TITLE: Excuse me…who are you?

AUTHOR: William Rayne

EMAIL: knytmareyahoo.com

RATING: PG-13

SUMMARY: Clark has lost his memory, can his friends help him to remember who he is and more importantly, can his folks help me remember what he is? AU – written in the second person tense

SPOILERS: Memoria

DISTRIBUTION: FanFiction.net, email me

DISCLAIMER someone else owns 'em, I'm just taking them out to play. Don't sue me, I have no money

FEEDBACK: Desired like none other.

A/N: I know, I start a lot of fics but have yet to finish more than 1. I'm just getting out some of the ideas while they're there. Reviews are a slight motivation but not much, it's more what stories call to me to be written. I'll try to finish some as soon as I can. In the meantime, I'd really appreciate any kind of feedback/reviews.

As always: bold italics for stressed, italics for thoughts or voice-over, and underlines for sarcasm or disgust. 

Oh yeah, I'm horrible with tenses, so please forgive me, I'll try to clean and tighten that up some in the future.

183

Excuse Me…Who Are You?

Prologue

The men out in the hall argue as you lay in the hospital bed. The kind, tearful lady beside you reaches out to hold your hand. You aren't sure whether it's for her comfort or yours, but oddly, it's reassuring none-the-less. They say your name is Clark Kent and you have amnesia.

When asked about the last thing you remember, you reply, "I remember the bald man pulling me out of…out of…" Your voice trails off and they look at you with the worry naked on their features.

The man who says he's your father gives the bald man Lex the evil eye. "Lex," you blurt out and once again, all eyes are on you. Why is that also familiar? You push away the thought and state simply to the bald man, "Your name is Lex, right?"

"Yes. Yes, Clark, it is," Lex replies excitedly and the man who is your father puts aside his qualms with hope in his eyes.

You smile towards the trio and state, "I don't know why I remember that, but I do. Perhaps over time, more will come to me."

The other man, your father, looks apprehensively at the hospital bed and turns to Lex, "I appreciate the discretion but I'd like to take my son home now, if it's all the same to you."

"Mr. Kent, I only did this because it was the last request Clark made before he passed out. However, in lieu of the events, I think it would be best if we got Clark to a doctor."

This time the two argue in front of you instead of the hallway. You wonder why they bothered with the pretense in the first place. You also wonder why your father doesn't want you to go to the hospital. That would seem like the most logical thing to do.

You look towards the kind lady once more. "You're frightened," you whisper.

"Yes. Yes, I am. I'll explain when we get home," she says in the barest whisper and you're surprised that you were able to catch it. It is almost as if that very statement was a signal to her husband as he helps you out of the bed and onto your feet. You don't resist. After all, father knows best.

Lex looks angry at your departure and all you can do is offer an apologetic half-smile. As you take in your surroundings, you realize that you're in Lex's home. Your father wraps and arm around you, "It'll be alright, son. We'll find a way to get your memory back. As much as I hate to say it, Thank God for Lex's intervention in that."

Puzzled, you open the door and enter the truck, not noticing the sighs from your parents. On the way back, you come to a realization. Turning towards your father, you ask, "Lex is evil?"

Your father chuckles, "That's a mild way of putting it."

"Then why did he save me?"

Your father ponders the answer and states carefully, "I'm afraid that when it comes to you, Clark, things become complicated."

"How so?" you ask.

"Let's work on some of the little things before we cross that bridge," your father says grimly.

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The next day is no different. You're frustrated, all your parents would say about the issue with Lex is that you're special and Lex isn't to be trusted. Am I gay? You think of Lex as sexually as possible and almost retch. Nope, not gay. So what's so complicated? Why use the term special? You see a tennis ball on the floor of your room and kick it towards the wall in frustration. It doesn't bounce back. Instead it goes through the wall. Tennis balls aren't supposed to do that, are they? Good thing the Kents went into town. You find a poster to move over the hole. Mom and Dad, I need to practice that until it feels natural.

You spend the rest of the time trying to figure out who Clark Kent is. The Kents, er Mom and Dad, left you to your room in hopes that something would trigger your memory but it didn't work. They had to go into town for…for… Stupid memory work. Nothing in this room seems familiar, it's almost as if you spend time to just sleep in it. Do I sneak out at night and party? You wonder as you go through the closet. What's with the plaid and primary colors? We can scratch out partying.

Turning towards the mirror as you await the arrival of your parents, you look at the reflection and ask wryly, "Excuse me…who are you?" Who is ClarkKent?