Jonathan Kent winced as he grabbed his chest. He thought it was heartburn at first. In the distance, he thought he heard Alfred calling out to him …
As a guest of Wayne Manor, Jonathan was served a sumptuous lunch a few hours earlier. He expected cold cut sandwiches and a can of pop – but he dined on lobster, bakery-fresh baguettes and a sinfully sweet chocolate pudding cake. This was Wayne Manor: even the pop was imported from Italy's swankiest cafes. Martha would have disapproved of most of his food selections, but he was half a continent away.
He was in Gotham City and he was leading in the latest polls for the Kansas senate race.
Lex's momentum had stalled after a Concerned Citizens political action committee aired an attack ad accusing LuthorCorp. of ties to the conflict diamond trade and illegal arms shipments to the Russian underworld.
Lois persuaded him to meet with America's municipal power brokers on the eastern seaboard. (It also gave her a chance to meet Bruce Wayne again.) Despite its reputation as an urban wasteland, Gotham City was still the political heart of old, monied New England. Clark became one of Bruce Wayne's closest friends over the past four years and Bruce pledged to assist the Kent campaign. Bruce was still Lex's friend, and for political reasons he also provided a token donation to his former schoolmate.
Unlike Lex, Jonathan received something from Bruce that Lex craved: instant access to the most influential people in America. Jonathan was to be a keynote speaker at the U.S. Conference of Mayors convention in Gotham.
Shortly after lunch, Lois hurried upstairs from the main foyer. Alfred – who was carrying a feather duster and a can of Pine-Sol – glared at her from the foot of the winding staircase. He appeared to be irritated.
"Lois, what did you do this time?" Jonathan sighed.
"I was looking for the ladies' room," Lois replied, "but I must have taken a wrong turn between the medieval suits of armour, the encased first edition of The Great Gatsby, and that wine cellar Bruce hasn't gotten around to finishing yet. I guess Alfred doesn't like people poking around grand old Wayne Manor."
"You've only met Bruce Wayne – once – during the Christmas party," Jonathan grinned, "and now you're on a first-name basis with him?"
"I'm your campaign manager," Lois declared. "I'm supposed to keep Kansas' future senator in the headlines. And having a photo-op beside industrialist Bruce Wayne is the PR equivalent of a slam dunk!" Lois pulled out a binder labelled: Appointments – Mr. J. Kent. Jonathan despised that binder because it meant that he would have no time for himself.
He had to meet Lucius Fox, Wayne Enterprises' chief operating officer at 11 a.m. tomorrow about the proposed new international airport for Metropolis. At 12 p.m. he had a meeting with Gotham's city councillors. At 1 p.m. he was going to lay a wreath at a monument dedicated to Gotham City police officers who were killed in the line of duty – many paid the ultimate price because of the increasingly violent turf wars between the New York-linked Tony Zucco mob and the ruthless Jazzman Syndicate. At 3 p.m. he would meet the mayors of America's largest cities before he delivered his keynote address to the convention at 5 p.m.
"Will I have time to go to the bathroom?" Jonathan joked.
"You have a one-hour window between the wreath-laying and the shindig with the mayors," Lois replied clinically. "Hope your bladder's up to the task."
"Today, I have the gala performance at the Gotham Symphony," Jonathan said. He felt a bit overwhelmed at the responsibilities being placed upon him. Becoming a state senator would be a huge responsibility, and the job had its own pitfalls. Jack Jennings' sudden fall from grace taught him that.
"I'm going for a jog," Jonathan declared. Lois wanted to go over the third draft of his keynote address, but Mr. Kent's direct tone left no doubt.
He wanted some time to himself.
When Jonathan changed into his old grey tracksuit, Alfred appeared at his doorway. "Are you sure that jogging is just what the doctor ordered?" Alfred inquired.
Jonathan sensed that both Martha and Clark had called to check up on him. "Look, I know my family is concerned because of my heart, but I'm fine. My doctor says that moderate exercise would do me some good."
"If you insist," Alfred stated, implying that he didn't like the idea. "But as a future senator for the State of Kansas, you will have to get used to the idea of bodyguards following your every move. I will join you – heaven knows I need the fresh air."
Jonathan had grown fond of Bruce's loyal butler, who had once served in the British Army (and in MI6 as an intelligence agent). "I would welcome the company, Mr. Pennyworth," he nodded.
Wayne Manor sat atop a hill, surrounded by acres of well-trimmed grass and pockets of conifer trees, shrubs and wildflowers. Oddly, there was no gate around most of the property: only the main mansion had walls and a gated entrance. Alfred, who had donned his faded British Army sweatshirt, led Jonathan to a worn dirt path that encircled the Wayne property.
"Thomas Wayne envisioned that this land would become a public park for Gotham's citizens," Alfred said. "Those were happier times, Mr. Kent. Before the crime, the misery and the corruption." Alfred looked up at Wayne Manor. To him, it was a beacon of civility. Below, the city represented all the problems the late Thomas Wayne struggled to solve.
Alfred was a realist: he didn't believe that people would readily embrace Thomas Wayne's vision for a better city. Gotham was to be the envy of urban America, but the corrupt politicians, the mob and public apathy had turned this city into an eyesore. Wayne Manor was the only sane refuge in an insane world, and Alfred planned to defend it – whatever the cost.
Jonathan and Alfred jogged for several minutes in silence. The butler knew that Jonathan wanted to be alone with his thoughts and he granted him that precious time. Taking on the might of Lex Luthor's well-financed senate campaign would rattle most men, Alfred mused, but Mr. Kent seemed to be holding up.
The dirt path was on flat terrain, but they were now upon a hilly section of the path. Alfred stopped Jonathan.
"I suggest we take another route around the woodlands," Alfred said. "It would add about 10 minutes to our journey, but the terrain is more even there."
Jonathan sensed that Alfred was concerned about his health. Clark was annoyed that Lois wanted to drag his father across the country to some conference, but Jonathan explained that it was Bruce who had offered the invitation. Another call from Alfred convinced Clark that his father would be cared for.
Jonathan Kent was a proud man. Hard work was how he supported himself. It was part of his character: it always would be. His family's advice – to "take it easy" – was probably correct. His doctor didn't want him to over-exert himself, especially during a gruelling senate campaign. He was always used to taking care of himself, but now everyone seemed to want to do everything for him.
I'm not an invalid, he told himself. I'm going to be senator for the State of Kansas. It was the first time he had uttered the words to himself. He was going to make a difference in this world. As a public figure, his actions would affect everyone in Kansas (and, perhaps, beyond the state line.). He thought of the keynote address to the U.S. mayors. Maybe a hard-working farmer could make a better Kansas, in spite of the odds.
But as a public figure, every part of his life would be dissected and analyzed. Clark was able to escape the spotlight (so far). Some in the media had come close to exposing his secret to the public: GCTV reporter Summer Gleeson, Perry White and the hacks at the Metropolis Inquisitor. Could his son preserve his secret … if his father became Kansas' next senator?
Jonathan pressed ahead, and climbed the hilly path. Alfred, who was middle-aged but trim and fit, began to catch his breath. It was a steep climb because the path veered upward, towards the hilly slope and Wayne Manor's east wing.
Jonathan tried to catch his breath, but it was becoming more difficult. He began to wheeze, gasping for more air. His chest became tense. It felt like heartburn, but it didn't go away. His fingers and toes began to tingle. His knees began to buckle.
"Mr. Kent!" Alfred called out. Jonathan stumbled off the dirt path and fell onto the grass. He thought he saw a shadow hover over him, but he fell unconscious.
When he awoke, he was in Bruce Wayne's master bedroom. He knew it had to be Bruce's, since the bedroom was twice the size of Lex Luthor's stately office in Luthor Mansion. Lois was seated in a chair beside him.
"Master Bruce's personal physician said it was probably exhaustion," Alfred stated, "but he wants to administer some tests at Gotham General. He's concerned that it might have been a heart murmur."
"I might have pushed myself too hard with the jogging," Jonathan insisted, "but I'm sure with a good night's sleep I'll be good as new."
Alfred shook his head and rolled his eyes. Lois also smirked at Jonathan's stubbornness. "Perhaps if you tell yourself that enough times, Mr. Kent," Alfred quipped, "you might actually believe it." He pulled about a bag of prescriptions and read the labels. "Daily low dosage ASA, Celebrex, Lipitor, ACE inhibitors, beta blockers: this pharmaceutical cocktail of yours is the recipe for a man who is trying to keep the Grim Reaper at bay. If you want to prevail in that eternal contest, I suggest you cancel your symphony engagement and reduce your workload tomorrow."
Jonathan relented. "I'll cancel the symphony event. We can teleconference with the Wayne Enterprises execs today and speak to the councillors at the mayors' conference tomorrow. But there's no way that I'm going to cancel the wreath laying for Gotham's Finest. They paid with their lives to protect Gotham and I'm going to pay my respects."
Alfred nodded in approval. "I will arrange the estate's boardroom for the teleconference, and I'm assuming it's a working lunch." Before Jonathan could protest, Alfred left to make the arrangements.
Lois couldn't figure out Alfred Pennyworth: he could be brutally honest in one breath, and then become Mr. Mom in a heartbeat. The man's life was shaded in Cold War adventures and lost loves, a life forever stained by the murders of the Thomas and Martha Wayne.
"I think you should take Alfred's advice, Mr. Kent," Lois said. Jonathan nodded quietly – there was no point in arguing about it.
"I've learned a long time ago not to challenge Alfred Pennyworth when his mind is set on something," he said. He looked at the far wall, adorned with the portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne. "Lord knows he has the experience in caring for other people. Bruce Wayne is a lucky guy."
Next evening, Jonathan waved at his influential audience. Dressed in a smart, tailor-made pinstriped suit, he looked the part of a future senator. The nation's most powerful civic leaders applauded his vow to place urban issues atop his campaign platform. The Kansas senate race was close: the latest polls suggested a statistical dead heat. Lois ensured that every TV station from Metropolis, Wichita, Topeka and all points in-between had their cameras fixed upon Kansas' next senator.
"I think it's safe to say that you'll make the six o'clock news," Lois said. Jonathan wiped his brow. Despite Alfred's misgivings, Jonathan proceeded with his longer, 25-minute speech. He wanted America's mayors to know that this farmer knew about city issues: he was no hick from the backwoods. Jonathan, accompanied by Lois and his campaign staffers, left the podium to the backstage area.
Bruce Wayne, dressed in a simple charcoal suit and royal blue tie, shook Jonathan's hands. "I think you made an impression, Mr. Kent," he grinned.
"I think it's still too close to call," Jonathan suggested. "I'm in a dead heat with Lex Luthor, and he's got big business, the Pentagon power players and half of Metropolis City Council in his pocket."
"Maybe so," Bruce said, "but he doesn't have CNN or the BBC covering the keynote address for a global audience. I think your campaign manager made the right call on this conference. It could be the boost you need for the home stretch."
Jonathan took off his blazer and tore off his tie, wiping his forehead with his arm. "It's really hot back here." He looked up at the glaring floodlights, heaved a sigh and stumbled onto a folding chair.
"Mr. Kent!" Lois blurted. Jonathan was sweating and pale-faced.
"I'm – I'm alright," Jonathan said, settling onto the chair. "It's been a long day." He took a sip from his bottled water. "I just need to rest."
Bruce remained calm. "You've been putting in 60-70 hour work weeks for the past month, living off fast food, little sleep and not enough exercise," he noted. "That schedule would exhaust someone half your age." He pulled out his cell phone. "Alfred? Pull the car around to the rear exit. We're taking Mr. Kent to Gotham General for a check-up."
"No," Jonathan declared. "No hospitals. I haven't been sticking to my med schedule regularly, that's all." His hands trembled slightly as he pulled out a red pill: blood-thinners that would prevent unexpected artery blockages.
"Call Alfred to pick him up," Lois said. "We're taking you to the hospital – now!"
"I am not going to the hospital, Lois!" Jonathan grumbled angrily. "All I need is rest."
"Mr. Kent …" Bruce pleaded.
"I appreciate your concern, Mr. Wayne, but I know my limits better than anyone," Jonathan said. "It's only fatigue. I don't need to go to the hospital."
Lois pulled out her cellphone and began to dial 911 but Jonathan placed his hand firmly on her wrist.
"Don't," Jonathan insisted.
"Is that an order, Mr. Kent?" Lois demanded.
"I can't afford to be sick, or even appear to be sick," Jonathan said. "Imagine the headlines: 'Middle-aged senate candidate admitted to hospital.' This is just the break Lex is waiting for. He'll claim that I'm not healthy enough to look after an entire state. The race is still too close to call." He stood up warily, peering through the stage curtains at the mayors, civic leaders and journalists. This was his life now. He was going to be a Kansas senator and he would allow nothing – not Lex, the tabloids or his health problems – to hold him back.
"I want to make a difference, Lois," Jonathan said softly. "No hospitals. I don't want Martha or Clark to worry unnecessarily. Please, I'm asking you as a friend." Lois began to argue but Jonathan looked directly at her. "I just want to make a difference."
"I don't like this," Bruce added.
"If Mr. Kent says he feels okay, then he's okay," Lois said as she clicked off her cell. "I think our time in Gotham City is over. We're going home, Mr. Kent. To Smallville. You're taking a day off."
"Alfred will fly you back in the WayneTech helicopter in the morning," Bruce said. "And I expect you to take up the offer, Mr. Kent."
In the morning, Alfred checked all the copter's navigation systems. "All clear," Alfred said over the speakers. "It's a beautiful day in downtown Gotham. We'll be in Kansas by mid-afternoon, Ms. Lane and Mr. Kent." Jonathan waved below to Bruce Wayne, who was out for his morning jog.
Lois didn't realize it at the time, but Bruce Wayne would never see Jonathan again. By the time Bruce called to congratulate the senator-elect on his victory, Jonathan Kent had passed away.
One month after the funeral, Clark made a point of reminding her about that fact. "Why didn't you call 911?" After the election, Lois returned to her job working behind the Talon's front counter. She had reluctantly explained to Clark what had happened during Mr. Kent's visit to Gotham City.
"You weren't there, Clark," Lois said. "You should have seen his eyes. He was a proud man. He didn't want to be remembered as some sickly, old man who can't take care of himself. Who was I to say that he didn't know what was best for him?"
"The election was too important to you, wasn't it," Clark snapped. "You wanted to beat Lex Luthor in the election, no matter how it affected my dad! Lex insulted you, and you just couldn't let it go, could you?"
"That's not fair!" Lois said. "It was Mr. Kent's decision to go or not. I merely suggested –"
"Maybe you should keep your suggestions to yourself next time," Clark said. "Maybe if he had gone to the hospital then, he'd still be alive."
"Don't you think I feel bad enough about the whole thing?" Lois declared. "Your father wanted to make a difference in the world, that's what made him feel alive. Well, thanks for ruining my day, Smallville!" She stormed away into the Talon's rear storage room.
Clark turned around and saw Chloe, who had just arrived. Clark was still mourning his father's death, but she had become irritated at his short-tempered behaviour.
"I know you're still upset," she said, "but you can't put the blame on Lois. Mr. Kent had a weak heart and his campaign schedule was too much for him to take."
"Lois shouldn't have let him go to Gotham," Clark said, "she should have called 911 …"
"Well, I got the 411 about the Gotham trip from Alfred," Chloe said, "and he told me that your dad didn't want to have anything to do with hospitals or doctors. Lois and Bruce wanted to call an ambulance, but Mr. Kent was concerned how the media might spin it. The senate race was a dead heat, Clark! I can't imagine the pressure he was under. He didn't want to give Lex any advantage. The race was his to win, and he wasn't about to let his heart become an excuse for failure."
"Bruce said he felt somehow responsible," Clark said, "but I told him it wasn't his fault. I should have been there. I would have made him go to the hospital."
"Don't beat yourself up about it," Chloe reassured him. "Jonathan Kent wasn't about to lose face to Lex due to health problems. He was going to win the election, victory was on the horizon."
"You're right – my dad wouldn't want to lose face to Lex," Clark admitted. "He could be really stubborn sometimes."
Okay, I've soothed the classic Clark Kent temper, Chloe observed. Unfortunately, it managed to catch Lois in the crossfire today. She looked sadly towards the rear storage room. Lois had worked closely with Mr. Kent during the senate campaign and they had become friends. Lois would never admit it, but Chloe saw her tough, army-brat cousin shed a tear at the funeral … and a few more quiet tears in the following weeks. My allergies are acting up, Lois would claim (with a Kleenex still scrunched in her hand).
"And you just gave Lois a hard time about it," Chloe stated. "She and Alfred felt really guilty about the whole thing. You were rather harsh with her. She stood by your dad, while everyone was flocking to Lex's campaign and the pundits were writing off Mr. Kent as a dark horse in the race. Your dad made the choice not to go see a doctor then – not Lois. The least you could do is apologize to her."
"I suppose you won't let me leave until I do," Clark said.
"That's my cousin back there," Chloe replied. "And you're my friend. I figured that you already know what you need to do."
Clark quietly stepped into the storage room. In the rear, Lois was turned away from him, hunched atop a box of coffee beans. She had been crying, though she quickly wiped her eyes. She wasn't going to let him see any weakness in her.
"Here to lay another guilt trip on me, Smallville?" Lois sniffed. "Just leave me alone."
"My dad was stubborn," Clark said. "With the farm, Lionel, the senate race … he was taking on a lot of responsibilities."
"You know, he worked six or seven days a week on the campaign trail," Lois said. "I gave him hell when he skipped any of his meds."
Clark bowed his head. "Those things I said out there … I know you would have dragged him to the hospital if he hadn't told you not to."
"All I had to do was press 'CALL'," Lois said. "Bruce had the car ready to take him to Gotham General." She turned her face away from Clark, sensing another tear in her eye. "I miss your father."
Clark placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "So do I, Lois. I can still hear him giving me advice – even now. I feel lost without him. I'm sorry about what I said …"
"Apology accepted, Smallville," Lois said. She took a box-cutter from her apron and carved open the box of coffee beans. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to make some coffee. Lex'll be by anytime, and your friendly neighbourhood barista has to have a fresh pot of Colombian Dark Roast prepared for His Bald Eminence."
"Somehow, I don't think it's possible for Lois Lane to lose face to Lex Luthor," Clark smirked.
Lois pulled out a canister of coffee beans. "You're right about that, Clark." Clark was about to leave when Lois stopped him, jabbing a finger into his chest. "Oh, and one other thing. If you ever bark at me like that again, I'll personally kick your butt all the way to Fawcett City. Understand?"
"Yes, ma'am," Clark saluted jokingly. Chloe entered the stock room a few minutes later and sat on another box of coffee beans.
"You and Clark are going to play nice, now?" Chloe said. She helped Lois with the coffee canister and sat across from her cousin at the coffee bar. She looked outside the main windows, where Clark (in his familiar red jacket) was strolling to his truck, and she smirked. He walked just like his father.
"Smallville and I have reached an understanding," Lois smiled. "We sorted things out like adults. Mr. Kent would have been proud of us."
"You know, Lois," Chloe said, looking up towards the spotless Kansas sky. "I think Mr. Kent already is."
THE END