5 Months Later…
9th November, 1985
Martha Phillips groaned when she sensed that aroma make its way through her nostrils- it was one she knew all too well. And sure enough, when she turned around, a few loose strands of hair whipping in the wind stream sweeping in through the open windows of the Buick Station Wagon as it drove through the highway- yet another home-baked cookie- crusted with that unique blend of chocolate and peanuts like only Ma Philips could bake them now waited for her, held firmly between the work-worn hand of said mother- Annette Marion Phillips, matron extraordinaire and currently beaming at her daughter proudly as though she was returning home in time for a victory parade or something along the lines.
"Aww, Ma," the aspiring journalist pouted, and at that moment her features, usually mature beyond her years, turned into something nostalgically youthful as she gently moved the wizened hand away from her own jaw, "I really don't have the appetite for that, now. We just ate at that diner like, forty minutes ago."
Ma nodded as she averted her gaze from her twenty-something daughter, though Martha could see the signs of dejectedness beneath that ever-brimming façade of optimism.
"I am full, really," Martha reassured her firmly, "Why don't you give one to George there? "
"No thanks, ladies," her brother's deep voice sounded out from the driver's seat, "Not feeling really hungry either, so…"
"Ahh, alright, alright," Ma spoke at length, her tone rife with mirth and wizened features nevertheless as full of life as ever, as she herself took a bite out of the cookie, "It's not a big deal. But…Martha, dear. Tell me, you are absolutely okay with this? Moving back to Smallville from the city after so long?"
Martha raised her eyebrows half-amusedly, though Ma now seemed to be very much serious about the query- despite the matter being discussed thoroughly and being laid to rest.
"Ma, like I have said a million times before, I am fine with it. If it's my career that you are worried sick about-"
"Well, your father wouldn't really approve of you leaving that job at the Star at a whim like you did just for him, and-"
"Well, his daughter can be every bit as stubborn as him, can't he? We all need to be together in times like these, alright? Family always comes first."
Ma stared at her like a proud mother hen at that, and Martha couldn't help but break off into a wide grin stretching from ear to ear as she squeezed Ma's palm.
Pa had fought the good fight with Leukemia for far, far too long- and she didn't even dare think of not being by his side- of not supporting the man who had gotten her into journalism in the first place- for even the barest fraction of a moment.
"Besides…there are like…four 'papers still operating out of Smallville, right? Ehh, I will land a job at one of them before long. You will see, everything will be alright…."
Suddenly, though, the Station Wagon came abruptly to a halt, and before Ma or Martha could ask George exactly what may have possessed him to apply the brakes without any possible rhyme or reason- Martha saw the strangest of sights through the window to her right.
It wasn't that strange, Martha would reflect back over the years when she thought of that moment over and over again- but for the life of her she didn't know why she felt like she did then, staring dumbfounded at him with his thumb raised up in the air.
A lone man- dressed in extremely baggy clothes: a striped blue and red shirt and faded jeans, one sturdy hand holding the handle of the sole luggage trolley he was carrying and the other around the leash of…a dog. A Collie, if Martha knew her farm animals right- and a beaut of one of too, stretching out a good four feet, if not more; it's white coat glistening in the sunlight, tongue wagging out of open mouth as both master and companion approached their car now. His hair was tied in a hastily made ponytail, a mild stubble adorning his…almost impossibly square jaw. A good natured, unassuming smile was plastered on his features as he bent down to greet the ladies, the pouch-like bag hung over his bag leaning to the left a bit as he did so.
"...Hello, ma'ams," he turned his head around to nod towards George peering around the back of his seat, "You too, good sir."
"Umm…Hello," Martha replied, seeming a bit more winded than she would care to admit.
"Now there's a lad with mighty fine manners, children," Ma laughed merrily as she peered closer to the window over Martha's arms, "Where are you heading to, son?"
"...Here and about, ma'am. If you could take me as far as McPherson, I would be immensely grateful towards you folks. It's…heh..him, you see," he motioned towards his dog, who for some reason seemed intensely interested in sniffing the bottom of the luggage trolley that he had been carrying around, "There's no way on Earth they let me take a big lug like him aboard public transport and the like."
"You are going south-west, right?" George offered, "How about we do you one better. Wichita sound alright to you, Mr…?"
"Kent, sir. Jonathan Kent," Kent replied, "And that would be really great, sir."
"Call me George," George grunted as he got out of the front door, opening the door at the back and motioning Kent to follow, "There's Ma, and Martha. Now we better get him on the car real quick, alright?"
"Sure. Krypto, you heard the man. Off you go now!"
Krypto immediately barked merrily, before following George and Jonathan as they led him into the back space, while Martha continued to peer at its master in a curious gaze.
Who named their dogs after Elements of the Periodic Table, now?
Though, she saw something poking out of the small hole in the back pouch, that was infinitely more strange. Upon further inspection, she was, however, sure that she was not mistaken.
A baby's face was poking out of that back pouch!
And eerily enough, as though he could suddenly feel her gaze fall upon his visage, his eyes opened, little lips pouting as his sight took in the full blunt of the sunlight piercing through the skies that day.
"Gah..?" he inquired quizzically, and immediately Martha felt as though someone had just pulled on her heart strings.
Why, she didn't have the foggiest clue, but at that moment she was clueless about a helluva lot others things too….
15 Minutes Later…
The young child seemed just as mesmerized by his new admirers as they were, or maybe even more; wide, expressive blue eyes peered at those two beaming faces, as he lay on the lap of Ma Phillips, who coddled him with the utmost care and love, while Martha fiddled his soft and surprisingly not so dry skin with her fingers every now and then.
Jonathan Kent seemed to be just as glad that his hosts were such pleasantly surprised by the child as well. It was a welcome respite from the long journey that he had been on, and of course, the dog was just as adept at showing his gratitude, an occasional eager bark to be heard from the back from time to time, as the Buick peacefully made its way through the surprisingly idyllic landscape. Or so it was to Kent's eyes, at least.
"Bless my soul…he is such a calm and quiet boy, isn't he?" Ma spoke towards Jonathan, "But…not all that demure, or the like. Those eyes…it's like he is taking in all the wonders around him, and just keeping it to himself, you know?"
Martha nodded, herself feeling quite invigorated by the presence of the little one, and how it seemed to have lightened up everyone around from the grim and dreary thoughts that had been weighing down their minds for so long.
"He takes after his mother in that department," Kent added, though immediately after his throat seemed a tad bit hoarse as he continued on, "At times, I could feel her gaze pierce all the way down to my soul…"
"Oh, I am…sorry, Jonathan," Martha offered apologetically from behind, "What…happened?"
"Accident," he replied simply, and it seemed even he was somewhat surprised by the bluntness of his answer, "Or perhaps more correctly, a cruel twist of fate. That's all I am going to say about that. After we lost her…well, we had no other relatives round about in the vicinity, and me all by my lonesome raising a boy like him, in the city no less…, plus Krypto there really doesn't like the suburbs either…so here we are, this unlikely bunch, looking to find a home…closer to our roots, you could say."
Though his words were quite plain and concise, Martha could sense the wave of emotions work their way through him as he quietly nudged back to his position. She had always been the kind to internalise whatever grief or sorrow she would acquire in order to press forward- but that didn't mean that those pains would just dissolve into nothingness in the depth of her heart. They had a nasty way of seizing upon your thoughts when you least expected it, really.
It hadn't been that long since she had actually met this man- but she couldn't help but possess a quiet admiration for this Jonathan Kent. She had met kind people before, of course- and more than half of them were kind for all sorts of wrong reasons, but rarely did she come upon people of such unapologetic honesty and possessing that degree of conviction as well.
"Hmm…" George muttered, perhaps for the first time since they had begun anew, "I don't think I caught the little tyke's name there, Kent."
"Oh, my mistake," Jonathan responded, rubbing the back of his headed as a sheepish smile graced his features, "The name's Kal..llark."
"Clark?" George reiterated, while Martha noted, that for the briefest moment, Jonathan seemed to have grown unusually jittery all of a sudden.
"Yeah," Jonathan responded, now more at ease, "Clark."
"Hmm. And how long you have been on the road now, Kent?"
"Well, five or six hours roundabout."
"Uh huh," George grunted, eyes steady and unreadable as they remained fixed towards the road, "And little Clark has been alright so far with being out in the hot sun like that? I mean, it's been a really sunny day so far."
"George!" Martha chided her brother in a stern tone, "A little easy with the tough guy routine, alright? You are not even the sole reporter in the car, for Christ's sake…!"
"Hey, I am just asking. You know, maintaining a ..healthy interest, as you eloquent types would say."
Jonathan raised his hands upwards, shrugging his broad shoulders as he proceeded to reply.
"Well, Martha, he has got a point about that. Well, I don't have much more to say than…well, the Lord has been really generous to me," Jonathan paused for a bit, a pensive look to be found in those dim blue irises as he pondered how best to continue.
"Clark's an astoundingly hardy kid, I can tell you all that much. He gives me all the more strength in order to strive to provide for him- not only a better home, but a good upbringing as well. In this age of cynicism, I know it may sound a little corny, but…he's my own little miracle boy. He makes me believe in things that I would not be able to believe on my own."
Ma stifled a sigh, and Martha suspected that she may have been trying to hide a stray tear or two welling up in her eyes- or were those tears her own? At any rate, George decided to break the unease once more, as even Jonathan had seemed to have fallen uncharacteristically quiet by then.
"Well, that's okay enough for me," George concluded, a slight smile on his gruff features, "There you go, Martha- another little footnote to add to that 'memoir of the people' of yours. If you ever decide to publish that is."
Martha punched his exposed shoulder playfully at that, and he winced away in equally casual fashion. Clark seemed somewhat amused at that too, the motion eliciting a gurgle somewhat resembling a giggle out of the little tyke for a second or two.
"You know, Jonathan, you should come visit Smallville sometime," Ma offered, Martha noting that she was back in her 'jolly wise crone' mode once again, "I fancy a quiet soul like you would like our little town. We really don't get that many outsiders visiting over there, so it would be refreshing to have a gentleman like you back there for a while. Plus, I think Clark here is going to love the landscape there too..!"
"I appreciate the gesture certainly," Jonathan replied, "…I will most certainly consider that. But…thank you once again for that, ma'am. It's nice to know that we have something to…look forward to. You folks already have been so hospitable in this short while, and…"
"Oh, can it, will ya?" Ma laughed, once again youthful exuberance piercing through the veil of old age as it did in those moments, "And call me Ma, right? Everyone does."
"Eh, alright…Ma,". Jonathan felt oddly relieved at that, to be able to call someone who was by all rights a total stranger by such an affectionate moniker.
The world still held its fair share of surprises, he mused inwardly as the journey continued on.
21st June, 1986
Oregon, Texas
Jim Harper rolled the wheelchair forward towards the little wine bar in the corner of his modest home- but even though it had been close to a year since he had gotten that cursed contraption, he was still prone to sudden moments of forgetfulness. Not remembering that he didn't possess as much vigour or mobility as he was used to possessing for the greater part of his adult life. That his legs had to be severed from the knee downwards. That the rest of the world had simply moved on and left him behind- there on that little piece of land that he could call his home, his parents long since dead by the time he had returned.
The General saw that the former Lieutenant seemed to have halted in his tracks, and so he took it upon himself to fetch the drinks and the glasses, promptly raising from the sofa and striding towards the bar himself.
"It's alright, Harper," Sam Lane told the man, giving a brief pat on his shoulders as he passed him by, "I can see to the wine myself- if you could just point out the cupboard where you keep the glasses and such…?"
"..It's there," Harper spoke, his voice uneven as he showed the General where to find the drinks, "…Sir, you really didn't need to do that."
"Nonsense," Lane responded, now carrying two glasses and a bottle of bourbon back to the little coffee table by the sofa, "The President gave you the Congressional Medal of Honor for the service you have done for your country- the least I can do is to serve this lucky man some wine, right?"
Harper smiled slightly- though it was more out of his respect and admiration for the man than anything else. He certainly did not consider himself 'lucky' at the moment at any rate.
General Lane seemed to have lost himself in pensive thought for a moment or two himself, simply opening the bottle with a cork opener and pouring the dark bourbon onto the conical glasses. They had a quiet toast to themselves, and Lane seemed to well appreciate the maturity of the tonic after a sip or two, a slight sparkle in those dull grey irises as he put down his own glass.
"Hmm, never knew that '59 was that much of a good year for Bourbon."
"Well, my father was known to dabble in such things from time to time, Sir," Harper offered, his tone a little more somber than he had intended, "A connoisseur, you could call him even."
Lane nodded thoughtfully, as he reached for the military jacket he had slung over the sofa's arm. Sam Lane was probably not that much older than Harper, he noted- at least compared to other high brass he had the opportunity to come into contact with. There was a significant amount of grey in that short-cropped hair, sure, but the remaining hazel was still quite raw and possessing that natural sheen not to be found from rigorous use of hair dyes.
The General seemed to fish in the coat packets for something for a bit, then brought out a sheet of folded paper from within.
Ahh, so that must be the reason for which a two star General had made the point to travel all the way to his doorsteps- after all, even though he had been a Ranger for a good five years of his professional life- it had been as an operative of the CIA that he had…retired from his career.
"Son..here, read this. I know you have done already so much for God and Country, but there's this last thing we would ask from you."
He grimaced a little bit as he took the paper- he certainly didn't feel like he had done much for anything. He rather felt like he had let everyone down with that stupid stunt in Kansas- his unit, first and foremost, and maybe even his country. Heck, the world was raving about the muck-up the Soviets had made with the Chernobyl disaster, but for some ridiculous reason he felt as though him failing in his mission like he did was somehow infinitely worse for the entire world.
He didn't feel like he had helped anything at all.
He could have done so…so much more if he had still been in the Guardian Initiative.
Opening the folds- he couldn't help but raise his eyebrows upon seeing the twin emblems- both depicting a bald eagle perched atop a star-centered shield; but the intrinsic differences were instantly familiar to his eyes. A third emblem lay at the bottom- the globe with two ribbons circling over, a laurel spread out at the bottom.
CIA, NSA, and then…DIA (Defense Intelligence Agency) working in collaboration like this?
His eyes darted towards the General once again. A Major General…of course. He has to a deputy director for one of the agencies…and he had his money on the DIA. That's pretty unorthodox of the current administration- to place someone so relatively young in such a critical position. Then again, the current underlying situation the intelligence communities now found themselves in did require a certain degree of unorthodoxy and improvisation, he mused.
He skimmed through the more or less jargon- filled letter, though the words 'Section IV of Project C.A.D.M.U.S" caught his eye.
"Cadmus?" Harper reiterated, pen twirling in hand as he continued to read through.
"That's a name you are going to hear a lot more throughout the years, son. A large part of it is going to transition into the mainstream community over a few years- but that's not where you are concerned with. I suppose by now you have understood what we are asking from you?"
Harper nodded, more or less perfectly understanding what the entire purpose of the visit was, now. He put pen to paper and signed where it was required without hesitation, and handed the folded paper back to the General- who took with a nod of gratitude and ..perhaps, quiet pride.
There was just one last thing Harper had to know though- it had resurfaced in his mind ever since General Lane had walked into his house half an hour ago.
"Sir…is there any progress in acquiring…the-"
"We call him subject BETA now," Lane finished the sentence for him, "Biological Extra Terrestrial Alpha. And as regards to your question" Lane paused as he walked towards the front door, Harper following his side in the chair, "We lost his trail shortly after the initial contact."
Harper nodded at that, a disappointment creeping up his spine at that news. Well over a year, and they had lost complete track of what could have been the most dangerous liability to the security of his nation. It was hard to not let that disappointment show up on his stoic features as he opened the door for General Lane.
"You know," Lane added, almost as an afterthought, "There are times I wonder. He learnt the entire English language in the space of an hour and a half. He's had over a year by now. Just how deeply has subject BETA integrated himself into human society by now…?"
"It's a question well worth asking, sir."
"Indeed, Lieutenant," Lane agreed as he stood once again at the doorsteps, "It's the kind of question that keeps me awake at nights for hours at end, more often than not. Frankly, I am mildly surprised that I am not hearing that's the case with a hella lot of my colleagues, though…"
23rd October, 1986
Smallville, Kansas
George sighed in relief as he disembarked from the tractor, signaling the driver of the thresher rolling through the fields a few meters away.
Reaching for the bottle of water, and another hand reaching for the already dirt-stained handkerchief in his pocket, the elder Phillips could not help but smile at being greeted by that wide grin plastered on the face of Jonathan Kent- who, strangely enough, did not seem nearly as exhausted by doing farm work for the last couple of hours as George did- hell, more like he seemed to have gotten a decent workout, judging from the bulging biceps exposed by his farm gear.
"Well, you sure you didn't spend a lot of time tilling the land and the like before this, Kent?" George grunted after gulping down the water, as both of them headed towards the Phillips family stable.
"Well…I have had some previous knowledge about land and how it works, you could say, George. Just maybe not so…direct as what we just did, though."
"Heh," George muttered half amusedly, wiping the voluminous sweat off his face with the handkerchief, "I like how you kind of spin people around in riddles like that. Never get into the heart of the matter, eh?"
"Well, there are a whole lot of unnecessary complications wound up in my past," Kent replied a bit more thoughtfully, fingers absentmindedly scratching the stubble he now had on his square jaw, "and I don't want to bore folks with all the talk of the past. Looking towards the future is more like what I prefer, I suppose."
"Uh huh. Look, Kent, I appreciate it, you know?"
"You mean lending a hand with your work today?"
"Well, that and a whole lot more. I know you came here with little Clark and that dog to get a little respite from it all, but here you are, staying in this little hick town for a month running, helping all of us cope with losing Pa and that. Making Ma and Martha laugh again with that weird charm of yours. Hell, even the townsfolk appreciate your presence, you know?"
Jonathan simply gave an understanding smile, waving his hands at Martha, who had come out of the stable with Clark held firmly between her arms- both her and the child laughing joyously at some private joke they seemed to share between each other, while Ma shook her head from within, busy at mixing the right amount of ingredients into the pool for cows' feed.
"Well, I would be lying if I didn't say that I wasn't a bit selfish in coming here," Kent began at length, "Clark seems to be…well at home in you good folks' company. This last month has been just as good to me, if not more, as it has been for you, George."
"Well, ain't that fine and dandy to hear. Pity though, that you have to leave eventually. When have you gotta skeddadle for your work in Arkansas, now?"
"Yeah, about that," Jonathan replied, a sheepish grin plastered on his features as he rubbed the back of his head, "I am moving here, to Smallville. Permanently too, it seems."
"Oh?" George stared at Kent for a moment as they approached the stable, "Well that's some news. Why tell this to me first of all people though?"
"I was going to announce that when all of us were together see, but…well, you kind of asked about it, and I hate to not answer a question when someone asks that right to my face. So…there's that, I guess."
"…You got a strange sense of truth and righteousness in there, Kent. But ehh then there's a whole lot of other things mighty strange about you, anyways. Where you moving into hereabout, then?"
"Ohh, there was this little little farmhouse lying about untended, just across where the Langs live, see? The owners live off the state, have done so for the better part of the last thirty years, I hear."
"Yeah, I remember that one. Alexander Luthor, was the old farmer's name who used to own that. After Lionel grew up- we used to be in the same class, I remember- and the old man croaked, young Luthor simply moved out to one of them new-fangled cities that started springing out a couple years ago. You know, Coast City, Keystone City, Central City, and what's the last one, now…"
"Metropolis, I believe it's called," Jonathan finished for George, "But at any rate, I managed to buy the property, and that's where me, Clark and the dog are moving in after we can get all the clothes, furniture and stuff brought here from Arkansas."
"Well…it's a good piece of land," George admitted, "And it would be good to have you here as a permanent resident too, you know? Aside from childbirths this town has scarcely seen any new folk take up residence over the years, really…"
"Well, let's announce the good news to Ma and Martha shall we? Besides it's been some time since I fed Krypto too, bet he's been downright starving by now…"
Yeah, well he better not go after my personal stash of horse feed like he did last time…"
15th November, 1989
Hartford, Connecticut
"….if you seek peace, if you seek prosperity for the Soviet Union and eastern Europe, if you seek liberalization, come here to this gate," President Reagan's voice, normally calm and measured, though always quite robust and full of energy, now thundered through the television speakers as the news clip continued on, showing the veteran commander in chief giving the speech two years prior in front of the Brandenburg Gate, "Mr. Gorbachev, open this gate. Mr. Gorbachev, Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!"
Sam Lane, seated in the living room of his own home for once as opposed to being otherwise occupied by his job, could not help but sport a wry smile as he picked up the receiver of the phone, fingers engaged in dialing the numbers while the news now switched to the newscaster, joined by two additional commentators at either side.
"And he did," the newscaster began in a reverent tone, "From measures such as the Perestroika and Glasnost, President Gorbachev has pioneered, under the auspices of leaders such as our own President of the United States, the liberation of the entire Eastern Europe from the clutches of Communism, and it's impact was most felt in East Germany in November 9th- and already that day has been etched into the history books, when the Berlin Wall fell and ostensibly the Iron Curtain was removed once and for all, as-"
Lane, though, had bigger problems on his mind now than hearing the umpteenth broadcast pronouncing good old Communism being trounced by Uncle Sam and his allies, so he put the TV on mute as he waited for the line to connect.
It did so after a few seconds, and the familiar voice of Emil Hamilton, operational head of Section IV of C.A.D.M.U.S. poured through the speaker. Section IV had now come to be called as 'S.T.A.R.' Division, one of the many similarly named branches that had opened due to the massive specialisaton that was going on in the entire project itself.
Of course that was all background noise now- and Lane immediately got to the point after the initial pleasantries were exchanged.
"Alright, Hamilton…I understand you submitted that Annual Budget like you were supposed to do by the end of this week?"
"Well, yes…I suppose I did, General. Why, did I actually forget to finalise the draft..? I have been admittedly very busy in certain developments with the-"
Lane groaned loudly. Hamilton was well known for his frequent bouts of absent-mindedness- how he had managed to have a hand in pioneering four of the last ten technological breakthroughs of the decade, Lane hadn't the foggiest clue.
"..Well, I did get the draft on my desk last Tuesday. And…can you explain to me why exactly you ironed out one particular…long standing project from the balance sheet, as it were?"
"…Oh bother. You are referring to Operation: Enduring Vigilance, aren't you?"
"The very same, Professor. So, what gave you the bright idea to cross out that little name off the draft, now?"
"…Look, Lane," Hamilton's voice was suddenly more serious, a stunning chance from his usually apologetic tone, "I know just how adamant you are about securing subject BETA's location. But the truth of the situation is that, by now it's downright impossible, is what it is. What are the four goddamned satellites you want to have requistioned for this purpose even supposed to do? Squinting for beings who could leap an eighth of a mile? Strength great enough to lift up cars like paperweight? By now, there are at least two dozen metahumans who fit that particular criteria. People like Captain Marvel, the soon to be defunct Rocket Red operatives, and these bunch of other heroes, like Alan Scott from the JSA…hell, half of these people are able to fly as well, and-"
"I didn't ask you to express your opinion about the matter, Hamilton. The project requires…what south of 30 billion? We spend at least five times that much each year on nuclear proliferation, and I will be damned if I let you talk me into disbanding the program."
"Well…you are my superior on the project. I won't argue with you on the matter, seeing as it's not my money that you are asking to be invested into this project, so feel perfectly free to put the entry back in the 'balance sheet' as you said. Now if you will excuse me, I have more urgent matters to attend to, like this meeting I have with this quaint little software company executive… what's his name again, Joyce? Oh yeah, right, …Bill Gates III…, right, how can I forget a name like that-"
Lane put down his own receiver when he realised that the Professor had forgot to place the one at the other end of the connection into the main set.
"I swear, some day idiots like him will be the death of me…" Lane muttered under his breath as he got up from the sofa, heading towards his wife, Joanne, who was cradling their second born- the five month old Lucy- in her arms, standing not far away from his seven year old firstborn, the somewhat indifferent Lois doodling something in her notepad on the dining table.
Jesus, he had grown quite detached from that girl, hadn't he? Or perhaps it was the other way around. He didn't know. Seven was too young a age for children to rebel or do any of that counter culture mania that seemed to pop up every once in a decade. Or so he had thought at least. You never know with kids. Each generation infinitely more befuddling than the previous one, his own esteemed father had drilled into him.
He tried to make eye-contact with the girl, but the raven haired child seemed predominantly occupied with the random doodling on her beloved notepad. Yeah, he could see her turn into a latter day Woodward and Bernstein just yet.
These little holidays to home were already quite scarce as they were- and now he was feeling as though they were just flying right past him now, brief interludes before burying himself again in his work.
At least pursuing subject BETA remained the one constant of his life throughout the years, he mused.
19th February, 1992
The Cemetery, Smallville, Kansas
Jonathan held onto Clark's shoulders tightly, as they stood under the shade of a particularly large tree- huddled with fellow mourners at the passing of the last remaining Phillips- George had died in a simple car accident, but then again, there was nothing 'simple' about death. Specially for the loved ones of the departed- and perhaps even more so when counting the fact that Martha had so recently come to terms about losing Ma to a stroke a year earlier. The burial and the following ceremony with now being done with, she was currently amongst the Langs, standing not too far away from where the father and son were now, as the neighbors tried to provide her comfort as best as they could under the circumstance.
Life was such a precious, beautiful thing, and it was always such a waste when he saw one flame of such hope and energy being cruelly extinguished like that. He had come to regard Ma and George as not only good-natured human beings as a whole, but for the last two years, they had been his in-laws as well.
"I don't understand," Clark finally spoke at length, his tiny voice rife with uncertainty and confusion, "Why is Ma so sad? Why is everyone so sad? Why are we all wearing black?"
"…You don't like wearing black?" Jonathan asked, peering down at the young child as he was wont to do, scratching the streamlined beard that now graced his face. His hair although a little longer, was still styled in that ponytail as it had been since…forever, it almost seemed to Jonathan.
"I hate it. It's such a glum colour. It's just…nothing. Plus, I hate wearing this much tight clothes, too."
"Well, pal, you better get in practice of wearing tuxedoes before long, otherwise you are going to run into some trouble when it comes to landing girls at a later age, see."
"…That's just gross, Pa," Clark scoffed, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "But you didn't really answer my question from before, now."
Jonathan spared a brief smile for the child- he was a lot smarter than his looks would confer, it seemed. The smile passed though, replaced once again by the glum expression present on pretty much everyone's faces for the last few days.
"…It's your uncle George, Clark. He…well, he left us after that accident. He went to a better place, Clark. Like your grandma before him."
"…That doesn't make sense."
Jonathan's expression grew a bit darker. Perhaps, the little tyke was maturing at too fast a rate to his liking.
"Well, that's about as much as you are going to get at this age, son."
"Well, you are lying. I can still see Uncle George here, for one thing. He didn't go anywhere."
Jonathan was caught thoroughly off-guard with that- almost losing his center of balance for a the barest fraction of a second before composing himself once again.
"…Clark, we are going to speak in…that other language I taught you, alright? In exactly that amount of low voice like we practiced."
Clark raised his eyebrows at that, but complied without much second thought. As they spoke in the native tongue of the Kryptonians, their lips barely moved- and the sounds being uttered were of too low a frequency for even the keenest canine to detect with their ears.
"[…What do you exactly…see, son?]"
"[…well, I can see Uncle George, lying in this strangely decorated…wooden box. Dressed in the stupid clothes like all men are wearing. Hands upon chest, eyes closed…like he is sleeping. But why sleep that deep under the ground?]"
Jonathan stared at his son for what seemed like the longest time, a grave sense of urgency now seizing upon his mind.
"[…how long have you been able to see like that, Kal-El?]"
"[…I don't remember that well. A short bit after I could hear like you, I reckon.]"
"[Why didn't you tell me about this before..?]"
"[Well, you never asked. And I thought you ..just knew.]"
Well, this added a whole another dimension to whatever fledgling theories he had developed about the growth of these powers they had possessed. Jor-El possessed miraculously keen eyesight, yes, but at best he could see things as best as the most gifted eagle, perhaps. His eyes definitely could not pierce straight through six feet of soil and dirt like that.
"[…I don't understand. I can't even hear the small beating anymore. Maybe if I saw more-]"
"[No.]" Jonathan had almost shouted, startling Clark with the sudden rise in amplitude.
If the child were to see beneath the coffins of each and every dead men and women in Smallville like that…he could not take that risk.
"[No.]" he said again once more, a little less forcefully as he bowed his head and motioned Clark to turn around, "[Let us head for our home. We have much to discuss about regarding our situation, it seems. Now let us revert to English once again…]"
"...Is Ma going to be in on that talk?" Clark asked rather bluntly, and Jonathan paused a little bit, a brief flash of the turmoil and uproar threatening to spill forth into the man's psyche appearing on his dull blue eyes as he did so.
"That's part of the discussion as well, I suppose…"
28th February, 1992
Martha stood outside the stables, feeling as though the weight of the entire world had just been thrust upon her by the man who she had called her husband for the last two years.
"…I don't believe this," Martha's voice was shaking, as a tormented Jonathan stood in front of her, "What kind of stupid joke are you trying to…"
Jor-El bit his lip, averting his gaze towards the ground, the starry skies and general quietness making him feel like he was the loneliest person in the world at that moment. He had wrestled within for the last week or so about whether or not to reveal this to her. He had changed his mind more times than he could count. No more. He wouldn't back down now, and he would have to accept the consequences, whatever they may be.
"Martha, this is no joke. My real name is...Jor-El. And Clark…he is Kal-El. We are natives of the planet Krypton. Escaping from a doomed world, we both got stranded on this world about seven years ago in the reckoning of the Gregorian Calendar, and our arc was acquired by the US government on the night of our arrival-"
"Please. Just stop," Martha cried, "You are just making this up. First your dog, now you name a fictional planet after a chemical element. Don't mess around with me like that. Please…"
"…Look into my eyes, Martha. You are a reporter. You have to know truth when it's staring you dead in the eyes. Tell me, do they like the eyes of a lying man?"
Martha peered into those dull blue, almost impenetrable irises for what seemed like hours at end- before resolving that however improbable it had sounded, it must be true.
There were people flying around claiming they derived powers from magic, supposed madmen and lunatics claiming they hailed from other dimensions or mythical kingdoms thought long lost to the abyss…was that too much of a far leap to believe that the two most important persons in her life were strange visitors from outer space?
It had to be true, she reasoned.
She felt like she had been stabbed with the sharpest dagger at the most vulnerable point in her heart.
It was only her undying journalistic spirit that made her ask the next question.
"Why now?" she murmured, her breath growing heavy, "Why wait all these years?"
"…We both possess…abilities. Due to exposure to the myriads of waves being emitted from the yellow sun. Clark has shown signs of…unexpected development. His powers are growing at a faster, and more erratic rate than I had initially gleaned. It would simply be futile to continue to hide the matter from you."
"…Why do you call him Clark? That's simply a façade, right? Why even bother to do all this-"
"Please, Martha. He is Clark Kent just as much as he is Kal-El. He is a child of both worlds now. He is your son just as much he is mine. Please…just don't let this…"
"…Who am I supposed to trust now?" Martha murmured, warm tears sliding down her face as he fought to prevent her knees from buckling, "You are not my husband anymore. Clark…I don't know if I can take this. It's just…"
"…I almost decided upon slipping out in the middle of the night, you know? Just whisk Clark and the dog away to parts unknown without letting you know. What we had for the last few years…it was a beautiful dream. When you would have woken up, and seen that we had disappeared, it would have been like the dream had simply ended.
"But I figured…you deserved more of an explanation than that."
Martha didn't respond, her eyes vehemently fixed at the muddy ground as he struggled for more words.
"…I may have been Jor-El when I ventured out of Dighton all those years ago, Martha, but now, I am just Jonathan Kent. Plain old hick farmer with the most ridiculous beard this side of the Missouri. I struggled with finding any signs of my fellow Kryptonians for the first couple of years…but even an eternal optimist like me saw the hard truth after a while. Me and Clark…we were just a fluke. A joke of cosmic nature perhaps. I don't know if the others are alive or dead. If they are on the next star system or in the next galaxy. I don't have…any darned idea about that at all. Even after all these years of research.
"Over the years, I abandoned that little Kryptonian in me, little by little. I taught Clark about the customs and how to control his abilities as well as I could, but I thought more and more of myself as an earth-born as time passed. By the time we took our vows, Martha, I had fallen completely and hopelessly in love with you. It may have seemed like a logical choice, to marry to provide a good mother for Clark. But I was always driven more by my heart than my brain. And this stupid heart told me 'go get her. You don't get more than one second chance in your life.'"
Warm tears were now flowing down Jor-El's face as well, as he made himself stare straight at the quivering Martha, who seemed to have been affected by this honest heart-to-heart as much as he was.
"Please, we can make this work. I am as ticked off about my beard as the next sane person is- it's part of the increase in density in both of our bodies' structure, so it's gotten darn near impossible to shave. But I promise to try to work around that, at least. Every little thing that bothers you, I can…Lord, I am running around in circles, ain't I? After Ma, and George…we four are all we have left in the whole wide world. You, me, Clark. Even the damned dog. But we are as pure a family as there has ever been. Please. We can make this work."
Martha finally spoke after that, wiping the tears with still shaking hands, not being able to draw level with his eyes yet as she took one step closer.
"…Is the dog an alien as well, now?"
"Krypto? No, he is as hundred percent earth-born as it gets. Though his boundless curiosity and energy sometimes baffles me as to his origin…"
"Yeah. We have pretty strange creatures down here on Earth, as well. I am sure you have probably guessed that by now, and…"
Jonathan drew closer as well, and after what seemed like an eternity, he wrapped his large arms around her tiny, almost fragile frame. He held her more tenderly than she ever remembered him as, slowly, but surely, she raised her arms around him as well.
They both cried openly after that. For as long as they could, until the load weighing them down had gotten lighter.
"…I have…so many questions," she said at length with a sigh. Already, she was feeling a helluva lot lighter than before.
"We can get to that later on. First, open your eyes," Jonathan murmured into her ears.
She did, and at first she didn't notice any difference at all. Then she realised that it was a lot more windy and colder than she had felt seconds prior. Almost instinctively, her eyes darted downwards- and they went as wide as saucers when she saw that they were hovering in mid air. Dozens of feet above the ground.
She had seen the thing on TV a couple of times, so she shouldn't nearly be as surprised- but she couldn't help being overcome with a sudden wave of fear and nausea. Gravity was working on her body in a really funny way, probably angry at her for defying its laws in such blatant fashion. All that doubt, worry she had put away only minutes before now threatened to resurface once again. All of that…
No. She would not falter. She stared deep into his eyes, that same unwavering honesty and conviction to be found in them as she had found that sunny day on the highway all those years ago. She had to trust him. She had to trust the man who had poured his heart, and his most valuable secret out to him like that.
Slowly, she closed her eyes once again and parted her lips, and edged forward. He understood the motion, and drew forward as well, and their lips locked together in loving embrace. It was not as much passionate as it was platonic. But it conveyed what neither had been able to convey through mere words. That they finally…understood.
They were part of a family. And come what may in the future, they will make it work.
