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"Pop, I haven't got any good news for you." Sitting at his kitchen table, Dale Ross frowned. "I faxed copies of the contract to everyone I could think of, and everyone agrees there's nothing we can do."
Joe frowned back. "But the contract specifically says Luthor can't sell the plant on. I made sure of that."
His daughter-in-law leaned forward and patted his hand. "We know you did, Dad. But there are always loopholes in this kind of thing, and apparently Luthor found one. Technically he's not breaking your deal, because he's selling the plant in bits and pieces."
The old man rested his head in his hands.
"I'm sorry. I should have listened to you, Dale."
"You couldn't have known what he would do," his son said softly. "None of us could. On paper the deal looks fair and square. Luthor and his lawyers are just slippery enough to get around that."
"But you warned me. Ed Fordman and Jonathan Kent warned me. And I didn't listen." Joe sighed heavily. "And now look what I've done."
"Don't you blame yourself, Dad," Kate scolded. "This is LuthorCorp's doing, and not yours. Everyone knows that."
"Five hundred people out of work, a week before Thanksgiving." Joe Ross had always prided himself on being a strong man, but at the thought of what was happening his eyes began to fill with tears. "Thank God your mother isn't here to see what a fool I've been."
Kate hastily got up to refill everyone's mugs with coffee, allowing her husband and his father a quiet moment. She could hear Dale whispering softly to Joe. Standing at her kitchen window, she could see the backyard where her youngest child played on the swing set. She was relieved her other four were at school. She wasn't sure how to explain what was happening to their family. At least Peter was too young to really understand his grandfather's grief.
When Dale had insisted on coming back to Smallville after law school, Kate really hadn't understood what tied him to the small community. But after years of watching his family work to keep the factory going, after bearing and raising all of her children here, she had finally begun to understand the strong emotional bond the Ross' felt with the town. Neither Joe, his sons, or even his grandsons had ever been much for expressing their feelings. Ross men tended to bury their problems behind a wall of jokes rather than dealing with things head on, but now there was nothing any of them could do to lighten Joe's burden.
"And it's not just the workers I've hurt." Joe shook his head. "The two of you, and Mark and his wife, had money tied up in the plant. If there's no plant, there's no profit sharing, and you'll never get your money back. This deal was supposed to secure the future for my grandkids, and instead I've left our family worse off than before."
"We'll manage, Pop. We always have before."
"We've both got a few cases we're working on," Kate added.
"No, you both shouldn't have to work so hard. You should be able to take time to enjoy your kids while they're young." Joe rubbed a hand across his face.
"It's like you and Granddad have always said. The Ross' carry on, no matter what." Dale tried to inject some levity into his voice. "We'll just keep on carrying on."
Kate nodded. "Joe, you can't keep beating yourself up over this. You look so tired."
"I am tired, Katie. More tired than I've ever been before."
She took her father-in-law's hand in one of hers. Dale took the other.
"Dad, none of this is going to change how people feel. Folks know you didn't mean for this to happen. They know you've always done right by the town. Jonathan Kent said the same thing when he dropped by the other day."
"And I couldn't even face him," Joe said sadly. "I don't know if I can face anyone any more. The hick who got taken by Lionel Luthor. That's me."
"Pop, I won't hear you talking like that. We may not be able to fight LuthorCorp in court, but I'll be damned if I'll let him shame my father and my family out of town." Dale sat up straighter. "People won't forget what he did. Luthor may have gotten the factory, but there's no way he'll ever win over the town now."
The phone rang, and while Kate jumped up to get it Joe shook his head at his son.
"I want to believe you, Dale."
His boy smiled his old crooked, cocky grin. "Then believe me, Pop."
"Dale?" Kate held the phone out to her husband. "It's Mark, calling from Metropolis—he things he may have found a job."
Dale clapped his dad on the back.
"See, what did I tell you? Things are looking up already!"
While Kate and Dale spoke to Mark, Joe pushed aside his mug and stood up. He walked slowly over to the back door.
Rubbing his back he smiled ruefully as he opened the screen door. He felt like he'd aged twenty years since the meteor shower. His back hurt, his legs hurt…and his chest hurt at the thought Mark and his family might have to move away if Mark got a job in Metropolis. He and Tess had worked so hard to keep their family together, and close to Smallville…
"Face it, Ross—you're an old man," Joe told himself. "Obsolete."
"Who ya talkin' to, Grandpa?" His youngest grandchild piped from his seat on a swing.
"Oh, your old granddad's just talking to himself, Petey." He smiled at the boy. "Havin' fun?"
"Uh huh." The little boy frowned. "How come you been inside all day? You're s'posed to push me on the swing."
Joe's grin widened. "Am I, now? Is that the rule in the Ross house?"
"Uh huh."
Joe forgot about his aches and obliged Peter by standing behind him and giving him a small push.
"Better?"
"Yep. Keep going, please."
Joe chuckled. Little Peter was by far the greatest charmer of the Ross grandchildren. Probably because he was the littlest, lost in a sea of brothers and sisters, he'd learned a smile and a hug could bring him just about anything he wanted.
"Grandpa?"
"Yes, Petey?"
"Dad says we can't go see the factory no more."
"'Anymore,' Peter. And no, we can't."
The child frowned again. "Kathy says the man who bought it is bad."
Joe slowed the progress of the swing for a moment. "Well, now, Peter. You tell your sister not to go spreading tales. That isn't very nice."
Chastened, Peter ducked his small head. "'Kay."
Joe shook his head and stepped back.
"Peter, come here for a moment."
With an expression of curiosity Peter jumped off the swing and stood in front of his grandfather. The old man laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Now, listen to what I'm telling you, son. No one is bad, not really. Sometimes people do bad things, that's true. The man who bought the factory is like that. But that doesn't mean he has a bad heart."
Clearly puzzled, the boy looked up at him with wide eyes.
"But if the man's good, why did he make you an' Dad an' Uncle Mark so mad?"
Sighing, Joe shook his head.
"I don't really know, Pete. But the man who bought the plant has a wife, and a little boy, like you, so there must be some good in him somewhere." Joe wasn't sure if he was speaking to his grandson or to himself now. "It's just a bit harder to find in some people." He ruffled his grandson's hair. "And I reckon' we'll all stop being mad eventually, so I don't watch you fretting, ok?"
""Kay." Peter took his grandfather's hand. "Will you make me some hot chocolate now? I want some."
"Well, now, we'd better ask your mama first," Joe chuckled. "But if she says it's all right I will. You know, your Grandma, God rest her soul, made the best hot chocolate, and she taught me how."
Joe released the boy's hand so the child could hop up the back stairs. As he moved to follow a wave of dizziness swept over him. He reached out and steadied himself against a porch rail.
Peter had paused and was regarding him with confusion.
"What's wrong, Grandpa? You look funny."
The dizziness seemed to be growing worse, and Joe's vision suddenly doubled. It was difficult to breathe.
"I…I…"
"Grandpa?"
Although he couldn't see the boy clearly, Joe could hear the fear in his voice. He struggled to clear his mind against the crushing pain in his chest.
"Petey, go get your dad. Quick now, that's my boy."
Suddenly the world spun around him, and Joe could no longer maintain his balance. He felt heavily to the porch floor, but somehow couldn't feel the wood under him. All he could feel was the terrible pain, as if the life were being squeezed out of him. He could see only darkness, but he heard, very dimly, his smart young grandson scramble up the stairs and throw open the screen door.
"Dad, Mom, come quick! Something's wrong with Grandpa!"
p
"That should be everything." Martha set the small suitcase down at the foot of the stairs.
"Did you remember to pack the toy truck? He'll want that," Jonathan said numbly.
"Of course I did."
Martha wouldn't look him in the eyes.
"Are you sure we're doing the right thing, Jonathan?"
"No, honey, I'm not. But it's the only thing I can think to do." Gently Jonathan put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off.
"Martha, please. I know this hurts you but it will be better for Clark, in the long run, to be some place with people who can cope with him. You and I couldn't handle him now if he decided to pitch a fit. What would happen when he's a teenager?" Jonathan tried to grin, but it didn't seem to come out right.
Martha nodded, and rubbed her arms as if she were cold.
"I understand what you're saying, Jonathan, and my mind agrees with you."
"But your heart feels differently."
Tears started to stream down his wife's face. "Oh, Jonathan…"
He put his arms around her and held her tight.
"Martha, you've got the kindest, most generous heart I've ever seen. That's why I fell in love with you."
She sniffed loudly and hastily ran her hands across her eyes.
"It was only natural that you'd love Clark. But he was never meant to be ours."
"I don't want him to know I've been crying. It will just upset him."
Jonathan nodded and picked up the suitcase. Martha had carefully packed Clark's clothes, books, and handful of toys into it, and it still felt too light. Clark had seemed so much a part of the house in the last weeks it seemed impossible that Jonathan held all he owned in the world in one little bag.
"Jonathan, I can't go into Metropolis with you. I just can't, I'm sorry." Martha shook her head vehemently.
"I understand, Martha. You can say goodbye to him here."
They went out on to the front porch. Clark was sitting under the oak tree, building a tiny house out of sticks. Martha had bundled him up against the cold northerly wind. In his heavy red coat and with his hair standing up in the breeze he looked like a small, black-haired rooster.
"Come on, Clark, we need to go now." Jonathan held out his hand.
The child hopped to his feet. Clark loved riding in the truck more than anything else, and seemed to sense whenever Jonathan had car keys in his hand. He looked up at Jonathan expectantly.
Jonathan hastily cleared his throat and went around to the tailgate, placing the forlorn little suitcase in the back.
Martha knelt down and smoothed the child's hair.
"Now, Clark. I want you to listen to me. You be a good boy, and do what Jonathan tells you, all right?"
The child nodded.
She wrapped him in her arms and held him tightly.
"I'm never going to forget you, Clark. Don't you ever forget me."
So far Martha had been able to control her tears, but she squeezed Clark one last time and stood hastily.
"You'd better take him, Jonathan," she said shakily. "I can't…I don't…"
"I know, baby." Jonathan went back around the truck and took the child's hand. He led him over to the open passenger door and helped him climb in. He checked to make sure the seat belt was buckled tightly across Clark's lap. Then he went around to the driver's side where his wife stood.
"It's three hours to Metropolis, and three hours back…I don't expect I'll be home until late tonight."
Taking a shuddery breath, his wife nodded.
Jonathan touched her face one last time and climbed behind the wheel. When he started the engine Clark clapped his small hands with glee. Jonathan threw the truck into reverse but Martha hastily laid her hand across the open window.
"Jonathan, make sure they're good people. Make sure they understand how special Clark is."
He nodded, his lips set in a tight line.
"I will, Martha. I promise."
He backed the truck out of the driveway before he would have to see his wife dissolve in tears.
"You're doing the right thing, Kent," he told himself. "You're doing the right thing."
As they turned out onto the highway Clark glanced back over his shoulder at the farmhouse. He shot Jonathan a curious look, as if wondering why Martha wasn't coming with them. Jonathan didn't have the heart to explain, and Clark soon settled down to contemplate the hum of the engine and the sound of the tires against the pavement.
They passed through downtown on the way to the interstate. Jonathan could see that most of the boarded-up windows sported new glass. The Talon, Nell's florist shop, and Fordman's Sporting Goods were all open for business. For the first time in weeks no news trucks were parked on Main Street. No doubt they'd found a new tragedy to exploit somewhere else. There was still a gaping hole on the block where the old Savings and Loan had stood, but most of the rubble had been cleared away.
Although he wouldn't have thought it possible before, Jonathan could now imagine a time when a visitor might be able to look at Smallville and not know the meteors had hit. But of course they would only see with their eyes. The residents would always remember what had happened, whether the scars were visible or not.
As he turned left onto the interstate, Jonathan glanced over at Clark. The child seemed blissfully unaware, humming along with the engine.
What might have happened if Clark hadn't arrived with the meteors? If he'd arrived some other way, would things be any easier? Jonathan contemplated this as they drove in silence.
If Clark had been a human child, found out in a cornfield, Jonathan would have still done everything possible to do right by him. He would have tried to find his family, would have taken care of him the best way he knew how.
But if Clark had been human, and without a family, Jonathan wouldn't have hesitated about keeping him. Then he wouldn't have been breaking Martha's heart, and his own, by giving him up.
But Clark wasn't human. Clark was…Clark.
"I can't help but wonder if maybe you do have a family somewhere, Clark," he said aloud.
Clark blinked at him with wide green eyes.
"Do you have folks out there? Or up there? Did they mean to send you here, or was it all just an accident? Will your folks come looking for you some day?"
Clearly not in a philosophical mood, Clark turned his attention to fiddling with the radio dials. Jonathan's heart was too heavy to stop him.
They only stopped once during the trip, at a gas station where the man behind the counter gave Clark a grape lollipop while Jonathan filled the truck.
"Nice boy you got there," the attendant said. "You must be real proud."
Jonathan didn't respond.
When the skyline of Metropolis came into view, Clark sat up higher and pointed.
"Wha' that?"
"That's a city, Clark. Biggest one in the Midwest."
The child's eyes shone like the glass and steel skyscrapers.
"Pretty."
Jonathan would never have thought a crowded, dirty place like Metropolis could be pretty, but now, seeing it through Clark's eyes, he had to admit it did look kind of pretty. From a distance, anyway.
S.T.A.R. Labs was on the west side of town, and as they drove through downtown Clark watched in awe as people bustled all around them. It was noon, so all the corporate drones were on their lunch breaks. Jonathan wondered idly which building housed LuthorCorp, and what the penalty would be if he threw a brick through one of their windows.
The street passed though a large park. Clark pointed to some kids fishing off a bridge into the Metropolis River below.
"They're fishing, Clark. Well, not really. The only thing they'll catch in there in tires. Real fishing is done in a lake or a stream."
Jonathan thought of his fishing gear, up in the attic at home. He still had his father's old rod and tackle. He didn't know why he'd been saving them. Why had he saved all of his father's things, even leaving his room untouched all these years?
Maybe he hadn't been ready to let go of Hyrum. Not until Clark came.
S.T.A.R. Laboratories occupied a large, squat building in an industrial section of town. Jonathan supposed that it didn't matter much to scientists where they worked, but it sure looked like a gloomy place to him. He parked at the curb and stared at the glass front doors. Only discreet lettered announced they were in the right place. There weren't even any windows.
Clark frowned. "Fish?" he asked.
"No, Clark. No fishing here."
His research had convinced him this was the place best able to handle Clark's unusual needs. But sitting there Jonathan felt protest boiling up in his stomach. In his mind he'd pictured a place surrounded by grass and trees, maybe like the Metropolis University campus on the east side of town. Someplace suitable for a child, where he'd have plenty of fresh air. This place looked like a fortress. Which, he realized, given what S.T.A.R. worked on it might need to be.
"Well, we're here, anyway." Jonathan undid his seat belt and hopped out of the truck. He helped Clark down, and then on a whim picked him up and set him in the crook of his arm as he had on that first day. Clark definitely felt heavier. Martha's cooking had obviously done him some good.
"We came all this way," Jonathan said idly. "We should at least check it out."
Clark only studied the building in silence. Jonathan again wondered what went on behind those green eyes.
"We'll check it out, and if it doesn't feel right we'll come up with another plan. Right?"
Clark nodded vigorously, obviously not understanding a word Jonathan said.
So they'd go in, and Jonathan would tell them…what, exactly? The whole scenario had seemed so simple when he'd laid it out for Martha. He would explain the circumstances under which they'd found Clark, and ask the scientists what to do next.
Simple. Only they'd probably think he was nuts.
Or they wouldn't. And they'd take Clark.
In the back of his mind Jonathan had always entertained the hope that he and Martha would be able to keep in touch with the boy. To see how he grew, how he changed, to know that after all their agonizing they'd done the right thing by giving him up.
If he took Clark into that fortress, that wouldn't happen. They'd never see him again. Standing on the sidewalk Jonathan was as certain of that as he'd even been of anything in his life.
He'd always prided himself on his honesty, but the truth was he'd been lying to himself. And what was worse, lying to Martha.
He wasn't ready to let go of Clark, any more than his wife was. At least not yet. Maybe when Clark was older, bigger, better able to fend for himself…Maybe then he would bring the child back here.
But not now. Not today.
He held the boy tightly against his jacket.
"C'mon, Clark. I changed my mind. You don't need to be here right now. Let's go home to Martha."
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