'Honour', PG-13
BACKGROUND: The fall semester has begun. Clark has left the turmoil of Gotham City behind. Complications arise in Smallville when a Metropolis- bound bus makes an unexpected detour. The complication? An aspiring – and alluring – dark-haired writer who manages to captivate Clark. Has Chloe met her match? In London, Lex attempts to clean up the fallout of the arms scandal and learns about a dark chapter in the past of Alfred, Bruce Wayne's loyal butler. It seems Alfred's days in the British military are catching up with him. Temperatures run high as Lex faces a dilemma: salvage his tense, but solid friendship with Bruce, or bow to Lionel Luthor's wishes and destroy Bruce's only father figure. All that, and the emerging backroom scheme to parachute Wayne into Congress.
Chapter 1
Bruce Wayne read the Gotham Times. It was Friday afternoon and he had finished his paperwork early.
"Coffee, sir?" Alfred asked.
"Only if you're making yourself a cup as well." Bruce smiled as Alfred prepared two cups of coffee. "Why don't you take a vacation, Alfred? Where do you want to go: Vermont, rafting in the Rockies, ...oh, I know, Hawaii!"
"The only thing tropical I want right now is a good shot of tequilla," Alfred deadpanned. Bruce roared in laughter, but his mood soon changed. Alfred had picked up the Daily Planet. 'PIPE BOMB INJURES FIVE IN LONDONDERRY: IRA SPLINTER GROUP IS RESPONSIBLE'
Alfred had spent 15 years in the British military, first in the British Navy then as an intelligence officer with the army. He was there – 30 years ago – when sectarian violence exploded across Northern Ireland. And by virtue of his uniform, he had taken sides. He was always guilty about his involvement in The Troubles, but that was all Alfred would reveal to Bruce. He kept the rest to himself.
Alfred pounded the desk. "Damn. Will the violence never stop!" Bruce knew that Alfred was sensitive about the tense situation in Northern Ireland. Alfred stepped closer to the window and looked across the Gotham skyline. Looking eastward – to another life, another world.
It wasn't his fault. In 1972, Alfred was a young twenty-something intelligence officer with the British Army. Sent to uncover a network of so- called 'republican terrorists', Alfred achieved some measure of success. Weapons dumps. Mid-level republican commanders. Minor bomb factory raids. He was there when a group of Catholic activists protested the heavy-handed treatment of the occupying British forces. "It's a protest. They're not throwing rocks at us," Alfred had remarked. The troops formed a defensive perimeter. Alfred stepped aside to get a smoke – a nasty habit he finally gave up in the '70s. Then he heard the shots. And saw the casualties. Alfred tried to maintain restraint in the ranks, but it was too late. The entire province would soon plunge into decades of tit-for-tat violence: killings, bombings, a civil war between neighbours. He would leave the army – and England – for good within weeks of the Bloody Sunday massacre.
"You should go on vacation. Heck, take a month off. God knows you've earned it," Bruce said.
"I could have done something, Master Bruce," Alfred mumbled.
"Take a vacation. Think about it," Bruce urged, "Please."
[Outside Smallville]
Clark opened the window of his truck. He was feeling great. He just had lunch at Lana Lang's house. They talked for hours about Gotham City, the fall semester, the Crows' chances for a state championship. He had plans to go into town, maybe shoot some hoop with Pete. On the horizon he saw a bus. Greyhound. The passengers were milling about in the fields next to the bus.
Clark stepped out. "What seems to be the problem?"
The driver wiped his forehead. "A tire blew out. And my radio's on the fritz."
"Mine isn't." Clark jumped into his truck and picked up the CB. "Guardian, this is Farmboy, over. Guardian, this is Farmboy requesting assistance 5 miles north of Smallville. Bus with blown tire. Do you read?"
"Guardian here. Sending squad car and mechanic, over. Do you copy, Farmboy?"
"I copy, Guardian. Farmboy out."
The driver looked puzzled. Clark grinned. "The sheriff is sending a car over. And a mechanic."
"Thanks for your help," a voice said. Clark turned around. It was a dark- haired girl, around Clark's age.
"Not a problem. It's a Saturday afternoon. I've got time to kill. I'm Clark – Clark Kent."
The dark-haired girl smiled. "I'm Lois Lane."
BACKGROUND: The fall semester has begun. Clark has left the turmoil of Gotham City behind. Complications arise in Smallville when a Metropolis- bound bus makes an unexpected detour. The complication? An aspiring – and alluring – dark-haired writer who manages to captivate Clark. Has Chloe met her match? In London, Lex attempts to clean up the fallout of the arms scandal and learns about a dark chapter in the past of Alfred, Bruce Wayne's loyal butler. It seems Alfred's days in the British military are catching up with him. Temperatures run high as Lex faces a dilemma: salvage his tense, but solid friendship with Bruce, or bow to Lionel Luthor's wishes and destroy Bruce's only father figure. All that, and the emerging backroom scheme to parachute Wayne into Congress.
Chapter 1
Bruce Wayne read the Gotham Times. It was Friday afternoon and he had finished his paperwork early.
"Coffee, sir?" Alfred asked.
"Only if you're making yourself a cup as well." Bruce smiled as Alfred prepared two cups of coffee. "Why don't you take a vacation, Alfred? Where do you want to go: Vermont, rafting in the Rockies, ...oh, I know, Hawaii!"
"The only thing tropical I want right now is a good shot of tequilla," Alfred deadpanned. Bruce roared in laughter, but his mood soon changed. Alfred had picked up the Daily Planet. 'PIPE BOMB INJURES FIVE IN LONDONDERRY: IRA SPLINTER GROUP IS RESPONSIBLE'
Alfred had spent 15 years in the British military, first in the British Navy then as an intelligence officer with the army. He was there – 30 years ago – when sectarian violence exploded across Northern Ireland. And by virtue of his uniform, he had taken sides. He was always guilty about his involvement in The Troubles, but that was all Alfred would reveal to Bruce. He kept the rest to himself.
Alfred pounded the desk. "Damn. Will the violence never stop!" Bruce knew that Alfred was sensitive about the tense situation in Northern Ireland. Alfred stepped closer to the window and looked across the Gotham skyline. Looking eastward – to another life, another world.
It wasn't his fault. In 1972, Alfred was a young twenty-something intelligence officer with the British Army. Sent to uncover a network of so- called 'republican terrorists', Alfred achieved some measure of success. Weapons dumps. Mid-level republican commanders. Minor bomb factory raids. He was there when a group of Catholic activists protested the heavy-handed treatment of the occupying British forces. "It's a protest. They're not throwing rocks at us," Alfred had remarked. The troops formed a defensive perimeter. Alfred stepped aside to get a smoke – a nasty habit he finally gave up in the '70s. Then he heard the shots. And saw the casualties. Alfred tried to maintain restraint in the ranks, but it was too late. The entire province would soon plunge into decades of tit-for-tat violence: killings, bombings, a civil war between neighbours. He would leave the army – and England – for good within weeks of the Bloody Sunday massacre.
"You should go on vacation. Heck, take a month off. God knows you've earned it," Bruce said.
"I could have done something, Master Bruce," Alfred mumbled.
"Take a vacation. Think about it," Bruce urged, "Please."
[Outside Smallville]
Clark opened the window of his truck. He was feeling great. He just had lunch at Lana Lang's house. They talked for hours about Gotham City, the fall semester, the Crows' chances for a state championship. He had plans to go into town, maybe shoot some hoop with Pete. On the horizon he saw a bus. Greyhound. The passengers were milling about in the fields next to the bus.
Clark stepped out. "What seems to be the problem?"
The driver wiped his forehead. "A tire blew out. And my radio's on the fritz."
"Mine isn't." Clark jumped into his truck and picked up the CB. "Guardian, this is Farmboy, over. Guardian, this is Farmboy requesting assistance 5 miles north of Smallville. Bus with blown tire. Do you read?"
"Guardian here. Sending squad car and mechanic, over. Do you copy, Farmboy?"
"I copy, Guardian. Farmboy out."
The driver looked puzzled. Clark grinned. "The sheriff is sending a car over. And a mechanic."
"Thanks for your help," a voice said. Clark turned around. It was a dark- haired girl, around Clark's age.
"Not a problem. It's a Saturday afternoon. I've got time to kill. I'm Clark – Clark Kent."
The dark-haired girl smiled. "I'm Lois Lane."