I stopped at my stump-chair and sat down. I pulled "Pride and Prejudice" out of my pocket. I'd read the book a hundred times, but always found something new in it. It was perfect for these unsettled times. I remembered hearing once that veterans of the First World War, battle-scarred and shell-shocked, were given Jane Austen books to read while they recuperated from their physical and mental wounds. Her novels never touched on the horrors the veterans were trying to forget.
And so it had been with me. When I poured myself into the troubles of the Bennett family, with the concern for five daughters and how they were to marry well, I could forget. I grinned as I read the first sentence for the umpteenth time: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.
I read on, as Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy discovered each other. The familiar phrases comforted me, the descriptions of eighteenth-century society and etiquette curiously soothing. A breeze began. Mild at first, it soon grew gustier. I retreated to the tent, leaving the tent flap open to accommodate the sunlight.
I lost myself in the book for an indeterminate time. The Austenian spell broke when I found myself squinting at the print. It was almost dark.
I felt a twinge of worry. Where was Clark? We'd never discussed how long he would be away. A momentary tendril of fear wormed through my vitals. Surely he wouldn't leave me here….no food, alone, in the cold and dark? We seemed agreed that our plan was to go back to Metropolis base, together. Sure, he was going to do all the work, but he hadn't seemed to mind that before.
Or what if he'd been incapacitated again? We certainly hadn't expected meteor rock to be in the hands of those outside of Kansas. But it had been, and we'd been attacked, and only escaped by sheer bravery on Clark's part and the grace of God. What if he was being held prisoner somewhere? Or killed?
I spent a minute to consider the irony. Three days ago I was afraid of him. Now I was afraid for him. I resolutely took my mind off those gloomy scenarios. If they were true, then I was dead too. There was no way I could hike my way out from….wherever I was. I didn't even know that. I didn't know if there were roads nearby, how far away civilization was. I knew which way was north, from the stars, but that was about it.
I closed my mind to that, too. Things were going to be fine. Clark wasn't injured or dead somewhere, he was probably just distracted with the flying. He'd said himself that he wanted to get practice, right? And if he could fly as fast as he could speed, he was probably in some different time zone, and he didn't realize it was getting dark here….
Or maybe he was lost. I sat up as that occurred to me. Heck, it was actually pretty likely. We didn't have GPS. On our way to Colorado, we'd been navigating by road map and we'd stayed on the highways. And if Clark was flying, the constant cloud cover would prevent him from seeing the roads if he ascended to any altitude at all. I'd been in private planes before, and I knew how difficult it was to know where you were going, even with having a compass, map, altimeter, and being able to see the terrain below. That's why airports had radio beacons. That's why pilots filed a flight plan.
I sighed in exasperation as I realized Clark hadn't done that. Then I smiled ruefully. Of course he couldn't. He didn't know how to fly, not really. How could you file a flight plan when you didn't even know where you were going, or how you were doing it?
Of course, since there was no air traffic anymore, one reason for filing a flight plan – to stay out of the way of other air traffic – was moot. But, I told myself, we really should have talked a little bit more about this. It would have been nice to have an ETA. Just a few short words: "Gee, Clark, how long do you expect to be flying? Two hours? OK, I'll see you then."
That would have calmed my fears – and right now, for sure, I was afraid – very nicely.
I noticed now that the wind was whipping intently through the clearing. We hadn't had that before, and I wondered if a storm was coming.
Well, if Clark was lost, presumably he'd be trying to find his way back. I thought for a moment. If I lit a fire, that might help him. Night had definitely fallen. A fire would serve as a beacon. All I had to do was gather some wood – there was plenty of that around, fallen branches, after Clark's flying practice (marked by numerous Clark-tree collisions) in the clearing.
Yes! I would make a fire. That was my plan. I had a plan. I wasn't helpless. And yes, I had a lighter in my pack. I dug into the pack, looking for it. I had put it away – we hadn't wanted to have a fire yet. We'd been afraid that it would lead our pursuers to us, and also, we hadn't needed it. Clark's heat vision had served.
I'd just laid my hand on it in triumph when thunder cracked through the clearing. I jumped. We were definitely in for a storm. I hoped that the wind wouldn't blow out the fire when I was trying to get it started….I knew some tricks for that….
Mentally planning my beacon, I squirmed toward the tent flap. And stopped as I heard something I hadn't heard in three years.
Rain.
Raindrops pattered to the ground, slowly at first, then growing to a full thunderstorm. I gaped like a fool. There hadn't been rain for years. All precipitation had been snow. Or hail. Or ice. For the past thirty months, Earth's climate had been that of an ice planet.
Except, now, it wasn't. I found myself crying, the tears running down my face a counterpoint to the rain running over the tent.
She did it. She did it. That Kryptonian girl, Kara, at the Fortress of Solitude, had indeed reversed the climate changes that Zod and Brainiac had created. She'd died, but before she'd died, she'd fixed the Earth.
Clark had told me this, several times, but I hadn't believed him. It was just another Kryptonian lie, I'd thought. But he was right. It had taken time for the Earth to freeze. And it took time for the Earth to thaw. But it had. And the rain was a signal. Our planet was going to come back. I smiled crazily through my tears.
I listened to the rain for a long time. The snow hadn't made that sound, nor the infrequent ice storms. No, this was honest-to-God rainfall. The initial fury dwindled back to a steady downpour.
Oh, wait. Darn it. I was going to light a fire for Clark. There was no way I could do that now. If he was lost…..
At that very moment, I heard his voice. "Martha?"
I sighed in relief. He was back.
"Martha? Are you OK?" He squatted down to face me at the tent entrance.
"I'm OK," I said quietly. "Are you OK?"
"I'm fine," he replied.
I considered him a moment. "You look very tired," I said neutrally.
He sighed. "I'm sorry to have left you for so long, Martha. I got lost."
I had to smile at the fulfillment of my hypothesis. It was what I'd thought.
"I got up above the cloud layer, flew around a little," Clark said quickly. "I've been all over the country…"
"You couldn't just focus in on me or something?" I asked, curious.
"Needs work," he said sheepishly.
There was a momentary silence. The rain dripped down his body, plastering his hair to his head. His clothes were soaked.
"Are you ready – "
"Can you wait till tomorrow morning – "
We spoke at the same time. We both stopped speaking at the same time. I gestured. "You go first."
Clark made the same gesture back. "No, you."
I inhaled. "Can we go back to Metropolis base tonight?"
Clark sighed. "I think it would be too dangerous," he said slowly. "Not that I wouldn't like to get you to safety – " his glance around took in our surroundings. Not exactly the height of civilization. "But it's dark, I don't know the way, we're both tired." At my raised eyebrows – when had being tired stopped me from doing something that needed doing before – he quickly added, "And there's a lot of lightning. I don't really want to carry you in the sky when there's lightning. I mean, I'd be OK, but you…"
I nodded reluctantly. I had to agree with his call, frustrating though it was. Changing the subject, I asked, "How was your trip?"
Clark stayed concerned and thoughtful for a minute. Then his face broke into a wide smile. "It was great." He sat down in the mud, staying just outside the tent opening. I let out an inarticulate sound of protest and he stopped my comments with a knowing lift of his eyebrows. I don't feel the cold anyway.
"I flew back and forth, practiced the speed. I wish the clouds weren't there – I couldn't judge myself against geographical landmarks," he started. "I think I was going pretty fast. And then I went up – " his face smoothed in awed wonder. "I was high enough that I could see the Earth's curvature – you know, if you've been on a jet. But I was higher than that."
"It must be nice," I said wistfully. Clark sounded so enthused, so happy. And to fly….
"I'll take you up tomorrow," he promised. "You can see it."
A thought struck me. "Don't forget I need oxygen."
"Oh." This obviously had slipped Clark's mind. He quickly changed the subject. "I got into the sunlight." He sounded very happy now. "I'm all, um, charged up."
"But you said you were tired."
He frowned. "Different things. I mean, I'm OK to do the, um, Kryptonian things, um, like flying and speeding and all that. But today with the practicing and everything, um, the mental and physical strain, um, I could use some sleep."
I looked around the dark clearing. Rain falling, Clark back, my worries eased. Nothing to do. No light to read. No food to cook or eat. "It's time for me to go to bed too."
And that brought up the inevitable corollary. I had to go to the bathroom.
I sighed and checked around. No, I hadn't somehow acquired a rain slicker. In fact, I hadn't brought any rain gear at all. Why should I have, when Earth hadn't had rain for three years? Snow, yes, but not rain. Now I was faced with the walk to the outhouse through a pouring rain – not the thunderstorm with the driving, pounding rain, but a steady soaking – and I didn't have anything to protect my clothing from the wet. I would wear the boots, yes. They'd be OK. But if I wore the parka it was going to get wet. It was somewhat water resistant – but not enough, I judged, checking the steady rain.
I sighed and made my decision. "Don't look," I commanded Clark. I began taking off my outerwear and putting on my sleepwear. Clark hastened away as soon as he saw what I was doing.
"What are you doing?" he asked as I crawled out of the tent, dressed in my incredibly fashionable sleepwear (which doubled as a layer of clothing on the exceptionally cold days.) I carried the mini-flashlight in one hand. "Where's your coat?"
"Clark," I said, "it's wet. I don't have rain gear. I have to go to the bathroom." I began walking.
He actually blushed.
"I figure that I'll get only this wet. Everything else will be dry for tomorrow."
"You'll get cold," he protested. He was following me.
I already was. The rain hadn't taken long to penetrate the thin layer. "So I get cold then. I can warm up in the tent."
His eyes darted back and forth between the tent and the woods where the outhouse stood. "Um….can I escort you?"
"I can go to the bathroom on my own. I'm a big girl now," I said sarcastically.
He blushed again. "No, I mean, um, carry you there, um, at speed, so less time for you to get wet."
I actually stopped for a minute to consider it. Avoid tramping through rapidly-deepening mud? Through the forest, in the dark, where I wasn't exactly sure where the outhouse was, although I had a pretty good idea? Spend less time in the rain?
"Sure."
"Um…I'll just…. Clark wrapped an arm around my waist and lifted me slightly. There was the usual disconcerting blur of moving too fast for my eyes to follow. He let go of me. "Here we are."
"Thanks."
I stepped in. The outhouse had only conifer boughs for a roof. It leaked. Thank God I'd put the roll of toilet paper underneath the bench seat so it hadn't been ruined by the downpour.
It was still darn cold when I sat down, though.
I came out, saw Clark carefully facing away, silently reassuring me that he'd respected my privacy. "I'm out," I announced unnecessarily.
"Ready?" I nodded and he again picked me up and sped me back to the tent. He set me down at the entrance and I gratefully crawled in, avoiding my sleeping bag. I pulled out my towel and dried off as best I could. The flashlight lay propped up in the folds of the sleeping bag, spreading its weak glow throughout the tent.
The rain switched from its steady dripping to another downpour. I peeked out the tent flap. Clark stood in the rain, water dripping down his face. He had an air of dumb suffering. He knew how I felt about him. He would stay outside tonight, I knew, like he'd stayed outside last night.
Last night it wasn't raining, my inner voice told me. My conscience squirmed. If I was the other Martha, what would I do?
"Clark?"
"Yes, Martha?"
"Come in the tent." I couldn't believe I'd said that. It was seeing him out there, soaking wet, standing guard, that made me say it. I knew how miserable I would be out there in the rain. Maybe he didn't feel the cold, but I bet he felt the misery of water on the face and wet clothing as much as any human.
"I'm OK, Martha." Surprise in his voice.
"Clark! You're soaking wet."
"It's OK."
"Clark, come in the tent." Now I was getting annoyed. "I thought we agreed that I would give the orders on this trip."
I could actually hear the smile in his voice. "Uh…yes." Humoring me.
"Then I don't want to see my partner soaking wet and having to sit in the mud."
"It doesn't bother me."
"Don't lie to me."
He sighed and I heard him weaken. "My clothes are all wet. And muddy. I'll get the tent wet and muddy." True. He figured he had the trump card there, did he?
"Then take off your clothes."
Absolute silence. He obviously couldn't believe I'd said that, and when I thought about it again, I couldn't believe it either.
Whoops. Time to re-group. "I mean, leave your clothes outside – let the rain rinse them out. Strip down to your – " what to say? My mind reached frantically for a word. " – skivvies – " Whew! That wasn't too bad, was it? " – and you can wrap yourself in the thermal blanket." I was almost babbling now. "You know your clothes need washing." No way was I suggesting anything romantic. Or sexual. Absolutely no way. And I was counting heavily on Clark still thinking of me as his mother's counterpart. I felt almost certain that he would shy away from uncomfortable connotations too.
"There's not enough room in the tent." He dropped the subject of clothing removal like a hot potato, tacitly conceding the point. The room-in-the-tent topic was him making a new protest, trying to dissuade me. But I could definitely hear the longing in his voice now. He was weakening. He wanted to be out of the rain, too.
I looked around. Actually, there really wasn't enough room in the tent. Nominally a two-man tent, the space not occupied by my sleeping bag was taken up by the pack (a large item) and my boots near the door. Usually I tried to keep my boots outside the tent, but due to the rain, I'd wanted them in.
Now I was determined. And feeling contrary. I'd had my wishes flouted for years. Now I had this guy, who was supposed to follow my orders, quibbling with me? Besides, I wouldn't be able to sleep, if I was warm and comfortable in the tent and I knew he was out there in the rain.
I scrabbled in the tent covering which was still strapped to the backpack. Yes! Still there! I pulled out the piece. "No problem, Clark," I said sweetly. "Just put up this annex."
The tent, when I liberated it from the outdoor-goods store, had been a good-quality one with a two-man compartment that zipped closed in two layers – a thin screen, and a thicker all-weather cover. It also had an "annex", a small part that fit over the entrance, and served as a cover for packs, etc., so gear could be set outside the tent but still protected from the weather. I'd used it a few times, so I still carried it.
Clark sighed and I heard him give in. He must have been more miserable than I thought. Or maybe he was just humoring me. "OK."
I didn't rub it in. "Here's the annex." I passed him the extra tent piece as he squatted again at the tent entrance.
"How does this work?" I heard him mumbling, and then, in one of those stupefying moments I'd somehow become accustomed to, it was attached. He'd used the speed again, obviously.
"Are you sure?" Clark asked one more time.
"Yes. I don't want you out in the rain. I have to fly with you tomorrow." I said it firmly, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach. What had I done? I must have been crazy.
I saw Clark peer in through the tent entrance. "Um, where's the thermal blanket?" he asked. I pulled it out of the pack where I'd carefully folded it. I always left my pack ready to go at a moment's notice. Leaving the tent up had been a luxury, actually. I usually tried to be ready to run at a moment's notice.
"I don't have another air mattress or sleeping bag…" I said.
"That's OK." Dry humor in his voice. "Martha, if you'll move to your sleeping bag…" He sounded very hesitant. This must be as awkward for him as it was for me. Wordlessly, I moved over.
"You are OK with this, right?" Clark asked again. He sounded very nervous.
"I said I was," I snapped. I was nervous too.
He took a deep breath. "All right, then."
I was looking down, at the pack, avoiding Clark's gaze. The pack vanished and a blanket-wrapped Kryptonian took its place. I flinched and automatically looked toward the entrance. In the annex, on a layer of pine boughs, sat the pack and two pairs of boots.
I could barely stand to look at Clark. Unfortunately, he was hard to avoid in the tiny confines of the tent. He was big. I'd gotten used to seeing him in the outdoors, where he fit in well with the broad landscapes of Kansas and Colorado. Here, in the tiny enclosure, he took up most of the space.
He hunched himself down awkwardly, trying not to touch me. The heat radiated off him like a furnace. It was unavoidable. Our arms brushed.
"You're wet – I mean, your clothes are wet," Clark blurted out.
Darn it. I had meant to change into dry clothes before going to sleep, but seeing Clark out in the rain had distracted me. Changing was right out, now.
"Yes," I said shortly, scooting over to the end of my sleeping bag and grabbing the towel. I dried myself as best possible, which wasn't much. My top clung to me clammily.
Clark had carefully fixed his eyes on my sleeping bag. I saw him focus on the damp patch where I'd been sitting.
"I can dry your sleeping bag," he offered hesitantly. He didn't meet my eyes.
I froze. I'm not going to be afraid of you anymore. Inhaling deeply, I said, "That would be appreciated." Then I saw how near I was sitting to the patch and scrambled to be next to Clark. What if his aim was off?
Once I'd gotten off my sleeping bag entirely I saw how the dampness had spread. Everywhere I'd sat, or leaned over, was moist. My frozen expression gave no clue of the underlying whirlwind of thoughts. I knew how dangerous it was to be wet out here in the cold, even out of the wind in a tent. Hypothermia was a killer. Despite my queasiness, I knew I was lucky to have Clark here to dry things.
I sat next to him, our shoulders touching – or more accurately, my shoulder touching his mid-torso. I was a lot shorter than he was. Even with the blanket covering him from armpits to knees, I could feel the heat coming off him.
I looked at him from the side. His eyes grew red again. I shuddered. Despite my brave thoughts, the heat vision still gave me the willies. Steam rose from the damp patch in my bag. I saw his eyes darting back and forth in their sockets – trying to make sure he dried the whole sleeping bag, I thought. I watched him the entire time. Clark squirmed uncomfortably at my steady gaze but said nothing.
The eerie red light faded from his eyes. "All done," Clark announced. Then he caught sight of the towel. He picked it up, and stared at it for a few seconds. He handed the towel to me. I almost moaned as I felt its blissful warmth.
"Um…thank you." I said it without stumbling.
"You're welcome."
An awkward silence fell. I knew why. My clothes were still rain-damp, if not rain-wet. If I went back to my sleeping bag, I'd get it wet again.
I waited for Clark to make the obvious offer, that he would dry me. He didn't make it. The awkward silence extended itself. We were pressed together on his side of the tent, touching, and yet we were afraid to speak to each other.
I knew why Clark didn't say anything. He'd seen how I reacted to the heat vision and he wasn't going to make me uncomfortable by offering to use it on me. I considered my options. Go to bed soaked, or ask Clark. Ask a Kryptonian to use a power that had been a weapon of mass destruction. He had the ability to vaporize me where I stood. I'd seen it happen.
On the other hand, this was Clark. And in the last seventy-two hours I'd trusted him with many things. And so far he hadn't betrayed me. In fact, he'd gone through more than I would expect anyone to endure. Besides, he'd described himself as my partner, and the travails of the last three days had forced us into closer fellowship than I would have thought possible. And I was damp and miserable….I shivered.
Clark cleared his throat. "You have a dry outfit in your pack?"
"Yes," I blurted out, surprised.
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. The tiny amount of illumination from the mini-flashlight at the end of the tent cast bizarre shadows, making his expression hard to read.
"I'll step out for a minute and you can change into some dry clothing."
Just then thunder rumbled again and the steady patter turned into a hammering downpour. Instinctively, we both edged away from the sides of the tent.
"At least my clothes are getting a good wash," Clark muttered.
I felt ashamed. He was willing to go out into the storm just to make me feel more comfortable. And I was the one who had asked him into the tent in the first place. It wasn't his fault, by doing that, I'd made things hideously awkward between us.
He began fumbling with the blanket. I panicked. Everything mixed together in my head – the shame, the fear, the feeling that I should trust him - and I blurted out, "Don't do that."
Clark turned his head back toward me, genuinely surprised. "What?"
"Um…." I took a deep breath. "You could dry me, right? That way you wouldn't have to go outside in the wet, I mean, you shouldn't have to, and, um, I don't want to go to bed with wet clothes, and you could, um…"
Please don't hurt me. I thought it. I didn't want to say it.
"I'd be happy to assist my partner," Clark said solemnly. Was that a tiny smile fighting to get out? Somehow he'd chosen the right tack. He cast one quick look at trembling me, and said gently, "Maybe I should start with your back?"
I couldn't speak. The thought of actually submitting to it….I nodded dumbly. Clark gently put a hand on my shoulder and turned me slightly. I faced the flashlight, feeling the presence behind me. My heart began pounding again.
"OK?" His voice was very low now, and he spoke very soothingly. He must have learned to recognize my panic attacks.
I nodded convulsively, and tensed my muscles.
A minute passed. Nothing happened. Another minute passed.
I turned around and snapped, "I don't feel any – " I broke off as I saw Clark's eyes, glowing with that unearthly red again.
He coughed and the weird glow died. "I thought I'd start low-intensity."
"Oh." I turned back around, more flustered than I wanted to admit at the sight of the glowing eyes.
"Um, starting again," Clark announced. He'd figured out that I wanted notice of when the powers were being used.
This time I did feel the heat. It was a light touch, a tinge of warmth in the center of my back, a spot that grew and spread. It didn't burn, it didn't hurt. It was a drawer full of socks, just from the dryer. It was hot cocoa after a day sledding in the snow. It was blissful.
"Can you kneel?" Clark asked quietly. "I can get the back of your legs."
I urged myself up – the warming had relaxed me. However Clark was doing it, there was no diminution of the warmth on my back when he began to dry my sleep trousers. I spared a minute to wonder – how could he focus it? Of course, the fact that he could do it at all was amazing – maybe I shouldn't worry about the fine details.
"Other side?" Clark asked encouragingly. I felt much less nervous now. The cold was an enemy no less than the rogue Kryptonians, and it never let up. To have help fighting it off, to not have to shiver, not have to bundle up and still lie in a fetal position, curled up to retain heat….it was marvelous.
I reached for the flashlight and turned it off. Even though the warmth was great, I didn't want to see the heat vision that caused it. Clark said nothing as I slowly squirmed around, going from kneeling with my legs behind me to sitting with my legs in front of me. That also put more distance between us, as much as possible in the tiny tent.
I saw his eyes take on their red glow and closed my own eyes. No light leaked through my eyelids, and I heard nothing except my own breathing and the rain pouring down. The tent interior was warm and humid with the evaporation of moisture from my clothing, a welcome change from the usual cold dryness of the outdoors. I smelled myself, the nervous sweat I'd perspired in the last few hours. And I smelled Clark, a unique odor of rain and sweat and male.
The warmth swept over me like a wave and I almost moaned with the sheer pleasure of not being cold. I turned my head and lifted my hair, and Clark obligingly dried it too. I ran my hands through it, despairing at its tangles. There was a whoosh and a break in the warmth, then Clark pressed my hairbrush into my hand, knowing what I wanted without asking. I brushed out my hair slowly as the heat continued. When I was done, I handed the brush back to Clark without saying a word. I heard another whoosh and assumed he'd put it back into the pack. Certainly the flash of cold air I'd felt must have been the tent being unzipped and opened at speed.
It didn't matter as Clark continued to bathe me in warmth. I leaned back, arms behind me, stretching in the unaccustomed luxury. I heard my sleeping bag being unzipped and the warmth stopped. I opened my eyes.
The red eyes floated in the darkness. They did glow in the dark. They weren't facing me directly right now. They turned toward me and I suppressed a gasp. They were so eerie. The red glow blinked out.
"I've warmed your sleeping bag," Clark said quietly.
I nodded. In the dark, I scrambled over to my side of the tent, falling onto my sleeping bag. I wiggled around and found the zipper edges. The bag was warm. It felt good to be in a warm sleep sack on top of an air mattress – I'd missed the padding of the latter when I'd been on Clark's side of the tent, especially when I knelt. I closed my eyes.
A wave of warmth ran down the sleeping bag and I opened my eyes again, to see the red glowing counterparts of my Kryptonian tentmate. I closed my eyes again and reveled in the heat.
"Good night, Clark," I said.
"Good night, Martha."
I lay awake. Despite the warming and the careful good-night wishes, I'd had too much rest, not enough exercise, in the past few days. Now I couldn't fall asleep. I turned uneasily in my sleeping bag.
Beside me, Clark lay stiffly. He wasn't sleeping either, I could tell. I wondered what he saw, looking up at the cloth of the tent roof. Did he focus his special vision to look through it? Could he look through the clouds, the constant gray sky, to see the stars, the stars that no one on Earth had seen for three years? I figured, from things I'd heard and from things Clark had said, that he could see very well in low light levels – lighting too dim for humans.
If he looked at me now, what would he see? The dark concealed him from me, but not the other way around. I saw nothing – the tent interior was black. But would he see a tired, middle-aged woman, heartsick, exhausted, and haggard – the woman I was right now? I felt a million years old.
Maybe that's why he stayed on his back, rigidly not looking at me, not turning his head toward me. I sighed. It had taken me a long time to realize that some of his apparent standoffish-ness was, in reality, a way to tell me – without words - that he wasn't using his abilities on me. The actions Clark took – or didn't take – were subtle. Like this one. Not looking at me was his only way to give me privacy within the crowded confines of our tent. It was a silent promise – I could look if I wanted to but I respect you enough not to want to.
And, now that I thought about it, there were more little things he'd done. He turned his back while I dressed, even if I was in the tent. He always waited for me to advance to him, for me to tell him that I was ready to speed away. Yes, he'd scooped me up a few times without the implied permission, but that was in emergency situations. I couldn't fault him for that. And he knew I carried kryptonite, the one thing that could incapacitate or even kill him. And he did nothing about it.
"Clark?"
"Yes?"
"Tell me about the other Martha."
A long silence. Did he wonder why I wanted to know, now, when for so long I'd denied, fought off the knowledge that she was his mother in that other world?
"Well….she makes the best apple pies…."
