"Honestly, son, calm down! You act like this Wayne fellow is the most important guy on the planet!" Jonathan Kent told his son. They were in the Kent's pickup truck, driving to the city airport to meet the mysterious Gotham billionaire. Unfortunately, they had taken a wrong turn somewhere outside of Smallville, and while they were now on the right course it had put Clark into a tizzy. "If he's the friend you say he is, he'll understand you being a few minutes late. Besides, it's a long flight from Gotham to Kansas City- maybe he needed a little downtime to stretch his legs"

Clark mentally pictured Bruce Wayne standing in the airport, scowling at his watch as he waited for the man who should have met him at the gate. He swallowed; Batman could be abrasive at the best of times. Left to wait in a (relatively) busy mid-western airport… "Pa, are you SURE this truck can't go any faster?"

The elder Kent sighed. His son was the strongest being on the planet and the idol of millions, yet he still had a tendency to worry too much- probably got it from Martha. "For the third time, Clark, this is as fast as it goes. Unless of course you want to fly us there, in broad daylight and without your costume, then we'll be there in a twenty minutes or so."

Clark grinned at his father, a little sheepishly. Pa was right, of course; they were going as fast as they could. Bruce would just have to wait- besides, Alfred would keep him under control.

"Sir, I do wish you would stop checking that watch. It isn't proper to be that concerned over the time." Alfred said, as he sat in the airport lounge. It wasn't much of a lounge, at least not by Bruce Wayne's standards- a few leather chairs, a selection of magazines, and a television stuck on one channel. Nevertheless, Alfred did his best to relax- he'd found a reasonably comfortable chair and had the Theater section of the Kansas City Star open in front of him.

"Alfred, they're a half hour late. That's not like Clark at all- what if something has happened?" Even as he said it, Bruce regretted the last sentence. Alfred knew that Clark Kent was the Man of Steel- what could possibly happen to him? The only things that qualified were major disasters, and such would almost certainly be newsworthy enough to interrupt the Andy Griffith reruns currently showing on the TV.

To his credit, the butler did nothing but raise an eyebrow and return to his paper. Bruce cleared his throat and tried to resume his fidgeting. He'd rarely had to deal with long waits in his Bruce Wayne persona- and a billionaire playboy couldn't be expected to show the incredible patience of Batman. So, in order to keep up appearances, he had taken to tapping his fingers, pacing, whistling and other normally unconscious signs of impatience. However, for him these actions were completely conscious and precisely calculated, and added substantially to his annoyance.

Finally, Clark arrived with an elderly man Bruce presumed to be the senior mister Kent. The man wore a battered suede jacket and blue jeans which- Bruce suspected- were actually overalls. Clark walked over to Bruce, clearly trying to appear nonchalant, but moving a little too quickly to pull it off. Extending his hand to the billionaire, he said "Bruce! I'm sorry we're so late! We got turned around in the weather, and well…"

"No problem at all, Clark. The time just flew by, didn't it Alfred?" Bruce took the other man's hand and squeezed as hard as he could. This would normally have broken bones, but for Superman it simply conveyed a message. 'You were thirty seven minutes late' the grip said 'I'll forgive it this time but don't let it happen again'

"Indeed, sir. I would never have guessed how long we were here, had it not been for you checking your watch every five seconds." The butler said, completely deadpan. This startled a laugh out of Pa Kent, and got a grimace from Bruce.

"Hello, mister Wayne, mister Pennyworth." Jonathan said. "It's nice to finally meet Clark's friends."

"Friends?" Bruce said, shooting Clark a surreptitious glare. "Who else is here?"

The Last Son of Krypton gulped "W-well, I told you Lois was coming, right? Then, we found out that Jimmy- Jimmy Olsen, from the Planet?- that he had nowhere to be for the holidays. He's sort of estranged from his folks, and well, no one should be alone on Thanksgiving, right? So, I thought…"

"I see" Bruce said, in a tone that revealed nothing. When he saw that Mr. Kent was occupied with searching for the baggage, he spoke again- so quietly that only Kryptonian hearing could make out his words. "You invited that nosy coffee boy you hang around with? To your parents house? The place that contains most of the evidence of your secret identity? That houses so many alien artifacts? Are you INSANE?"

Clark gulped and whispered "It's not that bad. I moved the old ship to the Fortress of Solitude, and buried all the other stuff. Unless Jimmy goes digging in the north field, he won't find anything."

Bruce grunted and moved to help with the bags. Clark accepted this, knowing it was as close to a 'good job' as he was likely to get. "Here, Pa, why don't you let me and Bruce get the bags, while you and Alfred bring the truck around?"

The billionaire and the reporter got the bags off the carousel in silence. Clark was already starting to regret the invitation- he was having trouble thinking of what to say NOW! How would they get through the next 27 hours, 32 minutes?

"You brought a lot for such a short stay, Bruce." He said, pretending to strain at lifting the luggage.

Speaking quietly again, Bruce said "Full costume, utility belt, and datalink to the Batcomputer in that bag. Civilian clothing and Alfred's cooking utensils in this bag"

"Cooking utensils?! Bruce, Alfred doesn't think he's going to be cooking, does he? Ma has Views about men in the kitchen"

Bruce grunted, a different grunt this time. This one was what Clark called #4 supressed-amusement. "He said it would only be polite to offer to help out, and he knows several excellent dishes that require specialized tools. I for one recommend his crème brulee. "

As the truck pulled up outside the small airport, they stacked the luggage in the bed. Alfred took the passenger's seat, at Clark's insistence, while Bruce and Clark piled into the back seat. After a while, Jonathan felt compelled to break the silence.

"So, Bruce. Clark's told us you're wealthy. Tell me, what is it your parents do, exactly?"

Immediately Bruce's jaw clenched, and Alfred went pale. Clark mentally slapped himself.

'I knew there was something I forgot to tell them'