Chapter 13: Illusion and Reality

The radio announcer in Lois Lane's car may have said that Superman had been on the scene for a few minutes, but in reality he'd been there far longer helping recover survivors from the wreckage of the boarding school in Indonesia. It was heartbreaking work. There were so many children that been killed in the initial collapse that he could do nothing to help. The terrified cries of children still trapped under the rubble intermingled with the anguished wails of bereaved parents nearly deafened him.

His vision gave him the advantage in locating the survivors and in knowing the best and safest ways to pull them out as quickly as possible. Although it was a certainty that there would have been far more deaths without Superman there to help in search and rescue efforts, that would be of little consolation to the parents who's children had perished in the collapse.

By the time Superman made it back to Metropolis, it'd been more than ninety minutes since the school collapsed, and less than thirty since four armed men had approached Lois Lane's car. He had just returned to a looping patrol flight over the city when the flashing red, white and blue lights of emergency vehicles and police cars in one of the suburbs caught his eye. Swooping in for a closer look, he immediately realized that one car had been struck by two larger vehicles, and that the blue Audi A3 belonged to none other than Lois Lane and Richard White.

EMTs were in the process of pulling Trish from the crumpled vehicle, and as Superman landed a few feet away, he asked politely, "Anything I can do to help?" The steady confidence in his voice did nothing to belie the worry and fear he felt as he realized that neither Lois nor Jason were anywhere to be seen.

"Superman?" Trish immediately lifted her head from the stretcher, craning it to look around for the caped superhero.

"Trish," Daniel Mason warned, and Superman realized he was one of the EMTs attending to his daughter as they strapped her to the stretcher. "If you can't keep still, I'm going to put you on one of those backboards with the head restraints."

The other EMT, an older but vigorous brunette with a badge naming her as Pearl, shook her head, "Give her a break, Danny. It's the first time she's seen him in the flesh." She grinned suddenly and glanced at Superman before doublechecking the straps on the stretcher. "Hell, I'm halfway inclined to gawk myself."

Superman approached the stretcher and scanned her body for injuries as Trish lowered her head, still staring at him with a strange expression. "She'll be fine," he announced to the girl's father with a reassuring smile. "No broken bones or internal injuries. There's just the bruising on her legs."

Relief filled Daniel Mason's eyes, and he gave a brisk nod, explaining, "She was pinned in the car, we had to unbolt the seat to get her out. We're still taking her to the hospital though." He paused and added, "Not that I don't believe you but…"

"I understand," Superman said with a smile and glanced down at Trish again. She was still staring at him, only instead of the awe and hero worship that had been there last night when she'd seen him in Jason's bedroom, her gaze on him was speculative and searching.

Trish's eyes flew open with the shock of recognition. "My god. O my god. Suh... You… " She closed her eyes, biting her lips to keep from blurting out anything.

She knows, Clark immediately realized and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to have held you up. I'm going to ask some of these officers if I can be of assistance." He watched as Daniel and Pearl nodded and began to lift the stretcher into the ambulance.

Then Trish called out, "Wait… Um. Superman." The girl darted a nervous glance between her father and his partner as she drew in a deep breath and stammered, "Um. If you, uh, happen to see Clark Kent, would you tell him what happened? Maybe he could come see me at the hospital if, ah, if he's not too busy." Her dark eyes conveyed a deeper meaning.

"I'd be happy to do that, ma'am. If I see him," Superman said.

Daniel stepped out from behind the stretcher in the ambulance, resting one hand on the door while stating, "And tell him no interviews and no pictures. Come on, Pearl." He pulled the doors shut as Pearl started the engine. A few minutes later the ambulance was driving off, sirens and lights flashing.

Superman studied the officers to determine which one had the highest rank and approached the tall stocky man. As he drew near, the policeman quickly introduced himself, "Sergeant Michael Baker." The cop worriedly regarded him, and asked, "You know who's car that is, right?" and received a nod in return.

"Was Richard White or Lois Lane driving?" Superman asked as he walked over to inspect the accident site.

"The girl said that Ms. Lane was driving, and she had her son in the back seat," Sergeant Baker told him, coming to stand beside the caped hero. "CSI is on the way and should be here in a few minutes. FBI," and here the man grimaced, "has also been called in, since this appears to be a kidnapping."

"So the Excursion and the Hummer deliberately hit the car to trap it," Superman spoke quietly, noting the angling of the larger vehicles and the lack of skid marks under them. It indicated neither SUV had made an attempt to slow down before hitting the smaller Audi, as would occur in a normal accident scene.

Baker nodded, glancing down at a notepad he held. "Yes, that's what we think. Both the Ford and the Hummer were stolen overnight. Planned ahead I'm sure, but a smash and grab job none the less. Anyway so the perps shot Ms. Lane and the boy, and…"

Superman jerked with surprise, a feeling of nausea rising into his throat. "… Shot them?"

The stocky officer raised his hands, clarifying. "Shot them with tranquilizer darts, not with bullets. Sorry, shoulda made that clear," Baker apologized. "The kidnappers wanted them alive, but unconscious."

A surge of relief filled Superman at that, and he understood why they had been drugged, "They wanted them unconscious so they couldn't call for help." Not that he would have been focused enough to hear them anyway, amid the wails and screams of the catastrophe in Indonesia.

Baker thought for a moment and his slow nod acknowledged the likelihood of that scenario. "I bet you're right. We'd thought they had tranked them just to make them easier to transport. But since it was Lois Lane in particular, well, if anyone's cry for help could bring you at a moment's notice, it'd be hers."

Superman said nothing in response to that, instead asking, "So you think that they put them into another vehicle? Since they left these two at the accident scene? How many were there, anyway? What'd they look like?"

The sergeant read his notes, "Four men all in black, with ski masks on to hide their identities. They had gloves on, so no chance of getting fingerprints. She didn't see a third vehicle. The girl said the dart that hit Lois Lane had dropped down but we didn't find it in the car, so they must have taken it with them after she passed out."

"So they didn't shoot Trish with the tranquilizer darts?" Superman asked.

"Nope," Baker replied. "She said they used one on Ms. Lane, but they ended up having to use three to knock the little boy out." He frowned at that, and stated, "That doesn't make any sense, why would it take one to knock out the woman, but it took three to render the child unconscious. Maybe they were misfires." He studied the little notepad for a moment longer and his brow furrowed in confusion, "Here's something weird. The teenager said that they were after the boy in particular. Why would the kid be more of a target than Lois Lane?"

Again, Superman didn't respond, but he knew who was behind the kidnapping now, as the list of people who knew Jason's heritage was a short one. "Any chance Lex Luthor may have been involved? Given his recent public spats with Lois Lane and the Daily Planet? Maybe he's holding a grudge…"

But Sergeant Baker was already shaking his head. "We don't know one way or the other if he was involved, but we are do know for sure Luthor wasn't one of the kidnappers, because he's been at the station since seven o'clock this morning going over his story again with the police chief..." An unmarked sedan pulled up and two men exited the car. "Looks like CSI is here, excuse me." The officer headed that way.

There was nothing that Superman hated in the world more than feeling helpless, and now for the second time in two hours that frustrating emotion nearly overwhelmed him. However, with so little information to go on in locating Jason and Lois' abductors, there was little he could do. He flew up into the sky.

He spent the next few hours looking and listening for any signs that might indicate Lois or Jason's whereabouts, to no avail. After a quick x-ray scan of the Metropolis police chief's desk, he gleaned Lex Luthor's current address in the wealthy north side of Metropolis.

The music of Georges Bizet's opera "Carmen" blared throughout the mansion, as within, Lex Luthor idled time away reading nonfiction bestseller "The World is Flat," by Thomas L. Friedman. At the other end of the house, Kitty's expression was bored as she watched TV, her Pomeranian nestled on her lap while she flipped between Animal Planet and the Home Shopping Network. Scanning the entire mansion from top to bottom yielded nothing that might indicate where Lois and Jason were… if indeed Lex was the one behind the abductions.

Superman became Clark Kent before he went to Metropolis General Hospital to check up on Trish, only to discover she'd already been discharged. It was nearly four o'clock in the afternoon, and had been more than seven hours since Lois and Jason were taken.

Clark used the ER payphone to call up the Daily Planet and spoke to Jimmy. The young man's usual cheer was gone. He solemnly informed Clark that Richard was at the waterfront home he shared with Lois and Jason, hoping and praying for a call from the kidnappers. The FBI was at the Planet, and Perry White had a huge row with them regarding wire-tapping all of the phones in the office. Not even for Lois Lane and Jason would the Chief sacrifice the paper's right to Freedom of the Press, and many of the journalists regularly took calls from informants that were of a highly confidential nature.

After ending the call, Clark slowly inserted the correct amount of change and dialed Trish's cell phone.

She answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Hi, it's Clark." With everything else that had been going on, he'd managed to avoid thinking about the ramifications of the teen knowing his secret identity. But now that he was in conversation with her, he felt strangely awkward. "I, uh, I'm at the hospital, but obviously you're not here. Sorry it took so long, I was… chasing a few leads."

"Clark!" Trish squeaked. There was silence as he heard her draw in a deep breath as though trying to remain calm. Clearing her throat, she said in a more normal tone, "Right. Well, I guess you got my message…"

"I did," Clark replied simply. "How are you feeling?"

"Really sore. I uh… hang on a moment." There was a rustle as Trish muffled the phone and called out, "Mom, is it alright if Clark comes over since he missed me at the hospital?"

He heard the teen's mother reply in the background, "Yes. In fact, why don't you ask if he wants to stay for dinner. We're ordering pizza."

Trish uncovered the cell phone and spoke into the mouthpiece, "If you want to come over, Mom says you can stay for supper, we're ordering pizza…"

"I'll be there as soon as I can catch a cab," Clark stated, and added, "See you soon."

Twenty minutes later Clark was ringing the doorbell to the Mason's modestly sized house.

Jamie Mason opened the door and favored the tall reporter with a genuine smile. "Clark. Good to see you again, though I'm sure you know I wish it were under better circumstances." She waved him into the house and closed the door behind him, " Here, let me take your coat."

"Oh, thanks, Mrs. Mason." Clark shrugged out of his grey overcoat and offered it to her. Pushing his glasses further up on his nose as he watched the woman hang it in the hall closet, he inquired, "How is Trish doing? I heard they had to cut her out of the car…?"

"Call me Jamie, please. She'll be fine," Jamie reassured him. "Just bumps and bruises, really. She's sore now, and it'll be even worse in the morning, I guarantee you." A nervous hand brushed her blonde hair behind her ears, and grimly she added, "It could have been a lot worse. Has there been any news regarding Lois Lane or her little boy?"

Clark heaved a sigh as he shook his head, "No. Not a word. The FBI is on the scene though, at Richard White's house and at the Planet. Hopefully they'll hear something soon."

Jamie mustered a smile that did little to dispel the sadness and worry in her soft brown eyes, "I'm sure they're both fine and will be found soon." Turning away to lead him further into the house, she informed him, "Patricia is in her bedroom. Normally I'd call her down, but I'm trying to limit her activity for the next twenty-four hours, so she's supposed to be resting. So she won't be into work for a few days. In fact, if Danny has it his way, she won't be returning to work at the Planet at all."

The tall reporter stumbled slightly at that revelation, his blue eyes apprehensive as he watched Jamie Mason pause at the foot of the stairs and turn to face him. "He's worried that she isn't safe there." It was more a statement than a question.

The blond woman bit her lip and avoided his gaze as she rested her hand on the banister. "We both are," Jamie admitted with a quiet sigh as she finally met his eyes. "She'd be devastated if we didn't let her go back. We just… need some time to talk it over."

"I understand. She'd be greatly missed." Clark hesitated and said, "You know I'd never let anything happen to her if there were any way possible for me to prevent it." As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could retract them. Not because they weren't sincere, but he immediately realized he had spoken with a tone of resolve usually reserved for his alter ego instead of Clark Kent, mild-mannered reporter.

From upstairs, Trish shouted impatiently, "Mom, are you going to let Clark come upstairs, or am I going to have to come down?"

Jamie Mason just stared at him for a long moment. Clark allowed himself to squirm at the intensity of her dark-eyed scrutiny, suddenly realizing which of her parents Trish had inherited her strong sense of perception from. "I'll be right up, I'm just chatting with your mom," he called back, adjusting his glasses.

"Patricia Suzanne Mason, you'd better not get out of that bed," Jamie Mason yelled back in warning. Lowering her voice a normal level, she directed the tall reporter with a smile, "Up the stairs, turn right, and her room is the last door on the left." She walked off in the opposite direction, and Clark tracked her with his vision as she went into the laundry room to resume folding clothes.

Trish's bedroom was probably like any other teenage girl's room, only with a complete absence of the color pink. Instead it had been decorated in rich cobalt blues and trimmed with buttery gold. There were movie posters on the wall from Star Wars (more Jedi than Sith) and The Lord of the Rings. A corkboard above a desk proudly displayed the MMORPG article she and Clark had worked on together. The only evidence of her brief hospital stay was the small vase on top of a dresser near her bead. It was stuffed with yellow flowers and had a "Get Well Soon!" card jutting out.

Trish, dressed in sweats and a comfortable t-shirt, was sitting on her bed opposite the doorway to her room. Her legs were stretched out in front of her as she leaned against the headboard. She averted her gaze from looking directly at him and gestured at the desk chair set up beside her bed. "Have a seat."

Silently, Clark made his way across the room. Pausing to remove his mud brown suit jacket, he hung it over the back of the chair before sitting down and rested his hands on his thighs. "No Harvey Potter?" he commented with a crooked smile and gestured at the wall.

"Harry Potter," Trish corrected, remaining motionless while staring down at her hands as he settled into the chair. She snuck a peek at him and then closed her eyes, ordering, "Take off your glasses."

This was it, the moment of truth. He tried to laugh off her request, "If I take off my glasses, how will I be able to see?"

"Just... please."

Clark slowly removed his glasses and lowered them. "Okay, they're off."

Trish drew in a deep breath as her eyes opened, and then she turned her head to look directly at him. The teen didn't realize it, but she studied the planes of his chiseled features with keenness identical to her mother's earlier examination of Clark's visage. Biting her lip at what she saw there, she looked away again. "You can put them back on." As he lifted his glasses back to his face, the girl muttered with self-disgust, "You must think I'm a total idiot."

Clark slipped the black framed glasses back on. "Why would I think you were an idiot?" he asked.

The teen's expression was incredulous as she stared at him. "Because I am? I've been practically living in your work area at the Daily Planet for how many weeks now? And I only just now figured it out? The entire time I was in the hospital I tried to remember everything, every detail that should have clued me in, and believe me there were a LOT of them, and in the end I still didn't make the connection until Jason said something." She kept her voice low so that her mother would be unable to hear.

"You're not an idiot," he told her firmly. "There are people I've known for years who don't know the truth. Superman doesn't wear a mask, so people don't even think of him-of me-having secret identity, and I'd really like to keep it that way." Clark found himself repeating what he'd said to Jason the night before, "Trish, listen to me. Superman is what I can do. But Clark Kent is who I really am, the investigative reporter for the Daily Planet who grew up on a farm in Smallville, Kansas, far away from the bright lights and the big city. If I had to be Superman all the time..." He had to shake his head to dispel that unpleasant thought from his head.

Trish knit her fingers together and considered that possibility. It didn't take a genius to realize what a nightmare that'd be. Clark would all but cease to exist, because who would want Clark when they could have Superman? "I guess you'd be even more stressed than my dad is when he gets off a three-day stint at the station."

"'Stressed' wouldn't even come close to how I'd feel. Arkham Asylum would have to reserve a cell for me."

"Right. Like it'd hold you.," Trish snorted.

"Well, you get my meaning. The world may need Superman, but Superman needs Clark Kent. I need the... the normalcy of this life. If I didn't have it, it'd drive me crazy. Think of how hard it's going to be for you to treat me normally now that you know the truth and how much worse it'd be if the whole world knew."

She worried her lip for a moment, studying his face. "I promise I won't tell a single soul about any of this. And I'll do my best to treat you just like I've been doing..." Trish's brown eyes widened as she remembered how she'd been treating him and hid her face with her hands, "Oh my god, I can't believe I called you stupid to your face. And gave you that nickname. And then asked to touch you last night…" That was enough to make her pick up a pillow and cover her face with it. "Kill me now," she pleaded in abject misery and humiliation.

Clark just blinked at her dark head, amusement filling him as he recalled his astonishment when she'd called Superman stupid during their first meal together. The humor grew as he recollected her colorful description of the infamous Supersneeze, and being labeled as Butterfingers. A chuckle escaped him, and then another. Then he gave up, lowering his head as he laughed outright.

"It's not funny," Trish's voice was muffled behind the pillow, but her own shoulders were beginning to shake with humor as well at the ridiculousness of the situation. "Stop laughing," she demanded, trying to frown at him and failing miserably. Without thinking, she swung the pillow at his head.

The result of the collision between the object in motion (the pillow) and the immovable object (Clark) was instantaneous and memorable. The pillow exploded into a riot of feathers.

Wide-eyed, they stared at each other in shock as downy gray and white feathers drifted in the air around them, and then Trish doubled over giggling again. Clark's glasses had been knocked askew on his nose and hung there precariously. He adjusted them, murmuring a quiet, "Oops."

"Patricia? Clark? What on earth is going on up there?" Trish's mom asked as she started up the stairs with a laundry basket filled with clean clothes.

Trish was still chortling as she and Clark looked down at the feathers which were now scattered all over the bed and floor, along with the tattered remnants of the battered pillow. "Just leave them," she told him, "I'll still have to explain the busted pillow one way or the other anyway."

Jamie walked down the hall to Trish's room. "Clark, what do you like on your…. Good heavens, what on earth happened in here?" she demanded, lowering the laundry basket to stare at the feathery disaster area around Trish's bed.

Raising his hand to claim responsibility, Clark said with a crooked smile, "She didn't believe that my head was as hard as a rock."

Trish's mouth dropped at open his reply, and another fit of giggles overtook her. She regained control of her laughter long enough to assure her mother, "I'll clean it up right away, I promise," and began scooping feathers back into the pillow, which was a hopeless cause from the onset.

Like all mothers, Jamie could sense that there was more to this story than what was being said, and a single raised eyebrow conveyed that. "Get it cleaned up before the food gets here, alright? Now then, as I was saying, Clark, what do you like on your pizza?" she asked and withdrew some clothes from the laundry basket, then carried them over to put into her daughter's dresser.

"Anything's fine," Clark replied, brushing feathers out of his hair and off his sleeves. "Pepperoni?"

"With mushrooms," Trish added, pressing down on the feathers in the pillow bag.

Jamie eyed Clark's tall frame critically, and then said, "We'd better go with two pizzas to be on the safe side. One pepperoni with mushrooms, and one supreme with no olives." She left the room with the laundry basket, stopping by the linen closet to restock the towels and washcloths, and then headed into the master bedroom with the rest of the clothing.

Clark got to his feet to dust the rest of the feathers off of him, and caught sight of the flower vase again. "Who's that from? You weren't at the hospital that long."

Trish reddened, allowing her blonde hair to drop down and hide her expression. "Jimmy Olsen. He brought them the hospital a little while after I got there, he said he came as soon as he heard. He was so sweet. Dad practically confiscated his camera before he'd let him into the room."

"Jimmy never goes anywhere without his camera. Where is your dad, anyway?" Clark wondered. "He's not still at work, is he? After everything that's happened today?"

The teenager made a face, "Yep, he's at work. They didn't have any other emergency runs for a couple hours after I got to the hospital, so he was able to stay with me for a little while. But like we told you the other night, they don't let EMTs or firefighters off work for family emergencies. Which sucks," she informed him as she swung her feet over the edge of the bed and stood up, wincing. "Ouch."

Even though it'd been mentioned, Clark was still surprised to learn that her father wasn't able to leave work to be with Trish. He was beginning to realize that Daniel Mason and Superman had more in common than he'd ever believed possible.

The plastic rattle of wheels on hardwood floor preceded the return of Trish's mom. She nudged the vacuum cleaner with her foot, "Thought this might make cleaning up those feathers go faster. I've already ordered the pizza." Jamie scrutinized her daughter's pained expression, and ordered, "If it hurts just to stand Patricia, then you don't need to stand. Get back on the bed. After supper, if you need them you can take some of the painkillers." She carried the empty laundry basket back downstairs.

Clark retrieved the vacuum cleaner and unwound the cord before plugging it into a wall outlet. "So Jimmy's bringing you flowers now…." He switched on the vacuum, allowing the low roar of the machine to fill the room as he used it to suck up feathers.

Trish flushed an even brighter shade of red and threatened, "I do have another pillow." He chuckled and lifted the chair, giving it firm one-handed shake to knock the rest of the feathers free. She watched in silence for a moment as he ran the sweeper, struck by the strangeness of Superman helping clean her room. "You can still hear me, right?"

Lowering the chair, Clark nodded his assent.

"Did Sergeant Baker tell you everything that happened? At the accident?" Trish asked, and Clark just looked at her, his expression full of pain and regret. "Don't blame yourself, you were helping those kids in Indonesia right? No one can be everywhere at once, not even you."

Clark sighed with resignation and leaned down to detach the hose from the vacuum. Her words didn't make him feel any better about what happened but he couldn't deny the truth in them.

Trish levered herself off the bed again with a grimace of pain so Clark could get all the feathers on the coverlet. "You think Lex Luthor is behind it?" she wondered, and at his quick nod, she added, "But you couldn't find any evidence?"

This time, he spoke aloud in response to that question, "Not a thing. I checked everywhere I knew to look." Clark stated just over the noise of the cleaner.

Her brow furrowed into a frown as Trish thought that over, and then a question occurred to her. "Does Lex Luthor know who you really are?"

"No," Clark declared as he bent down to use the wand attachment under the bed, sucking up the feathers that had drifted there.

"Wait, how many people do know, then? Jason knows for sure, and I know… does anyone else?" Trish inquired, and her eyebrows lifted with surprise as he raised a single finger. "Only one other person? Is it someone I've met? Like someone from the Daily Planet?"

Again, Clark shook his head. "My mom knows too."

Trish drew a total blank. Superman had a mother? Then she realized while Superman may not have had a mother, Clark Kent most certainly did, "The white-haired woman in that picture on your desk at work? She has such a kind face."

Clark smiled at her description before looking around for any remaining feathers.

Hesitating for a moment, Trish admitted, "I didn't tell Sergeant Baker everything. That happened when they took Jason and Lois." At his curious look, she made a face and looked away, uncertain as to the best way to explain herself. "I don't think he would have believed me if I had told him. Jason… did something."

The search for wayward feathers came to an abrupt end as Clark just looked at her, his blue eyes serious. "What happened?"

Trish struggled to put her memory to words, "It was right after they had shot Lois. And Jason too actually, but he didn't pass out right away the way she did, even though he had two darts sticking out of him. My legs were pinned and I couldn't even move." She bit her lip as she remembered how frightened she'd been. "He told me that he was going to help get me out, and then he… he started trying to push the dashboard off of me. Like, to lift it off of me. The… I know this sounds crazy but he was doing it, too. The metal started to bend, and I could the pressure on my legs letting off some…"

Clark turned away from her, lowering his head as he rested one hand on the handle of the thrumming vacuum cleaner.

Trish stared at his back, and asked the question that had been burning in her mind since she witnessed Jason's extraordinary strength, "Clark? Is Jason…"

Before she could finish the sentence, Clark flicked the vacuum cleaner off. The silence in the room was almost deafening after the clamor of the machine. Deliberately, he faced her again and his blue eyes were troubled. "Trish, don't ask me that, please. I can't lie to you, and it's not my place to answer."

The teenager's mouth hung open for a moment, and then the silence was broken by her mom shouting from downstairs, "Pizza's here! Clark, you think you can help Trish make it downstairs?"

"Sure," Clark called back in a higher pitched tenor. "We'll be right down."

Trish began hobbling toward her door, wincing with every step she took as Clark wound the cord around the vacuum and carried it over to leave by the door. His eyebrows drew down with concern at her obvious pain, and he took a step toward her. "Trish?" An outstretched arm voiced the question he did not put to word.

She stared in confusion at his arm for a moment and then nodded as understanding dawned. Before Trish could change her mind, Clark already had lifted her into his arms. Heat radiated from him, and she was struck by the dichotomy of how gently he cradled her to his chest with unyielding arms of steel-lined flesh. Effortlessly he carried her through the doorway and down the stairs into the family room.

"If you drop me, I'll never let you live this down, Clark," she warned him.

He only smiled. "Well, I do have a reputation for being a bit of a klutz..." Trish giggled.

Jamie Mason was setting out some plates on the coffee table. She seemed mildly surprised by the sight of her daughter being carried in by the tall reporter, but gestured in the direction of the sofa, "Clark, you can just et her down on the couch." There was a small prescription bottle next to the three cans of soda on the table. "I know it was about time for those. Your legs must be killing you by now."

Trish had actually all but forgotten the pain in the brief period since he'd picked her up, but as Clark set her down again down, dull throbbing began in what felt like both the muscle and bones of her upper thighs. It hurt far worse now than it had when she had been in the car that morning. "Yes, they are," she admitted as she eased herself down on the couch, using Clark's forearm for support.

Clark regarded her worriedly, pushing his glasses up onto his nose in a quick nervous gesture. "Gee, Trish, maybe you should have taken those earlier before it got so bad."

"Yeah, can't argue with that," she said, and picked up the painkillers.

"Grab a plate and dig in, Clark," Jamie ordered as she lifted the top of the boxes, and they did.

A/N Part 2. Ok I'm sorry but there just wasn't room for Lex plottage in this chapter! Next chapter we will be checking in on Lois and Jason, I promise! In the 'timeline' of things, they were still unconscious as the events in this chapter took place. Soon, my precious, very soon...