More words finally made their way onto the computer. (Blessings upon FFNet , even if their download software takes a sysadmin to navigate it, because they have all that's left of what was on my hard drive. Here's hoping they have serious backup capability in case of solar storm EMP.)

Chapter three. Clark and his old babysitter deviously get rid of the parents for the weekend. (Who would believe Clark Kent could be devious?) The real stuff that WaffleNinja wanted is yet to come, but I wanted to get this off before the next lightning storm.

Off-topic shout-out: a TWoP review referred to Clark as looking like a Labrador retriever. I laughed so hard, my Very Stupid black Lab puppy gave me a confused Clark look. I laughed again every time the puppy looked at me. The ears even convey the same expression. If you've never seen a black Lab puppy looking confused at you, just put questioning eyes, ears, and a curious wagging tail on Tom Welling. If Shelby had been a black Lab, the camera wouldn't have been able to tell them apart in long distance shots.

Hopefully I'll be able to get through this without the dog stealing the scene. Though if Lab puppy gives me THAT look again, all bets are off.

"Hey, mom!" Clark bounded through the door like (no, I'm not going to say it). "Guess who's here!"

"From the sound of the engine," Martha said mildly, not looking up from the table where she was tabulating columns, "I'd say it was someone who has an obsessive-compulsive attachment to a car that should have been buried with honors three administrations ago." She abandoned the paperwork to get up and give her childhood friend a light hug. "Jia! What brings you all the way out here? Teaching yoga is so boring you have to come to Smallville for excitement?"

Jane had long ago given up on trying to explain to Martha that her midwestern-accent attempt at the foreign name was actually a mild obscenity. Marty would always insist on believing that she was honoring her friend with a valiant attempt.

"Actually, I came to ask you a favor." She caught Clark's eyes over Martha's shoulder, and barely managed the slight warning expression to get it through to him that he was not to jump up and down and whoop. "I was so bored, I called into one of those radio contests the other day, and look what." She held out two tickets.

"I won the Metropolis Orchestra Night Out concert tickets, can you believe it? Like I'd know what to do with a concert ticket, never mind a weekend at some hotel. I was hoping for the automatic vacuum, you know, that little robot thing. They were giving away some thousand of them, they're such trash, but I could always use it to chase the cat out from under the bed. Instead I get the grand prize. I should only have such luck with the cat. I don't suppose you and Jonny would be interested in the concert? Hate to see it go to waste."

Martha stood there, so paralyzed that Clark gave her a worried look. "The … Metropolis … Night… Out ?"

"This weekend, I think." She peered at the tickets. (Pretended to, anyway, Clark noted, seeing as that her irises didn't change size.) "Sorry about the short notice. I didn't even think to look at what I thought was junk mail until somebody mentioned that someone around here had won them."

(Outright lie, Clark thought unhappily, picking up without even trying on the indications, as her heart rate and blood pressure changed. Drat it all, was he never going to be able to just let people mean what they wanted to say?)

"It covers some kind of breakfast, probably the usual so-called continental coffee and stale biscuits, but it doesn't say anything about parking." She sounded disappointed. Flat lie again, Clark heard in the slight change in pitch. She knew exactly what it included.

"Oh, well." Jane shrugged. "The hotel should cover parking for the night. If they give you a hard time, I have a student whose dad is a lawyer." She turned away so that Martha would not see her wink at Clark. Clark had to pretend to go to the bathroom to keep from choking on laughter in front of his mom.

The front door opened as the hall door closed. "Hello, beautiful." Jonathan had slapped off as much of the yard dirt as he could, but he still only air-kissed at Martha. "And hello, long-time-no-see, beautiful lady." He bowed a little in lieu of offering a grimy hand. "What brings you out our way, seeing as no one is the victim of farm tools this time?"

For answer, Jane held out the two slips of cardboard. Martha crossed her arms and bowed her head. It was too much to accept, to much to ask….

"The … Night Out …?" Jonathan repeated in disbelief.

"Me and my stupid luck. Can't get what I want, can't use what I get." Jane flipped a hand. "I can't even sit for three hours without having someone come straighten my back out to be able to stand up and walk. And a hotel room? I have a cat sitter, but Brandy would claw my face if she thought I'd left her over the weekend to sit by myself in a hotel room."

"Jonathan," Martha said hesitantly.

"I know, I know." Jonathan closed his eyes briefly. "I was…. I really did have something planned for our anniversary. A picnic in the park. I even had some flowers picked out. But I … I can't compete with this. I'm sorry."

Jane strolled up to him, the trained controlled swagger of a competition gymnast used to performing for the judges, and shoved the man - who was more than a foot taller, and nearly triple her weight - back against the counter, flat hand to his chest.

"YOU'RE sorry? Jonny Kent, if I ever hear that from you again, I WILL hit you. No matter how many bones I break. YOU'RE sorry? You trusted me with the most amazing revelation that anyone could ever have been privileged to have. You made MY life worth living, to know what miracles are possible! You have accomplished wonders that entire worlds would respect, you have done more than I would have trusted anyone else in history to do, and YOU'RE SORRY? Go take a shower, and pack for the weekend, before I change my mind about hitting you."

She cursed briefly in a language and words that she would not have used, had she remembered that Clark could both hear and remember everything.

Jonathan looked helplessly between the two women. Martha was looking down, biting her lip. Jane was glaring at him, hand clenched on her cane as if ready to use it as a weapon. He was stronger than anyone in the county, except Clark (well, that was kind of out of the ball park), but he was helpless before the silence of the two small women.

"I don't have anything to wear," he ventured.

"Jonny, anything clean and without holes will do. Nobody's taking pictures." I hope, she subvocalized. On the other side of the wall, Clark fought very hard not to make a noise. "Besides, with Marty beside you, who's going to look at YOU?" Clark peered around the corner and gave her a thumbs up.

"I think I can still wear my red dress," Martha said hesitantly.

"Oh, honey. That would be perfect. Let me wash up while you pack. Clark!"

Busted. Clark had yet to learn that although humans had nothing close to his senses, they had eyes in the back of their heads when it came to their children. "Yeah, dad?"

"I know it's a lot to ask, son. But it would mean something … very special to your mother and me, if you could take care of the farm. Just for one day."

Clark rolled his eyes, a gesture he'd learned from Pete. (Actually from Pete's brother Stan, and in a context that he wasn't about to mention to his parents, but it seemed appropriate.) "Dad. I know not to milk the cows at high speed, or scare the chickens, and if the electric does go out again, I won't try anything more than the usual. I didn't break anything last time, okay?"

"That's true." Jonathan ruffled his hair. Clark endured it. He wasn't quite old enough yet to care what his hair looked like. "Thanks, son. We'll try to make it up to you."

Clark went very still, his eyes suspiciously bright, for just a second - a long time, at his speed of perception. "Dad…. What you've already done for me, I can't ever repay."