Wow, what a positive response for Chapter 9! Y'all are awesome. Obviously I ended up not finishing The Girl of Two Worlds before Christmas vacation was over (oops), but knowing that the audience is enjoying the story makes continuing it very worthwhile. Fanfiction is way too much fun.

As soon as Claire's bed was wheeled into recovery, Lois rushed to her side. Claire was white, her dark eyelashes making a stark contrast with her high, pale cheekbones. Her forehead was slightly creased, as if her anesthesia-induced sleep was not at all peaceful. One hand was bound in a thick, heavy cast.

"Hey, sweetie," Lois said, taking her hand. "It's okay, I'm here."

To her surprise, Claire's eyelids fluttered and cracked open, and her dry lips actually formed a small, weary smile. Then her eyes closed again.

"She'll wake up in an hour or so," the nurse said. "But the doctor says she won't have to stay the night."

"Good," Lois said, relieved. The sooner she could get Claire home, the better.

She'd seen Miss Thompson while Claire was in surgery. The teacher, who had suffered only minor cuts and bruises, had come to check on her student.

"I've never seen anything like it," Miss Thompson whispered, looking intently at Lois. "That ceiling yielded to her like butter to a hot knife. She was obviously making a huge effort-her poor hand is evidence of that-but I can't think of anyone I know who could break through metal like that in one blow."

For the first time, Lois knew what Martha Kent endured the day Clark miraculously saved a Smallville schoolbus.

"I don't know how many times I've heard stories of impressive feats made on the sole power of an adrenaline rush," she said with forced calm. That was true, at least: as a reporter, she'd heard plenty of stories like that. "I'm just glad Claire had the presence of mind to make the effort."

Miss Thompson nodded. "So am I. But I need to apologize to you, Mrs. Kent, for not making sure she was out of the train with the rest of us. She stayed behind to help Adrienne Leonard. If Superman hadn't come in time-"

"Well, thank God he did," Lois said quickly. "And don't blame yourself. You had all your other students to look after." She hesitated, then added, "I'm sorry about Ellen Lowry. Please give my condolences to her parents when you see them."

Miss Thompson lowered her eyes. "Thank you. I'll tell them."

Lois was relieved; Miss Thompson didn't seem to attribute alien genetics to Claire's strength. Still, only when an ambulance finally drove her and a still-drowsy Claire back home that evening did Lois feel secure. She put Claire to bed on the couch and settled herself in a chair to sleep.

The sound of the front door opening in the middle of the night jolted her awake. Lois sat up, untangling herself from the blankets she'd wrapped herself in. "Clark?"

He appeared in the living room doorway, looking filthy and tired-but dressed in his standard dark plaid shirt and blue jeans. Lois jumped out of her seat and ran to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He folded her up against him.

"Are you okay?" she whispered.

"I will be."

She drew back and looked him in the eye, recognizing that dull, weary look he got whenever he came face-to-face with death or grief. He forced a sad smile for her, hoping to reassure her, and peered into the living room. "Where is she?"

"On the couch. Come see."

She drew him into the living room and turned on a lamp. To her surprise, the warm light revealed Claire in the process of sitting up. The girl looked up at them, frowning.

"How did I get home?" she mumbled.

Lois couldn't help smiling at that. "You don't remember coming back in the ambulance?"

"No." Claire rubbed her eyes with her good hand and looked at her father. Her eyes narrowed in sleepy caution. "Hi, Dad."

Clark slowly got down on his knees beside the couch. Claire's forehead creased. Lois looked on in growing anxiety; she could tell Clark was worried, trying to figure out how to penetrate Claire's standoffishness.

Then he reached up and took his glasses off, and immediately Claire's frown vanished. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek as impulsively as if she was a wee little girl again.

"That's much better," Claire whispered. "I don't want you to hide from me anymore."

Clark smiled tiredly and hugged her. "No more hiding. I promise."

There would be no school for a whole week. Too many students were either still in the hospital or nursing injuries at home, like Claire. Adrienne Leonard, it was said, had a badly broken leg and would be on crutches for a while.

Miss Thompson came by to visit. Claire was nervous at first that she would want to talk about what Claire had done, how she'd saved their lives-but thankfully, Miss Thompson talked about anything and everything but the wreck. Kellie came to visit, too, and she was as discreet as their teacher. Even though they spent most of the afternoon watching television together, Claire sensed their friendship had gone to a new level. They'd survived a major tragedy together and were bound by it. It was a strangely rousing thought.

Ellen Lowry's funeral, however, sent Claire's spirits sinking again. When she got home, she cried her eyes out. Not even Mom could comfort her. Dad finally sat down next to Claire and rubbed her back gently.

"I'm thinking it may be high time to whisk you out of Metropolis for a while," he said. He looked up over her head at Mom. "Smallville for the weekend?"

Claire hiccuped in surprise and relief. "Oh please-please! I want to go. Mom, can you get Saturday off?"

"I reckon I can," Mom said, smiling. "I'll twist Perry's arm and then I'll call Martha."

Bless Mr. White, he gave Mom the day off-and bless Grandma, she was more than happy to have them for the weekend. So on Friday evening, a full week after the wreck, they boarded a plane and arrived at the farm close to midnight.

Claire woke to a beautiful sunny morning. The window was open, letting in the warm spring breeze and the sounds of the waking farm. Struggling with her immobile hand, she dressed and found Mom and Grandma putting together a simple meal in the kitchen.

"Hey, sleepy-head," Grandma said, flipping a fried egg. "I was wondering if you'd ever wake up. It's nearly eight o'clock."

Claire slid into a chair at the table. "Where's Dad?"

"He's around here somewhere," Mom said. "He said he had something fun planned for you."

"For me?" Claire asked in surprise, taking the cup of creamy milk Grandma handed to her.

"Mm-hmm," Mom said, clearly unwilling to say anything more. She handed Claire a plate holding a filled plate. "Eat up and don't dilly-dally."

Bewildered but excited, Claire obeyed. She was wiping up the last of the runny yolk with her toast when she heard the guest bedroom door open and Dad's long footstep.

She sucked in her breath when he appeared. Everything suddenly looked dull and flat, as if all the color had been drained out the kitchen and infused into the otherworldly suit and cape and into his skin and eyes and hair. Claire and Grandma stared at him in awe. Mom just smiled.

"I'm glad you don't spend all your time in that thing," Grandma finally said, "because otherwise I wouldn't know whether or not to take you seriously."

"Is this my surprise?" Claire cried.

"Part of it, I suppose," Dad said. He leaned his arms against the table and looked intently at her. "Actually, I thought it was time for you and I to spend some quality time together. How would you like to spend the day in Yellowstone National Park?"

Claire frowned. "Yellowstone? That's miles and miles from here."

"So?" Dad challenged.

Claire's mouth almost fell open. "You-you mean-"

"Of course I mean. Why do you think I'm dressed like this?"

"You can carry me all that way?"

Dad cocked his head to one side with a look of mock disappointment. "Are you really asking me that, Claire Kent?"

"Of course he can carry you," Mom laughed. "Listen, finish your milk and then grab your sweater. It'll be chilly up high. I ought to know."

It was the first time she'd been face to face with Superman without danger being involved. Last week she had been so frightened and hurt, the sight of her father in this suit had only inspired fear and shock. Now, as she slung the pouch that held a small picnic lunch over her shoulder, Claire looked up at him with a mix of pride and awe.

"We'll be home before five," Dad said to Mom as the three of them walked, hand-in-hand, to the field behind the farmhouse. "We won't miss helping with the chores, I promise."

"Sounds good to me," Mom said, smiling down at Claire. "Have a nice time, sweetheart."

"Thanks," Claire said, giving her mother a quick hug.

"Here we go," Dad said, scooping Claire up in his arms. "Better step back, Lois."

"Yes, yes, I know," Mom said, taking several steps backwards and waving to Claire. Claire waved back, but before she could call out to her mother her breath was knocked out of her lungs by the sudden, fast ascent.

"Oh!" Claire cried, frightened. She glanced down. The farmhouse looked very tiny and Mom was just a speck in a sea of green prairie. She tightened her grip around Dad's neck.

"Don't drop me!"

Dad laughed over the rushing air and tightened his grip. "Don't worry. I'll never drop you."

The flight changed; they were no longer going up, but forward. Dad's position also shifted. He held Claire close, propelling himself forward in a horizontal position. The roar of the wind nearly deafened her and her heart raced, but after a while she found herself getting used to it and relaxing in her father's arms.

"Doing all right?" Dad asked.

"Yes! How did you learn to do this?"

Dad grinned. "It was a case of trial and error. I decided to test myself, see if it was possible, so I willed myself to do it. I crashed the first time."

"Oh no! Did you get hurt?"

"I can't get hurt, sweetie. The only one who got hurt was the mountain."

Her wonder only increased when they descended-slowly, so gently that Claire hardly noticed when her father's foot touched the ground. They were on a riverbank, sandy and sun-warmed, with a clear river thundering past and trees and mountains all around. Dad set Claire down on her feet. Her legs felt a little shaky, but she walked around a bit and regained her balance.

"It's so beautiful," she whispered, rubbing her right arm and gazing around. "I've always wanted to come here . . ."

"I know, that's why I thought it was high time you visited," Dad said. "Besides, I wanted to spend some time with you alone. So we could talk."

Claire frowned, guessing what he meant. "I thought we did talk."

"We talked some, but not enough."

"Oh."

He took her hand and led her further down the riverbank at a leisurely pace. "There's nobody in this world like you and me, Claire. Of course, there are other 'superheroes.' They do exist . . . "

"Who are they?" Claire demanded, excited.

Dad smiled. "You know Mr. Wayne?"

"Yes . . ."

"He's Batman."

Claire almost tripped over her own feet in shock.

"There are others," Dad went on. "I've worked with them. We just try to do what we can to defend the weak and the helpless in the world, that's all. We're not gods. We're not all-powerful and because of that we can't solve every catastrophe. We simply do our best and thank God if we can give back some good to the world."

Claire was silent, processing this.

"But I'm the only one who's not from this world," Dad said quietly. "And you are the only person in the world who's half-human."

"What does that mean?" Claire asked, apprehensive. "For me, I mean? How do I play into all of that?"

Dad stopped, looked down at her with unsettling intensity. Claire felt uneasy. He seemed to be scanning her, evaluating her. She was suddenly afraid that the evaluation would find her wanting.

"Well, if you can fly, you won't be able to go into space," Dad said, more to himself than to her.

Claire was puzzled. "Why not?"

"There's no air in space. You have to take a huge breath before you get up there and hold it until you get back down again. Your lungs aren't strong enough to hold your breath that long."

She gaped at him. "How do you know?"

"I can see them."

Claire clapped her hands over her chest with a gasp. Dad put his hands on her shoulders and bent down quickly to her eye-level.

"It's okay. Look, can you see mine?"

Claire shook her head fiercely. "I'm scared to try!"

"Claire, try," Dad begged. "I need to know what you can do."

She hesitated, breathing hard with fright. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and strained her vision for one long, terrible moment. Then she gasped again and covered her eyes with her hand.

"Did you see?" Dad asked, his voice gentle.

Claire nodded hard without uncovering her face.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't like it!" Claire cried. "It's so . . . so . . ."

"Gross?" Dad offered with a sardonic smile. "I know. I hated it when I was younger, too. But it comes in handy sometimes. When your mom was shot, I used it to figure out she was bleeding internally. And when she was pregnant I used it to check on you."

Claire uncovered her eyes slowly. "Really?"

"We didn't know what the doctors might find, so I made sure beforehand that you looked . . . normal." Dad rubbed her shoulders comfortingly. "I watched you plenty of times after that simply because I wanted to see you growing. You had a strong heart for a creature so tiny. It's still stronger than most, which is why I think that if you can't fly, you could at least be a pretty mean gymnast."

"You mean I might be able to run and jump better than most people?"

"Exactly." He stood up again, glanced around, pointed at a gnarled tree several hundred feet down the river. "Run there and back again, as fast as you can. Test your limits, Claire. It's the only way you'll know how strong you are."

Claire took off the picnic pouch still slung over her shoulders. Suddenly she felt no fear, no trepidation about herself. She clenched her good hand, held her cast against her chest, and ran.

At first she felt no different than she normally did when she ran. But then she felt a lightness, a blocking-out of the pounding of her legs and feet against the sandy bank. Her lungs sucked in the fresh, clear air. She reached the tree, slapped her hand against it as if it were the goal of a relay race, and turned around.

"Well?" she asked, stopping in front of him. She wasn't even out of breath.

"You're very fast," Dad said. He glanced up at a nearby tree. "Reach for that branch."

Claire looked up, then back at him, skeptical. "It's ten feet high, probably. I can't reach that!"

"Try."

Claire bit her lip. She walked underneath the branch, evaluated it and the distance between it and her head. She jumped a paltry few inches off the ground.

"I can't," she said, shaking her head.

"Don't tell yourself you can't," he said firmly. "Try again."

If that had come from anyone else, Claire would've probably been ruffled. But this was her father and he was a great lord from another world and you just didn't disobey him. Again she squatted, drew a breath, and jumped as high as she could, willing herself to reach the branch.

Her head hit it with such force, she flopped flat on her back in the sand with a grunt. Bits of bark sprinkled down on her. Dad covered his eyes with one hand and Claire realized his shoulders were shaking from laughter.

"Don't laugh!" she cried, trying to keep a straight face herself.

"I'm-I'm sorry," he gasped. When he pulled back his hand she saw that his eyes sparked with delight. "Try again."

Claire rubbed the top of her head, bent low again, and jumped. This time her fingers clung to the branch. Her heart pounding, she slung her other arm over, careful of her hand, and pulled herself up. In a moment she had straddled the branch. She looked down and waved at her father.

"Now what?" she called.

"Now jump," he called.

"Jump where?"

"To the ground."

"And break my foot this time? No thanks," Claire laughed.

Dad raised an eyebrow. "This from the girl who just told me she couldn't leap eight feet. I don't think you'll break your foot. Come on. I'll catch you if I see you're not going to land well."

Claire sighed. She carefully swung both legs over the branch, but she didn't jump right away. She had butterflies in her stomach.

"Dad? Where you came from, were the people super-strong?"

Dad shook his head. "No, they were like normal people-to a certain extent, anyway."

"So how did you get to be . . ." Claire gestured with her hand at him. "You know."

He put his hands on his hips. "Are you stalling?"

"Kinda," Claire admitted with an embarrassed giggle.

Dad smiled, sighed patiently. "I got to be this way because I adapted to Earth's atmosphere. Our sun is younger and gives off more energy that the one in that other world. Apparently I absorb that energy."

"Do I absorb it, then?"

"To a lesser extent, yes. You're part-Kryptonian, after all."

Part-Kryptonian, part-human . . . a blending of two worlds. The thought sent shivers of excitement down her spine and suddenly made her feel very brave. Claire drew a deep breath and gave her head a quick, determined nod.

"I'm ready to jump."

"All right." Dad positioned himself below her, holding his hands out. "Go."

"Hold your arms out further!" Claire cried.

Dad obliged her. She closed her eyes, held her arms far out, and pushed herself off the branch.

Her eyes still closed, she felt her feet hit the ground. But rather than stand still there, her body catapulted again as if she'd hit a trampoline. Claire's eyes flew open. She was in the air, arms and legs flailing.

"Get ready!" she heard Dad shout.

Claire clenched her teeth, focused, and thrust one leg forward. Her foot sent sand flying and she pushed herself off again, gaining enough momentum to jump clear across the river and back again. She screamed with delight.

Now fly! she thought.

But no matter how much she willed herself to go sailing, she kept falling back to Earth. She thrust herself off the side of a grey-faced boulder, made deep craters in the sand, reached the top of a slender pine . . . but she could not fly. Finally, she dropped in the sand at her father's feet and lay, gasping and exhausted, in the sunlight.

Dad knelt beside her. "That was amazing."

"I can't-I can't fly," she gasped.

"No, but you can certainly fall with style," he said, laughing. He helped her stand up. "That was one of the best things I've ever seen in my life."

Claire brushed off her clothes, covered now in sand and mud, and squinted up at him. "But you want me to keep this a secret, don't you? No one can ever know who you are . . . or what I am. So what do I do with myself?"

"You wait until the time is right for you to use your gifts."

"But when will I know the time is right?" Claire asked impatiently.

Dad thought a moment while they walked down the bank again. "You have a real advantage over me. I didn't know what I was supposed to do with myself until I was grown. You, at least, know where you came from and what you can do, and I promise, there'll come a day when you'll be called to use your power. Like last week, during the wreck."

Claire shuddered.

"But listen to me . . . don't ever, ever use it for evil," Dad said firmly. "We're called to defend and protect, and to kill only when we have no other option."

Claire looked up. "You killed someone-once-didn't you?"

Dad fixed his eyes straight ahead. "Only because there was no other way to save his victims. I didn't want to do it, but there was nothing else for me to do. Does that make sense?"

Claire nodded. "Have you ever had to do it again?"

Dad lowered his eyes. "No. And I hope I never have to."

Her heart went out to him. She stared at the sandy ground at their feet and imagined her father wrestling the enraged alien general. She remembered something she'd heard Kellie say just this past September, when the whole city quivered with reminiscences just as it did every September.

"My mother says the general had a death wish," Kellie had whispered. "He knew he had lost so he decided he'd do as much damage as he could before Superman killed him."

Claire swallowed. Her father was strong-stronger than anyone on this planet-but he kept that power under control. He never abused it, even though the truth was that he could snap his fingers and have the whole world under his control, just as General Zod had hoped to do.

Her father could be a great and terrible lord if he wanted to be. But he didn't.

Claire reached up and slipped her small hand into his much larger one. He glanced down at her and she forced a smile, hoping she was able to convey through the act how grateful she was. He looked at her a moment, and then Claire felt his fingers close over hers in a warm, understanding clasp.

So now that Claire is fully aware of her origins and strengths, the question is, how will she be called upon to use them while still guarding her family's secret? The plot thickens...stay tuned ;)