Perry had been surprisingly understanding when his top reporter had asked for permission to take a break from work. Lois had the feeling that the Daily Planet's Chief Editor knew precisely what they were up to and would have pressed for them to go whether she had been the first to suggest a 'vacation' or not.
Rather than recklessly taking off with no knowledge of what they were getting themselves into, Lois had Jimmy Olsen pull up some information for her. As he was doing so, Perry White noticed that she and Clark were in the newsroom, and he stalked out of his office like a perturbed father. "What in the Sam Hill are you doing still in Metropolis?"
"Our plane doesn't leave for a while," Lois answered easily, her eyes glued to Jimmy's computer screen. "I figured this would be one thing I wouldn't charge into head-first."
Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Perry started back to his office after a final look at the quiet Clark. The kid deserved a break. Life had thrown him nothing but hard curve balls as he stood in the rain. It was about time for him to have his sunny skies and hit one heck of a home run.
Lois pointed to the screen and gave Clark a sideways glance. "Recognize him?"
The troubled man shook his head sadly, and Lois frowned. "Of course, this is a newer picture. Years have elapsed since you last saw them, and I'm sure they've changed..."
The next picture was of Martha Kent, and no spark of recognition rose in his eyes when he saw it either.
After printing a few things and shoving them into her briefcase, Lois smiled. "Thanks for your help, Jimmy."
"No problem, Lois. Anytime."
The female reporter hooked her arm around Clark's and steered him off, trying to raise his hopes. All she succeeded in doing was confusing him with her babbling nonsense, but he didn't mind. No, he wouldn't mind listening to Lois babble any day of the week.
Clark had to force himself not to make obvious indentions in the armrests. He hated airplanes.
Airplanes meant no room to move, no room to breathe. They meant you had to live with the smells of several other bodies from several other places and you had to suffer through the airline meals. Being in an airplane was entrusting your life to a few pilots and an unreliable machine, soaring through the air on a machine's power rather than your own.
Clark would much rather fly to Kansas on his own steam, but then he would be alone in a place he knew little about. Lois was used to new places and new situations. She would be his guide, the one that would make sense of what was on those sheets of paper that were tucked safely away in her briefcase, which her arm was covering protectively.
Lois saw Clark looking at her, and she smiled, patting his clenched hand and observing his uneasiness. "Don't like flying?"
"Don't like airplanes," Clark returned shortly.
Lois almost caught a suggestion which she wasn't quite sure of, as if she had almost figured out a secret she didn't even know existed. The expression on her face caused Clark's eyes to widen, but she shrugged it off and returned her gaze to the window. Clark was one strange man. She wondered if he would always be a mystery to him...She felt a pang of sadness. What would happen if they found his family? Would she never see him again? That would be a pity...She had been getting used to having him around. At least, that's what she told herself.
Clark breathed an inward sigh of relief when Lois chose not to question his statement. If she found out he was an alien, she would be disgusted and never to talk to him again...Utterly disgusted. He had to prevent her from finding out at all costs.
Loosening his grip on the seat-holds somewhat, Clark brought his face to look out at the clouds, praying nothing bad would happen to the plane.
Contrary to Clark's gut instincts, the plane landed safely. No explosions, no crashes.
Matters were working out too perfectly. There had to be a catch somewhere. Something always came up...Always.
"Ordinarily," Lois told him in a teacher-like manner, "I would ask the locals a few questions and become acquainted with the place. However, I doubt that is entirely necessary in this case. We have the address, and that is really all we need. If they aren't your parents, then maybe they'll have some idea of who is."
Clark merely nodded glumly. He had a bad feeling about this.
"This is the house," Lois confirmed. They had stopped at a gas station for directions, which had been messily scribbled on a napkin by the man behind the counter. He had been friendly enough, but his handwriting skills were certainly lacking.
They had taken a few wrong turns in their rented vehicle, but at last the car came to a stop in front of what was obviously a farmhouse. The female reporter gave Clark a soft gaze. "Are you ready to go in? ...Do you want to go alone? Of course, we could go rent a room some place and come back tomorrow, if you want that instead. I mean, after all, this trip was made for you, so we need to do what you want to do—it would be stupid otherwise. Who wants to—"
"Lois!" Clark quietly but sharply shook the reporter out of her babble.
"Sorry," she sheepishly looked down at her feet.
"Let's go inside. What's the worst that could happen?"
The two got out, slamming the car doors none-too-gently. They started walking up the house, but Lois froze when she felt cold metal against her back and heard a smooth voice that chilled her to the bone.
"One false move, and Ms. Lane will meet her maker."
"One false move, and Ms. Lane will meet her maker."
The statement was like one Clark had heard in a nightmare...But in that nightmare, Lois had died...
He halted in his steps, not daring to do so much as twitch. He had been found, Lois was in danger...and the fear was returning.
Still, he tried to fight it, tried to choke it down with all of his might, gritting, "Let her go, Nigel."
"You've gained no respect for your superiors, I see," Nigel St. John stated, bringing his gun up to the side of Lois's head. "You may be fast, but I can guarantee you are not fast enough to take this away from me before Ms. Lane finds herself laying flat on the ground with no hope of resurrection."
"What do you want?" Clark inquired weakly.
"I think you know," Nigel St. John said ambiguously.
"The authorities will find you some day."
"And we will all die someday," the gun-holder returned. "But no one wishes to hurry the process along."
"Clark, who is he?" Lois inquired, only to have the weapon next to her head jammed right into her temple.
"Don't speak unless you wish to have your tongue sliced out," Nigel warned.
"That's a lot of talk for someone who doesn't even have a knife," she grumbled, only to get another warning poke.
"You're wearing my patience thin."
"Fine! Let her go, and I'll help you," Clark trembled, the nasty stench of his own fear rising up, ready to suffocate him. It was all he could do to keep his knees from buckling.
"No, Clark! I don't know his motives, but they can't be—" the reporter cut off when she saw Nigel's finger purposefully pressing against the trigger.
Good, Clark finished for her mentally, feeling the exact opposite of that simple word. What was he going to do?
"Jonathan," Martha called to her husband as she stared out the window. "It seems we have company."
"Who is it?" he asked from his seat at the table.
"A young man and—" she paused. "Oh dear."
"What is it, Martha?" Jonathan Kent asked as he rose and came to his wife's side. Mrs. Kent was spared from answering by the sight of her husband's dropped jaw.
"We've got to help them," the woman stated calmly as she went for the bat she kept handy for such an occasion.
"Hold on, Martha. How do you know they aren't criminals?"
"Do those two look like criminals?" she returned.
"That man has a gun," Jonathan warned.
"Yes," his wife said patiently, "and if we don't try to help we might as well be the ones holding it."
After sighing in frustration, Mr. Kent followed his wife silently out the back door.
"You think I would let Ms. Lane go so easily?" Nigel gave a smile that made Clark's flesh crawl. "How could I trust you?"
"You can trust me," Clark whispered. He would never endanger Lois's life.
"I had to bring along a little insurance..." With his free hand, Nigel reached into his coat pocket, looking triumphant. He pulled out a lead box and pointedly thumbed the latch.
Clark's world started to spin as the fear bombarded him from all sides, and his insides screamed at him, Death!
His death...
Lois's death...
Element X...
Going to die...
Not be able to...Not be able to tell Lois that...Not be able to—
With a pop that sounded excruciatingly loud in the heavy and fearful silence, the gun—which had been held loosely and distractedly away from the female reporter's head—fell to the ground, going off but hitting nothing, and Jonathan Kent shortly proceeded in knocking Nigel St. John out, the lead box flying unopened from Nigel's hand.
Even as he stared at the grounded Nigel, Clark wondered why he hadn't heard the couple approach, but he guessed that it was due to the rancid fear that was lingering inside his nostrils.
Lois seemed to be feeling more coherent than Clark was, probably because she was used to her life being put in danger, and she turned towards their saviors. "Thanks. I appreciate that."
"Who was he?" Jonathan asked gruffly, his eyes on the unconscious man.
"Nigel St. John," Clark answered a little quaveringly as he tried to casually pick up the lead box. "He worked for Lex Luthor, and his hands are just as dirty as Luthor's were."
Upon hearing Lex Luthor's name mentioned, Martha shuddered. Changing subjects, she inquired, "Won't you two come inside? Jonathan will call the sheriff, and I'll get you both something to drink. I'm sure the two of you have had quite a scare." She had to force herself not to stare at the dark-headed young man. He looked so familiar...In fact, he reminded her of—
No. She shook her head slightly as her eyes started to well up with tears. Her adopted son was dead, never to be seen by her again.
And so, shoving all thoughts of her Clark from her mind, Martha Kent led her two guests inside, her husband taking care of Nigel St. John and calling the proper authorities.
"Are you all right, dear?" Martha asked Clark, sounding concerned.
He didn't answer, instead staring at the kitchen table. The two men in his life that could truly hurt him were taken care of. Nigel had been picked up by the Smallville sheriff, never to bother Clark again if the Metropolis Police Department had anything to do with it, and the green meteorite which had once brought him so much fear was tucked away in his pocket. But he knew it wasn't going to be too long before Lois Lane thought to ask him about it.
"He's had a rough time lately," Lois replied for him as she sipped at her lemonade.
"It certainly seems like it," Jonathan said soon afterwards.
Martha hesitated. "I'm afraid we were never properly introduced." She held out her hand to Lois. "I'm Martha Kent, and this is my husband, Jonathan."
"Lois Lane," the reporter offered, shaking Mrs. Kent's hand. "This is Clark."
Martha had the expression of a woman who had just had an arrow ripped out of her stomach. "What did you say?"
Lois had been prepared for such a reaction, but she felt bad at possibly having raised their hopes too high. What if he wasn't their Clark? "I'm Lois Lane, reporter for the Daily Planet, and this is Clark."
Clark...Clark...Clark...
The name reverberated in Martha's head. She hadn't heard that name in so long...
She trembled, grasping for her husband's hand underneath the table. He took her hand and gave it a firm squeeze. "Does he have a last name?" Martha inquired, her breath catching in her throat.
"He used to, until he was ripped from his family and given a memory wipe by Lex Luthor himself," Lois answered.
It took a moment for what Lois said to sink in, but when it had, Clark's eyes widened. How did she know? He hadn't told her all of what Luthor had said!
His brown eyes met hers and confirmed that what she had said was true. Somehow she had known...Had guessed what he hadn't wanted to even contemplate during his years of service to the deceased billionaire. She was right, wasn't she? He owed Luthor nothing...
Martha stared at Clark, etching every detail of his face into her memory. Could this be her boy?
No. Her boy was dead. This was just a cruel trick Fate had played on her. It wasn't reality...Couldn't be reality.
She looked away, towards the window.
Clark wanted to be accepted, to belong somewhere, to have a family...
Quietly, he spoke. "He said my family was in Kansas, in a place with a name that was similar to 'Littletown.' He said that my parents thought I was dead and that they were devastated by my supposed death..."
He saw the two Kents exchange ambivalent looks. Finally, Jonathan looked at Lois. "Ms. Lane, could we speak to Clark in private for a moment?"
"Sure," Lois said, standing up. "I need to go freshen up, anyway."
"The restroom's that way," Martha pointed. Lois disappeared.
Martha didn't want Lois to hear what she had to say, and it was only after making sure the reporter was out of earshot that she began speaking in a low voice, "My boy was special. He could do things that others couldn't." It was the best opening she could think of. If it was her Clark, he should be able to jump on in. If it wasn't, he would just think that it was motherly affection.
The man called Clark shifted uneasily, seeming unsure of the bait that was given to him. "I'm much stronger than Mr. Kent."
"You're wearing glasses," Jonathan jumped in. Their son wouldn't wear glasses.
"I don't need them. They're part of my disguise. I can actually see really well..."
"Your sense of smell?" Martha inquired.
"Better than average," Clark stated, looking from one to the other. He seemed to decide that he should offer something. "I love to fly."
That caused Martha and Jonathan to jump. They hadn't been expecting that.
Martha stood up, walking over to the kitchen sink while Jonathan held Clark's attention. "Do you fly often?"
"More often than most people," Clark replied, his eyes on the table nervously.
Martha walked closer to Clark, placing a hand on the back of his chair, her other hand hidden.
Jonathan went on, "Our son hated airplanes. Said they felt too confining."
Clark bit his lip, remaining awkwardly silent. He didn't know how exactly to respond to Jonathan Kent's statement.
He was saved from giving a response by Martha Kent, who lifted the fork in her hand high with a wince and jabbed it into his back. It didn't hurt him, but the same couldn't be said of the fork.
The eating utensil forgotten, Martha gasped, "Clark? Is it really you?"
Clark gazed at the bent piece of metal. It was a strange feeling, to know that he had finally found the people he had been searching for, only to realize that he had nothing more than a vague memory of them. How was he truly to belong with these people he had once called his parents if they were little more than strangers to him?
"Oh, Jonathan," Martha rushed over into the arms of her now-standing husband, sobbing. "Our baby's back."
Clark heard the bathroom door open and shut. He grabbed the fork quickly and stuck it in his pocket. It would have been hard to explain what had happened to it.
Lois stood still a few yards away from them. "I take it that he really is your son?"
"But I can remember nothing," Clark bitterly stated, burying his head in his arms. He would almost take the fear over the helplessness he felt...Almost.