction of the set-up tent. "In terms of food and drink, we've got a mess kit, cup and silverware, and about ten dehydrated meals."

"Then we have the clothes we're wearing, your clothes on the line, and whatever's in your suitcase."

"A tasteful selection of late-pregnancy maternity outfits." Lana smiled. "Too bad most of my toiletries were ruined by the lake. At least the clothes will dry out."

"At least you have extra socks." Clark took a sip of tea and continued. "I've got the sweatsuit you're wearing, and some extra socks and underwear. Then there's the miscellaneous stuff. A bar of soap, a small pack of disinfectant wipes, your lipstick and compact with a mirror, a lighter, your Swiss Army knife, our toothbrushes, a small tube of toothpaste and some dental floss, our billfolds with ID and money in them…" Clark trailed off.

"Money can't buy a lot right now", Lana said. "Don't forget the stuff you salvaged from the plane. How did you get that, anyway?"

"You must have kicked it out when you got out of the plane, because it was in fairly shallow water", Clark said, crossing his fingers behind his back.

"Well, you got us a Phillips-head screwdriver, a pair of pliers, and a fishing tackle box, hopefully with fishing tackle in it."

"You know, I haven't opened that box yet", Clark said. "How about you do the honors?" He went over, got the box, and set it next to her. He sat down near her, the box between them.

"Maybe we'll need to extend those dehydrated meals with some fresh fish", Lana said.

And maybe not, Clark thought, remembering the eyes eaten out of the dead pilot's head. He'd feel a little queasy about eating fish from this lake for a few days at least. He carefully did not mention this to Lana.

He pushed the box closer to her. "Let's see what's inside." She opened the lid. Despite a close fit, some lake water had gotten inside, soaking the delicate flies in compartments in the top tray. Lana removed the top tray, tchking in disappointment at the soaking.

Clark felt a pang of nausea. Lana put her hand in the tackle box, reaching in to pull out a handful of lead sinkers.

"What's this?" she began methodically transferring sinkers from one hand to the other, then back into the box. A green glow emanated from between her fingers. Clark felt worse, and tried to discreetly back away. It felt like kryptonite, he realized, alarmed.

"Look, Clark! It looks like a meteor rock sinker! You know, that pilot did say that he'd been fishing in Smallville at Crater Lake…" Lana turned to show it to him, the baleful green stone in her hand glowing brighter as it came nearer.

Clark fell back, nauseated and weak. The pain became greater and he writhed as Lana, concerned, leaned over him, still holding the meteor rock in her right hand.

"Clark? Are you all right? What's the matter?" Lana said urgently. She reached out to touch his head, bringing the kryptonite closer yet. He moaned, not sure if he should clutch his belly at the grinding nausea or put his hands to his head to stop the pounding.

"Put it away", he choked out.

"Put what away?" she asked, perplexed.

"The meteor rock", he managed to squeeze out the words. She pulled her hand back, looking at the glowing rock in perplexity. The agony receded, leaving him in only excruciating pain. "Please."

Lana looked at him, writhing on the ground, then at the stone in her hand. Suddenly her mind went back. Memories coursed through her.

The second meteor shower had damaged her helicopter; she'd miraculously survived the crash, although the pilot died. She went away from the crashed aircraft and found aliens. Now she'd walked away from another aircraft crash and found Clark.

She'd been resting at the mansion after escaping from the aliens who'd come out of the black ship and killed all the police. She woke to hear an odd noise, walked down to the library, and found Lionel Luthor obsessively scraping a symbol into the parquet floor.

"Their home is their poison…their home is their poison…" he repeated over and over.

She'd lured the aliens to the mansion and had seen them grow weak in the presence of the meteor rock. But one had not gone far enough to become incapacitated, and had lifted the heavy steel vault door like it was a piece of paper. He had closed off the vault, and their weakness disappeared.

In the presence of the meteor rock, they'd acted the same way Clark was acting now. A vague suspicion raised its head. She flashed back to another memory.

She was in the loft with Clark, eagerly telling him her findings. "I've been looking at the satellite footage from the first meteor shower, and there's something there that lands. What if someone came down in the first shower, and has been living here ever since?" Clark had remained silent, then had changed the subject, obviously not wanting to discuss the topic.

Then she remembered the time she was with Martha Kent in the Talon, serving as a disaster relief center after the terrible tornado that had leveled Lowell County the spring of their freshman year. Martha said, "I haven't seen something like this since the meteor shower. But even in disaster, some good came out of it. It was then that Clark came into our lives."

Like pieces of a puzzle going into their proper places, images flashed through her mind. It was a rainy night, and she was running for her life through a storage facility. Adam Knight, the man she'd met in rehab when her leg was broken, was chasing her, and was shooting at her. She'd called Clark, knowing from previous events that he would be at the Smallville Youth Center. As she cried to Clark, "Help me!", she'd heard the bang of the rifle. She thought she was dead, but Clark miraculously appeared and knocked her out of the path of the bullet. Later on, she'd asked, "How did you get from the Youth Center to the storage facility in a split second?" He'd given a lame smile and said, "Well, time anomaly, you know." She'd accepted that; now she felt angry at herself for not realizing. She'd seen the other aliens move fast, faster than her eye could see.

She'd also seen police shooting at the other aliens, and saw the bullets bouncing off. She remembered Van McNulty, self-appointed "meteor freak executioner" shooting a clip at Clark, and Clark showing no effect. He'd lifted his shirt to show a homemade lead vest, green meteor rock bullets embedded in the lead.

She saw Perry White saying, "So far I've got your boyfriend pegged as really strong, and really fast…" She saw the meteor freak who had escaped from Belle Reve and were holding Clark, the Kents, and her hostage, saying "The word in Belle Reve is that you've got powers." She saw herself in the tornado, her truck sucked up by the power of the twister, then Clark appearing, later denying his presence, suggesting she was hallucinating things due to her head injury. She saw herself saying to Lex, "There's nothing unusual about Clark Kent", and Lex replying, "Is that what you really believe, or is that the lie you have to tell yourself to say in a relationship with him? Lana, normal people don't rise from the dead."

Six years of oddity, of lame excuses, of inexplicable happenings coalesced into a sudden clarity. Lana sucked in her breath. She felt faint as the she realized the truth. Fear clenched her stomach. She looked at Clark, lying on the ground, quietly moaning, weakly squirming away.

"You're one of them", she whispered. "You're an alien."

His face told her it was the truth. Then he composed his features into what she thought of as the "Clark lying face". "No."

"Don't lie to me again!" she screamed, thrusting her hand closer to him. He cried out and hunched himself up, digging his fists into his stomach, curling into a fetal position.

"You're one of them! You're one of them!" she cried hysterically. "Get away! Get back! Get away!" She found herself sobbing, screaming. "Get away!"

"Lana…." He said weakly, raising a hand towards her. Her stomach churning, her hands trembling, Lana scrambled backward, away from him, away from the alien.

"Get back!" she screamed. Her left hand cradled her abdomen as she thrust her right hand, meteor rock glowing, at him. He stopped trying to stand, and lifted himself up on his elbows from his prone position.

"Lana…"

"Get away!" she took one step towards him, holding the rock far away from her body. Clark inched his way backward, away from the meteor rock. He stared at her, hurt in his eyes.

"I'll go." Warily looking at her, he slowly slid backward on his stomach, away from the campfire, away from her. She stood, holding onto the meteor rock, gasping for breath, her stomach churning, heart racing. She felt the baby move, upset too.

"Get away!" she cried out, almost sobbing it. She angrily wiped tears from her eyes. Clark was about twenty or thirty feet away. He'd gotten up and was staring at her.

"Don't come near!" she said gaspingly. Oh my God, oh my God, he's one of them, he's one of them, he's an alien, he's going to hurt me, he's one of them, he's an alien, oh my God, get away, get away, get away!

"Go farther!" she punctuated her command by taking a few steps toward him, away from the fire. He backed up, his steps matching hers. "Stay away!" She returned to the fire.

She stood near the sleeping bag, not sure what to do. She clasped the meteor rock tightly in her hand, noticing that its eerie green glow had faded. She looked down the lakeshore; Clark was visible as a silhouette about fifty or sixty feet away. He was standing looking at her. She looked back defiantly. After a minute, he turned away from her and sat down on the beach, his knees up to his chest, his arms around his ankles. He didn't move after that.

Lana stayed standing for some time, watching him. Finally she grew tired of looking at his unmoving form, and sat down herself. She kept tight hold of the meteor rock. Disjointed images swam through her head; the combination of the plane crash, the previous sleepless night, irregular meals, pregnancy, and the stunning realization about Clark combined to give her thoughts a nightmare surreality. Her thoughts skittered from one topic to another; she jumped from a vision of the dead pilot to a memory of Clark telling one of his lies to the smell of the roses that had filled the mansion when Lex proposed to her.

She grew cold and wrapped the blanket around her. She kept an eye on Clark's unmoving form, warily eyeing him in fear. He didn't move, just stayed hunched up on the beach. She didn't know when she fell asleep, but even in her sleep, she grasped the meteor rock tightly in her hand.


Clark sat on the beach, despondent. This was a disaster. The lead sinkers must have attenuated the deleterious effects of the kryptonite. When Lana had separated them out, he'd gotten the full effect. Not expecting meteor rock up here in the Canadian wilderness, he'd been unable to hide the pain and nausea.

Worse was the expression on Lana's face. It had gone from concern, to contemplation, then to astonishment and horror.

"You're one of them", she'd said. "You're an alien." Undone by the meteor rock, he couldn't keep his face from telling her the truth. He thought about it; Lana had seen other Kryptonians come out of the black ship and use their powers; she must have seen them react to kryptonite; she'd obviously put the pieces together.

He'd been afraid of this ever since she'd come to him in his loft and talked about the first meteor shower. She didn't know that she was talking to the person who had come down in the shower and had been living among humans ever since. He'd hoped that she'd never realize that; obviously, his hopes were doomed.

Clark hadn't wanted to tell her his secret and now he realized why. Lana's reaction was everything he had feared – disgust, fear, hate. He rocked back and forth, and held back a small moan. It wasn't due to kryptonite pain. The look on her face…

In all fairness, however, he could understand some of her fear - the horrifying ordeal she had gone through with the rogue Kryptonians would have marked anyone. They'd used their powers to kill and destroy, and Lana had seen most of it.

Clark sighed, wondering what it would have been like to tell her his secret before she had seen the other aliens. Would she have reacted this badly? He didn't know.

When she'd told him to get away, at first, he was only too happy to get farther away from the kryptonite and its pain. When he got to where he could actually think, he'd looked at Lana. He felt deep concern for her; she was obviously not herself, hysterical. Her racing heart, her gasping breathing told the story of her stress. Realizing that she would not or could not listen to him, he'd acquiesced, and moved slowly away down the beach, staying still, trying not to frighten her any more.

Clark heard her breathing slip over into sleep and moved near her. The kryptonite in her hand developed a subtle glow as he neared. Nausea churned his guts; he could not approach within twenty feet without becoming incapacitated. He breathed out in frustration. At least she was lying on the sleeping bag and was covered by the blanket.

He moved back up the beach. He'd have to wait till morning. Maybe then she would listen to him.

Dawn painted the lake surface with reddish highlights. The birds began singing, a few chirps gradually increasing into a full-throated chorus. Clark looked down the lakefront at Lana. She stirred in her blanket and sat up. She turned to look at him, then deliberately looked away. She held her hand open for a moment so he could see it; a green glint in her palm showed that she still held the kryptonite.

She stood up, stretching, looking tired and haggard. She cast one glance back again at him, then headed into the forest where they'd set up a primitive latrine the previous night.

Clark sat in thought for a moment, then got up and sped to the campsite. Lana and the kryptonite were far enough away that he was not affected. He felt her shoes – still wet, although her clothes were dry. He stood undecided for a moment, then squared his shoulders and went into action, using his superspeed.

Clark added more logs to the fire and heat-visioned it from coals into flames. He took the cup and the mess tin, sped to the lake, and filled them with water. He set them on the fire. While they were heating, he stood over Lana's shoes and gave them a gentle warming with the heat vision. A cloud of steam arose from the shoes; he felt them in approval – dry shoes now.

Clark rummaged in the backpack and pulled out another dehydrated meal, then went to the fire and encouraged the water into boiling with another judicious application of heat vision. He added the meal to the water, and made a cup of tea. While the food finished, he sped to the tackle box and checked out its contents.

Hooks – not helpful right now. Fishing line – it'll be handy. He stopped for a moment at the lead sinkers, then scooped them up.

Clark heard a small rustling in the woods, and felt a twinge of nausea. He looked – Lana approached. Apparently, she couldn't see him yet.

"I made some breakfast for you!" he called out. Looking through the forest, he saw her hesitate. She trembled. Oh, Lana, I didn't want this to happen. Sadness coursed through him. Clark called again to her. "I'm going down the lake. I won't come near you."

Clark walked away at normal human speed as she approached the campsite. He matched her pace, feeling the slight twinge of kryptonite-induced pain until she had reached the campsite and he got out of range. Unlike her, he did not look back.