DC Comics owns Superman, not me.
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CHAPTER 2
Clark Kent may have been born Kal-El of Krypton, but he was raised Clark Jerome Kent, by Jonathon and Martha Kent, who were good, solid Midwesterners; Protestant Methodists, and typical of the kind of self-reliant, salt-of-the-earth people who built America during the height of The Great Depression. The one thing they couldn't stand was depending on others. The other thing they couldn't stand was embarrassment.
That's why, when Superman's head cleared after his unceremonious 50-story belly-flop onto the sidewalk in front of The Daily Planet, his first thought was…
'Oh, boy, I hope nobody saw that!'
"Did you see that!?" yelled one of the many pedestrians who had heard Clark screaming for people to get out of the way as he plummeted into their midst and smashed to the pavement like a sack of wet cement. Turns out, pretty much everyone within 1,000 feet saw it, and were rushing forward to get closer to the action. Luckily for all involved, two of the onlookers were MPD cops, one of whom had EMT training, and they were able to quickly reach the fallen hero's side. Of course, this was Superman, and the natural respect and awe people held for him, plus a healthy amount of natural timidity in his presence, kept the crowd from becoming unruly. Indeed, many were already pulling out their cellphones, and the two cops began to hear inquiries of "Should we call 911?" "Do you officers need any help?" "I have a blanket in my trunk," and so on.
"Thanks, folks, that's very kind of you," the older of the two cops told the crowd. "My partner's calling it in right now, but if some of you could go to either end of the block and direct traffic onto the next street over so the ambulance can get through, I'd appreciate it. Be careful out there in the intersections!" He turned back to Superman, not sure what to expect. Kneeling down beside the superhero whom he'd actually met once or twice before on a couple of runs where Superman had been helping out, he still felt a certain trepidation regarding how familiar he could be to the alien. He also was trying to decide if it really was Superman, or merely a costumed jumper who wanted to go out with a big splash. After an uncertain moment, he gently placed his hand on the man's Spandex-clad shoulder, and then moved it carefully toward his neck.
The Kryptonian was warm, and there was a definite pulse. He also, at that moment, drew in a ragged, painful breath.
"Oh, my God! It's really him! Superman? Can you hear me? You still with us?" the officer asked. Hey, what else do you say to a guy who just did a sidewalk faceplant from the roof of a skyscraper and seemed to be intact and breathing?
"Uhhhnnn… yeah… but I'm not enjoying it…" Clark mumbled, concrete dusk blowing out from his mouth and nose, which were bleeding even more than when he landed on the roof. Slowly, in obvious agony, Clark placed his hands flat on the broken sidewalk under his prone form, and did a poor impression of a push-up, finally getting up on his hands and knees and rolling into a sitting (or, rather, sagging) position.
"You probably shouldn't move, just yet…" the cop/EMT warned.
Superman gamely put up one hand to show that it was no problem. "'S okay. Really. It hurts worse than it looks."
The cop put out a steadying hand to help Superman lean back against the wall of the building. "What happened to you?" he asked reasonably.
Superman looked at him with one eye; the other was developing a nice shiner, and was almost closed. His lip was split, there was still some blood oozing from his teeth, and his nose was bleeding freely.
"Officer Downes… ya ever have one of those days?"
By now, Lois and Jimmy had raced out of the doors of the building, turned down the street where the crowd was gathered, and pushed their way forward until they were front and center. Before Lois could move in closer, Jimmy, knowing what he had to do and hating himself all the while for doing it, nevertheless raised his camera to his eye and started shooting images. Hearing the motor drive on the camera, Lois looked over and saw Jimmy doing what needed to be done. In fact, he wasn't the only one. From the moment they'd gotten close enough to the crowd, they had seen numerous onlookers using cameras, mostly on their cellphones, to record both stills and video of The Caped Wonder looking like he'd just been seriously mugged.
Resigning herself to the inevitable, she turned back toward the situation at hand and moved forward, flashing her press credential with a no-nonsense, "Lois Lane, Daily Planet!"
She needn't have bothered. The two cops knew who she was, knew of her friendship with Superman, and gladly allowed her forward. The older cop addressed her quietly.
"Miss Lane, I'm an EMT. Stuart Downes, Metropolis PD. I'm no expert on Kryptonian physiology, but he has a strong pulse, he's breathing and speaking to us. If he were a human, I'd say it was no worse than taking a few bad punches. Of course, he's no human, and I'm not sure what to do to help him at this point," he finished apologetically.
Lois appreciated his kindness, and made an effort to keep her tone from being brusque.
"Thanks, Officer Downes, but don't worry. Medical attention is on the way," she offered.
Downes looked at her incredulously. "Who in the world would you call?" he asked before he could stop himself.
Lois gave him a bland look. "His private doctor. Who else?"
An hour later, the General, Dr. Sam Lane, was wrapping up his exam of Clark, whom he and Lois had driven back to their building at 344 Clinton Street. This was not easy, and secrecy was achieved by first taking Superman into the Daily Planet building, getting him up to the roof in one single elevator run, helping him back into his three-piece suit, cleaning his face up, and then simply escorting him to the loading docks on the other side of the building and into Lois's waiting car, the same PT Cruiser that Clark had bought her last Christmas.
By now, safely at home, Clark was stripped to his shorts, sitting on a table while his father-in-law talked. The Suit was draped over a nearby chair. In the early days of his daughter's marriage to the most powerful being on Earth, it had taken the General, a normally reserved and stern man, a while to get over being somewhat star struck in the presence of Superman, but after seeing him doing superhuman feats in the more relaxed persona of Clark, he too had finally accepted Clark's gifts as just unique talents rather than alien magic.
"Son, you know as well as I do that the biggest problem we're dealing with here is that you're the only one of your race on this planet. It's not like we have any texts or primers to consult," Sam Lane intoned to his son-in-law.
Clark sat, self-consciously with his hands clasped and resting between his thighs. He let out a sigh. "Sir, I'm not that different from a human. Everything's in pretty-much the same place. The physiology is nearly identical."
"I know, and actually, I've been thinking about this for a while," the General responded. "And, dammit, I am your father-in-law… when are you gonna start calling me Dad?" Before Clark could respond, the General continued.
"What would we do if we needed to treat you medically, I mean? And, I think there may be some ways to achieve that, if you're willing to put up with some experimentation. For example: how did Martha cut your hair?" Sam asked.
Clark's face twisted in amusement. "When I was very young, she used these really big garden shears. They worked until I became a teenager. At that point I became more molecularly dense, and the blades would dull or chip during a haircut. After that, we made up some scissors with the blades edged with Kryptonite. Works like a charm, but it always makes me dizzy."
"I'm wondering if we might come up with a method of shielding you from all solar radiation striking the Earth," Sam responded, rubbing his chin with his right hand. "You have a basement in this building, don't you?"
"Actually, we have a main basement, and a sub-basement," Clark responded.
"If we were to try such a thing, it might work best down there. But exactly how to do it? Not only that, but we'd have to find a way to simulate the radiation from Krypton's red sun," the General theorized.
"I'd be willing to bet that the AI at The Fortress could tell us how. If I had the crystals. Unfortunately, they were lost with the New Krypton continent when I tossed it into space," Clark mused. "Lex Luthor had one remaining crystal, which he was kind enough to return to me, but the data on it is not enough to regenerate the rest of them. Without them, I'm afraid this is no more than a thought exercise," he finished, despair evident in his voice.
"Do you know what happened to the others?" Sam asked.
"Not exactly," Clark allowed. Then he looked at Sam with an expression of reservation in his eyes. "But I can think of one way to find out."
"What's that?" his father-in-law asked.
"Looks like I'll be paying a visit to Lex Luthor," Clark announced, hopping down from the table.