Ummmmmm hi? If you're still reading, thanks for sticking this one out. I'm hoping to finish before the sequel comes out. Lots of love.


Sam was seven years old when she first remembered feeling pain.

She had been doing normal little girl things, playing make believe, dressing up, singing – it didn't matter. She was making too much noise, her dad barged in, dragged her outside to the hallway, yelled in her face, and shoved her into the wall. It was five minutes until her mother snuck up the stairs and found her crying quietly in a heap on the floor.

She remembered the emotional pain of not having a lot of friends as an adolescent girl. She had Clark, which was more than she deserved, but there were no girl friends, no slumber parties, no shopping for dresses, or anything of that kind. She'd see other classmates run off on Friday's into one mom's van, ecstatic for the night of pizza and movies and gossiping all night. She would walk home with Clark instead.

Then there was the feeling of getting her mom's diagnostic. It knocked her down and hit her like a ton of bricks – that was something that would take centuries to erase the sting. It was only after putting her mom to sleep later that night that she curled up in her bed, crying for something that she couldn't even control.

But this. This pain, she didn't know. It was new and terrifying and completely foreign. The feeling that her heart had been ripped out of her chest and that there was this empty hole that could only be filled by changing the past. The feeling that if only she had done something different that things would be different. At the very least, she would feel different. She wouldn't be sitting on Clark's floor, head leaned back against his bed and completely useless as the world went searching for her best friend. Martha had left her some time ago, most likely after realizing that she was getting nothing from the crying woman on the floor. She knew nothing of where Clark was, where he was going, and what he was doing. But in all honesty, neither did Sam.

She needed to leave. Now. She'd already been there too long, spent too much time surrounded by the Clark and his life – she needed to get out. Back to the real world. Back to her mother and her job and her directionless life. Not to mention she was supposed to be at the hospital in Metropolis in an hour. With her clothes from the previous night shoved under her arms and keys in hand, she flew down the stairs, yelled to Martha something like she would be back later, and practically ran to the car parked outside.

She made it ten yards past the mailbox before some one was honking at her, waving at her from the car window to pull over.

Ignoring the obvious questions, like why the hell some one else is on this road, in a Prius nonetheless, Sam simply took a deep breath and complied with the stranger. Decency was always the route to take, most of the time.

She pulled half off the road and into the grass, quickly turning the suburban off and jumping onto the gravel below her. She stood and watched as a young woman with long red hair emerged from the other side of the road. She had on a white blouse with dress pants and heels, obviously from the city and most likely lost in the back roads of Smallville. Great. She didn't have time for dumb questions and directionless girls.

"Excuse me," the redhead said as she lifted her sunglasses and put them atop her head. She had a pretty face, dolled up for the day – obviously. "Were you just coming from the Kent residence?"

"Um…" Sam trailed off, not at all expecting that sort of question. The woman didn't seem like a government official or whatever they were called these days. She didn't have a gun that she could see and she had a Kansas license plate on that stupid Prius; she seemed like a relatively normal person, just out of her zone and lost in the country.

The woman shook her head. "I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself. Lois Lane, Daily Planet." She stepped forward and stuck her manicured hand out.

Sam hesitantly shook it, still not entirely convinced as to why she was here. "Nice to meet you," she said more out of respect than truth.

"So," Lois continued, "were you? Is that where Clark lives?"

She became defensive, not trusting this strange woman who coincidently appeared after the news last night which singled Clark out. "Why are you asking?"

Lois seemed prepared for this, she answered without a second thought. "I'm not here to turn Clark in. I'm just here to ask him some questions."

"He's not here," Sam told her, looking at the ground. "He left this morning."

"Well then do you know where I could find him?" Lois pushed, not giving up.

Sam raised her head and looked straight at the journalist, speaking, "Look, Lois, right? Even if I did know where he was, do you really think I would tell you? The Daily Planet doesn't exactly have the best reputation around and considering `everything that has happened, I think it'd be best if his whereabouts weren't plastered to a headline."

Lois shrugged. "I understand that. But I'm not here to exploit him. I'm here to help him. So can you help me or not?"

"I can't, sorry," Sam told her.

The redhead took a deep breath before talking. "Sorry to waste your time, then." She turned around and started to walk on the road which lead to the Kent's driveway.

Now that took her by surprise. "Hey, hey, Lois!" she called out as she jogged to catch up to the woman. "What are you doing?"

Lois turned her head, but didn't stop. "To the house. If Martha's home, she might know more."

Like hell she would. She didn't even know Clark was missing or in danger of any kind, let alone about to turn himself over to some – alien. And if anyone was going to tell her about it, it would come from her or Clark, not some reporter lady who thinks she can play God in the situation.

"Lois, stop. Hold on a minute." She did, finally turning around to look at Sam. She crossed her arms over her chest and she waited for her to speak.

Sam spoke, "Please, don't go in there. You don't – you don't understand. Martha, she doesn't know anything about what's going on. She didn't see the message last night and has no idea where Clark is. I promise you that's the truth. Don't talk to her – please . I'll tell her, I promise. Just, don't go in there and destroy her world."

Lois looked at her with a blank stare, blue eyes hard and questioning. She had no place to talk to Martha, no right to even be here and yet she was the one who was calling the shots. It was more than upsetting, but there was nothing she could do but hope and wait.

Finally – finally – Lois lowered her arms and nodded. "Fine. Fine, okay. I won't go in."

Sam took a deep breath. "Thank you. Really. This means a lot to me."

"Yeah," she said as she made her way back to her Prius. "Forget it. I knew coming out here would be pointless."

Well, if that's what she thought. "I hope things work out for you," Sam offered.

She was halfway into the car before she spoke again. "You're sure you don't know anything?"

"Nothing more than the rest of the world does." That wasn't true, but she held none of the information the reporter was looking for.

"Well then," Lois started, "thanks anyways." She climbed into the seat, started her car back up, and made her way back where she came from. Sam stared at the trail of dust until it disappeared back into the air and earth. Things were settled.


With the old suburban parked in its makeshift spot on the lawn, Sam trudged her way under the morning sun on to the deck and into the old house – unlocked, as always. She ran a hand through her hair as she made her way into the kitchen, already thinking about a breakfast which she wasn't hungry for and a list of errands she didn't want to do in order to keep her brain occupied.

She didn't know how to act – what to feel. Her best friend was being hunted. That said best friend was most likely turning himself over to God knows what at this very moment. Not to mention, he also kissed her last night. Oh, she also kissed him back. Then he disappeared.

She opened her refrigerator, really wanting a nice shot of bourbon but accepting a glass of orange juice as a nice substitute. She reached for a glass and began pouring the drink –

"Sam."

And then the entire carton was on the floor.

Looking up, she saw Clark standing ten feet away from her, but in complete honesty she could barely tell it was him. The face was Clark, the curls and the baby blue eyes; but the body, the clothes, and even the stance was some foreign being that she had no recollection of. He was wearing a tight, metal-like suit, dark blue and red, that would shine out of the corner of her eye if the light hit it right. A long red cape settled on his back – was he always this big? – and swished on the floor. And right in the middle of his chest was an upside down triangle with an S inside.

He was beautiful and proud and strong and confident. And it absolutely terrified her. It confirmed what she had thought when she was on the floor of his bedroom. He would be leaving soon, right after this; he had to be.

"Clark," she whispered, one hand over her mouth as she stumbled a few steps forward. When she was within an arm's length away from him, she hesitantly reached a hand out to tough the S on his chest. Fingertips as light as a feather, she was shocked at how cool it was; she wondered how he wasn't shaking from the cold. His breath was even beneath her hand. Calm. Sturdy.

She didn't look at him as she asked, "What the hell are you doing here?"

He ignored the question, his eyes knowingly on her as he stood still underneath her fingers. "I wanted to make sure you were home."

"Well thanks for the safety," she tried to joke; however, the humor neither reached her voice or her eyes.

"Sam," he tried again, and she knew just by the tone of his voice what he would say next. "Look at me."

The hand on his chest dropped as green clashed with blue in the middle of the kitchen. She absolutely hated the fact that her throat was tightening and she had to blink a little more than normal to keep the inevitable tears at bay if she had any chance to hold his gaze. She stayed as still as possible as his too-large hands settled themselves on her shoulders. Breathing was now no longer an option.

"Things," he stopped to lick his lips, to breathe, to think. He began again, slowly. "Things are going to be okay. No matter what happens. You know that, right?"

Sam spoke to him in a tight, controlled voice; she knew it would break if she tried to match his volume. "Just – tell me if you're going to come back."

"I don't know," Clark said, not faltering in the slightest, "but I don't know anything, Sam. Like I told you last night, whatever this is could be over before we know it. I don't know what's going to happen, but I have to know, I have to go, Sam."

"Clark," she said, closing her eyes due to the warm tears that had started to fall, "if you're just going to tell me everything you said last night again, why are you here?" She'd already been through one goodbye; she didn't need another.

He didn't say anything right away. He simply stared at her, most likely feeling the slight trembling beneath his fingers, and watched as she tried to hide the pain he was putting her through. He lifted one hand to cup her cheek, finally muttering, "I guess I just had to see you one more time."

She wanted to lock him up in her room. Just drag him down the hallway, throw him in the closet, lock the room, and forget about the entire world outside. No bad guy, no annoying reporter, no cancer, no pain, and no fear. It would be like high school again. Back when they could be Clark and Sam, back when they ruled their own little world. But life had a funny way of screwing a person out of that, and she was now feeling the full force of that realization.

By some stronger force than her own free will, she found herself pressed into the cool metal of Clark's suit, an iron cage locking her against his chest. She heard something like a I'm sorry muttered over and over again, and it all blended together so that she couldn't tell who was saying it anymore. She was sorry he had to go through this when he was the one person in the world who deserved nothing but the best. Sorry because she couldn't hide him from the world. Sorry because she really sucked at being collected in front of him. Sorry because she couldn't let him go after just getting him.

And she was sorry because she never was any good at goodbyes.