PART THREE



Clark's feet dragged as he walked towards the house. The house he'd grown up in. The house that equaled safety, security, comfort, warmth. And he needed all of those things right now.

He took a deep, tired breath and looked up at the darkening sky. The beautiful day had turned gray and gloomy. The pleasant breeze had turned into a sharp snap, whipping at the leaves on the trees. The clouds had moved forward to cover the sun.

It matched Clark's mood perfectly.

Dropping his head, Clark stared at the ground. It had started as such a typical day. An okay day. Then, in an instant, it all changed, and because of something most people would think was no big deal.

"Now days," Ms. Simonson began, "people barely know who their great grandparents are, let alone which of their ancestors was the first to set foot in this country. Well, I want you to follow your family tree back as far as you can, to the earliest ancestor you can manage. Ask your parents. Ask your grandparents, aunts, uncles. Then, I want you to write a report on that person. Who were they? Where were they born? What did they do for a living? Who were their spouses, their children?"

The assignment was so simple, so innocent…for anyone but Clark Kent. For Clark, it brought up all kinds of issues. Made him think about all the things he didn't know. He hadn't thought much about his biological family beyond Jor-El and his birth mother. But, today, it hit him. There was a whole part of his heritage that was a complete blank to him. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents. All a bunch of blank faces. And he didn't have the comfort of being able to imagine they were out there somewhere. That maybe he'd passed one of them on the street one day without even knowing. They were just…gone.

Dejected, Clark opened the screen door and stepped into the kitchen. As he dropped his backpack on a nearby chair, he heard a noise coming from behind the kitchen island.

"Oh, hey, Mom," Clark said, and tried not to sound as gloomy as he felt. "I didn't realize you were…"

Clark stopped, eyes widening in surprise. The person who stood up from behind the counter definitely wasn't Martha Kent. In fact, Clark had never seen him before.

The guy seemed equally surprised to see Clark. For a moment he just stared, eyes wide, almost like a deer caught in the headlights of an eighteen wheeler.

"Um, hi," he finally said, his voice uncertain. After a long, awkward pause, he donned a friendly smile. But his light green eyes were cautious. "You must be Clark."

"Um, yeah," Clark said, his own green eyes equally wary. "Who are you?" And what are you doing in my house? he mentally added.

"I'm Chris Halliwell. And sorry to pop up at you like that." He held up two pieces of what used to be a mug. "I was just cleaning up the mess I made back here." His eyes darted around the kitchen for a moment before they landed on the garbage can. "Uh, I'll just..."

As Chris—whoever he was—went to throw the broken mug away, Clark studied him with narrowed eyes. The guy wasn't acting suspicious. Maybe a little uncomfortable, but not like someone who'd broken into the house or anything. Still...

Clark was almost certain he'd never seen him around town before. Of course, he couldn't be a hundred percent sure, but he seemed like someone Clark would have remembered. The stranger was nearly as tall as he was, only more lanky. When Clark first saw him, he would have said they were about the same age. But now, only seconds later, he was sure the guy was a few years older. Early twenties, maybe.

After tossing the mug, Chris he took the roll of paper towels from the nearby holder. Tossing an uneasy glance in Clark's direction, he went back to the island, bending down so he disappeared from Clark's view.

Clark frowned, feeling oddly at a loss. It was just that visitors weren't all that common at the Kent farm. His parents tried to make their home a sanctuary for him. A place where he didn't have to worry about being seen doing things your average Kansas farm boy shouldn't be able to do. They'd let the town know they valued their privacy, and most people respected that.

To come home and find some strange guy in their kitchen was just...weird.

Shaking his head, Clark walked around the island. He watched Chris mop up what looked like a coffee spill for a moment, in awkward silence, before finally asking, "Do you know where my mother is?"

"Uh, yeah," Chris said, looking up briefly. "She just..."

"Clark! I thought I heard your voice."

Clark turned towards his mother, who was just walking through the door. There was a smile on her face, the one that said she was in a good mood. And Clark felt some of the tension he didn't even know was there drain away.

"Hi, mom."

"Hi, sweetheart." Coming to his side, she leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. "I see you and Chris have met."

Standing, their visitor smiled uneasily. "Yeah. He came in just as I was breaking what was probably your favorite mug." He offered her a contrite smile. "Sorry."

"Oh, that's okay," Martha assured him. "Mugs are one thing we aren't running low on around here."

"Mom..." Clark began. Then, he realized that asking 'Who is this guy?' in front of Chris might be bordering on rude. So, he switched gears to, "Where's dad?"

"He went to help out at Jed MacKyver's this morning. Jed had some deliveries to make and today was the deadline. Only, that old truck of his picked today to break down. Your dad should be back by dinner."

"Oh," Clark said, not really liking the idea of his mom being alone with this guy for who knew how long.

As Martha took a step away from him, she stumbled.

"Mom!" Instinctively, Clark grabbed her arm to steady her.

"Mrs. Kent." Frowning in concern, Chris took a step towards them. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, wincing slightly. "But I guess I twisted my ankle a little more than I thought."

"Twisted your ankle?" Clark frowned. "How? What happened?"

"Well, nothing, thanks to Chris. I would've been hit by a pick up if he hadn't...um, pulled me out of the way." And her eyes seemed to shift to the side, like they sometimes did when she wasn't being completely honest. But it happened so fast, Clark thought he'd probably imagined it.

Clark's heart thudded in his chest, and he had to remind himself that his mom was obviously okay. He tried hard not to imagine what had happened. What could've happened if someone hadn't been there to intervene. And all while he was at school, blissfully unaware.

Fighting off guilt that he knew wasn't anywhere near rational, Clark glanced towards Chris. And his feelings about the stranger in their kitchen shifted slightly. There was still some suspicion there, but it was joined by gratitude. As he realized this stranger had probably saved his mother's life, he found himself imagining what his dad would do in this situation.

Straightening up to his full height, Clark held his hand out to the older man. "Thank you," he said, voice ringing with sincerity.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother smile. It was one of those motherly, 'I'm so proud of my little boy,' smiles. And it made Clark blush to the roots of his hair. Still, his hand remained steady.

For a moment, Chris seemed startled by the gesture. Then, hesitantly, he reached out to shake Clark's hand.

Almost instantly, he gasped. His body went rigid, his eyes squeezed shut. His grip got so tight that Clark was sure that, if he'd been human, he'd have a few broken bones in his hand right about now.

Before Clark could react, Chris snatched his hand away. Looking like he was in some kind of pain, he staggered back.

"Chris!" Martha cried, taking a step forward.

"I'm okay," he gasped, even though he seemed anything but. "I just..." But he didn't seem to have the energy to finish. Or stand. He leaned against the counter, which was obviously the only thing holding him up.

A puzzled frown puckered Clark's brow. "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly.

Head down, Chris took several deep, unsteady breaths. "I'm fine," he said. Then, shaking his head, he pressed his fingers to his temple. "Who's Jor-El?"

Shock went through Clark like a bolt of electricity. His body froze, he stopped breathing. Even his heart paused a moment before it started racing frantically in his chest.

Eyes wide, he turned to look at his mom. She looked as shocked as he felt. He could see the color drain out of her face, leaving her pale.

As oppressive silence fell over the Kent kitchen, Clark turned back to Chris. He had recovered enough to lift his head, and was now staring at Clark in wide-eyed wonder. Like he'd never seen Clark, or anything like him, before.

"What are you?" Chris whispered...seconds before his eyes rolled back in his head. And he started to fall.

Clark acted on instinct, becoming a blur as he ran to Chris's side, catching him before he could hit the ground. Lowering him to the floor, Clark glanced up at his mother, a confused child turning to his parent for answers, reassurance.

But all Martha Kent could say was, "Oh, my God."

(TO BE CONTINUED)