Clark knew why his parents and even Lex kept wanting him to leave the house. He knew just how unreasonable it was to feel so lost and adrift when he wasn't inside, or in the loft or barn. But it just felt so *wrong,* so exposed.
Even coming out of the barn after finishing milking the goats felt weird. Inside it was okay, though he knew he spent too much time looking over his shoulder, jumping at noises. He reminded himself again that nobody was watching him, nobody was going to throw him into a prison or try to make him tell things he didn't know or confess to being what he wasn't.
Stepping outside, he saw a young woman picking her way across the grass to him. Something caught her eye in the grass, he guessed, since she stooped and picked it up before continuing towards him. He stared in an appreciation he wasn't quite sure was right for him to feel. But there she was. Lana's coloring, the soft, dark hair that looked like satin, but cut shorter like Chloe's, and with Chloe's bright, alert features. Her blue eyes were even more compelling than Lex's. He made himself stop just before concluding that she combined the best physical features of all three of the people he'd been attracted to.
"Excuse me, are you Clark Kent?"
"Uhm, yeah."
"Lois Lane. I'm from the Daily Planet." She held out a hand and he shook it.
"Oh, wow. I read your stories all the time." He didn't like the stories about Lex that much, but Lex just laughed them off, said that things were changing, she'd not be publishing more along those lines, for want of material. He'd never said she was gorgeous.
"Thanks." A flash of bright teeth.
"What can I do for you?"
"I'd actually like to talk for a few minutes, if that's okay. Can I record this?"
"Uh, sure. What about?" He nearly started to suggest that they go into the house, but she started immediately.
"It's quite a fascinating story, your disappearance and return."
"How did you know?"
"Your local paper gave it a paragraph, and I looked at some of the loose threads."
'Loose threads?" He should have realized a reporter wasn't here just for him to, well, look at.
"Can you explain why Lex Luthor kept looking for you all those years?"
"We'd been friends. He's-" He had to pick his words carefully, but under those eyes of hers, he couldn't think. She took a step closer.
"And can you also explain why none of the doctors who supposedly treated you gave a consistent description of you?"
"They're busy people. Besides, they were really only looking at my head, right?" He tried to laugh as she moved slightly to the side, but yet again, a bit closer.
"Or could you tell me why Lex Luthor took a week off to spend here with you?"
"He's my friend."
"LexCorp is engaged in a wide variety of neurochemical research and experiments. Do you think there's any association?"
Clark shook his head helplessly. The barrage of questions, each coming from a slightly different direction, physically as well as metaphorically, was shaking him.
"The hospital doesn't have any billing records for you." She pulled what looked like an envelope from her pocket, and a piece of meteor came out with it, tumbling at his feet. He dully realized that that must be what she'd picked up.
"You dropped your-"
She ignored him. "The agency that Lex Luthor allegedly hired to find you has an interesting anamoly in their records. All the computer files mentioning you have the same last modification date. Last Tuesday."
He was trying to think. "Maybe they updated everything when they closed it."
"And the hospital? No billing records? A patient record, but no billing."
"They didn't know who I was until..."
"Then why is there a name on your patient chart?"
"I don't know!"
"What would you say if I asked if you were in the hospital at all? If I asked where you really were?"
"Please, I-I don't remember, not anything." If he could kick the meteor away, he'd be able to think more clearly. Unless she'd done it on purpose. How did she know?
"You're wearing a bandage on the right side of your head, but the diagnosis said that the growth was on the left side." Oh, God. Dad had just guessed... "Where were you really, Mr. Kent? What were you doing?" He tried to move away but she was too close. He wasn't able to do more than scrape his foot along the ground, in his attempt to kick the meteor.
She took a step closer and it sounded as though there were more voices barking questions. He closed his eyes, then tried to open them again, kick the meteor away, but stumbled to the ground instead. The interrogators shouted another question and each time he answered that he didn't know, they held one against his skin. But now they weren't moving it around, just leaving one small piece under his leg. Maybe they were going to do what they'd done earlier, put tiny particles in water and hold his face into it. Or force the water down his throat. The time they'd left him "to think it over," after jamming a piece in his mouth and duct taping it shut. He heard his voice again, but distorted, from a distance. "Please, I don't know where I'm from, I don't know why they sent me here, I never wanted to hurt anybody, honestly, I don't know, I don't know, please."
"Whoa. Wait a minute. Are you okay?" Her voice was the strongest of the ones shouting questions. He opened his eyes, since it sounded like she was much closer. And maybe...he knew that they sometimes played good cop, bad cop, but at least when they did, it meant a few moment's respite.
Now, it was another voice.
"Ms. Lane, I didn't realize you studied interrogation at the School of the Americas." What was Lex doing here?
Even coming out of the barn after finishing milking the goats felt weird. Inside it was okay, though he knew he spent too much time looking over his shoulder, jumping at noises. He reminded himself again that nobody was watching him, nobody was going to throw him into a prison or try to make him tell things he didn't know or confess to being what he wasn't.
Stepping outside, he saw a young woman picking her way across the grass to him. Something caught her eye in the grass, he guessed, since she stooped and picked it up before continuing towards him. He stared in an appreciation he wasn't quite sure was right for him to feel. But there she was. Lana's coloring, the soft, dark hair that looked like satin, but cut shorter like Chloe's, and with Chloe's bright, alert features. Her blue eyes were even more compelling than Lex's. He made himself stop just before concluding that she combined the best physical features of all three of the people he'd been attracted to.
"Excuse me, are you Clark Kent?"
"Uhm, yeah."
"Lois Lane. I'm from the Daily Planet." She held out a hand and he shook it.
"Oh, wow. I read your stories all the time." He didn't like the stories about Lex that much, but Lex just laughed them off, said that things were changing, she'd not be publishing more along those lines, for want of material. He'd never said she was gorgeous.
"Thanks." A flash of bright teeth.
"What can I do for you?"
"I'd actually like to talk for a few minutes, if that's okay. Can I record this?"
"Uh, sure. What about?" He nearly started to suggest that they go into the house, but she started immediately.
"It's quite a fascinating story, your disappearance and return."
"How did you know?"
"Your local paper gave it a paragraph, and I looked at some of the loose threads."
'Loose threads?" He should have realized a reporter wasn't here just for him to, well, look at.
"Can you explain why Lex Luthor kept looking for you all those years?"
"We'd been friends. He's-" He had to pick his words carefully, but under those eyes of hers, he couldn't think. She took a step closer.
"And can you also explain why none of the doctors who supposedly treated you gave a consistent description of you?"
"They're busy people. Besides, they were really only looking at my head, right?" He tried to laugh as she moved slightly to the side, but yet again, a bit closer.
"Or could you tell me why Lex Luthor took a week off to spend here with you?"
"He's my friend."
"LexCorp is engaged in a wide variety of neurochemical research and experiments. Do you think there's any association?"
Clark shook his head helplessly. The barrage of questions, each coming from a slightly different direction, physically as well as metaphorically, was shaking him.
"The hospital doesn't have any billing records for you." She pulled what looked like an envelope from her pocket, and a piece of meteor came out with it, tumbling at his feet. He dully realized that that must be what she'd picked up.
"You dropped your-"
She ignored him. "The agency that Lex Luthor allegedly hired to find you has an interesting anamoly in their records. All the computer files mentioning you have the same last modification date. Last Tuesday."
He was trying to think. "Maybe they updated everything when they closed it."
"And the hospital? No billing records? A patient record, but no billing."
"They didn't know who I was until..."
"Then why is there a name on your patient chart?"
"I don't know!"
"What would you say if I asked if you were in the hospital at all? If I asked where you really were?"
"Please, I-I don't remember, not anything." If he could kick the meteor away, he'd be able to think more clearly. Unless she'd done it on purpose. How did she know?
"You're wearing a bandage on the right side of your head, but the diagnosis said that the growth was on the left side." Oh, God. Dad had just guessed... "Where were you really, Mr. Kent? What were you doing?" He tried to move away but she was too close. He wasn't able to do more than scrape his foot along the ground, in his attempt to kick the meteor.
She took a step closer and it sounded as though there were more voices barking questions. He closed his eyes, then tried to open them again, kick the meteor away, but stumbled to the ground instead. The interrogators shouted another question and each time he answered that he didn't know, they held one against his skin. But now they weren't moving it around, just leaving one small piece under his leg. Maybe they were going to do what they'd done earlier, put tiny particles in water and hold his face into it. Or force the water down his throat. The time they'd left him "to think it over," after jamming a piece in his mouth and duct taping it shut. He heard his voice again, but distorted, from a distance. "Please, I don't know where I'm from, I don't know why they sent me here, I never wanted to hurt anybody, honestly, I don't know, I don't know, please."
"Whoa. Wait a minute. Are you okay?" Her voice was the strongest of the ones shouting questions. He opened his eyes, since it sounded like she was much closer. And maybe...he knew that they sometimes played good cop, bad cop, but at least when they did, it meant a few moment's respite.
Now, it was another voice.
"Ms. Lane, I didn't realize you studied interrogation at the School of the Americas." What was Lex doing here?