The first couple of weeks at home after the trials at Dr. Swann's lab seemed to ease the heaviness of Clark's demeanor. Jonathan and Martha had worried when he arrived home much later than expected, and with a countenance that hinted at yet another weight he'd decided to bear - evidently alone, because he denied that anything was amiss.
He'd thrown himself into his chores and schoolwork, and with the new added distraction of football, he was able to push Marin and everything else that happened that weekend in Metropolis out of his mind for a while.
It was only a problem at night, long after sunset when the farm's work was finished for the day and he had only the stars to keep him company. He tried to focus on them, to remember the fascination they'd held for him before he knew what he really was. He'd lost that fascination when he learned about Jor-El and his supposed destiny, and began to resent the cosmos simply for reminding him of the existence of other worlds, therefore reminding him that he did not belong in this one.
But now, he realized that he'd lost even the resentment. He had disappointed himself in his effort to strengthen his bond with his humanity, and in doing so he began to understand why Jor-El believed humans to be so flawed, so in need of powerful rule. To err is human, to forgive divine. To err is human… was that an excuse? A reason? Were the two things really so different? Freedom of choice was such a treasure to people, but their choices brought them such pain, so many questions. Was choice a gift? A weakness? Jor-El had experienced the most bitter of consequences as a result choices made on this planet. Was Jor-El wise to not give him one?
But then, how could Clark know who he was, if it wasn't who he chose to be?
"You know, this may seem like a tedious formality, but it is customary to turn in an article you were assigned before the Torch goes to print." Chloe advanced brashly up the stairs to Clark's loft with her usual snark announcing her presence.
Clark looked up from the couch, where he was attacking a sheet of paper with a red pen. "It's almost done, I'm giving it a brutal edit first."
Chloe dropped onto the couch next to him. "You may be bigger, Clark, but I'd wager I'm the brutish one. Hand it over," she demanded, holding her hand out expectantly.
Clark relinquished the page and watched Chloe's face as she shifted into editorial gear. "I was kind of distracted when I wrote it, which is why there's so much red ink."
"Shh!" Chloe put up a hand to silence him as she finished perusing the article. At last she stuck out her lower lip and nodded concedingly. "A profusion of typos, yes, but strong composition. There's just one thing…" she allowed herself to trail off, giving Clark time to look perplexed and question that "one thing."
"What?" Clark asked, with the anticipated perplexion.
Chloe smiled the way she often does when she tries not to be condescending, but since she's a step ahead she can't really help it. "Well, it's a good fluff piece on the parking lot resurfacing, but it's freshman work."
"Hey, it may not be Pulitzer worthy, but it's not freshman -"
"I meant it's a freshman assignment, Clark." She smiled at him, a bit amused at his easily bruised ego. "Which is why I assigned it to a freshman. I gave you the profile of this year's varsity football team, since you're a jockstrap yourself now. How did you end up with this?"
Clark looked down at his heavily edited article. "You said you left a note on your desk for me to pick up after football practice - that's what I found."
Chloe clapped a hand over her forehead. "Ah! I said the same thing to the kid that I assigned the pavement detail to - she must have taken the wrong one. I sent a freshman girl to cover the jockstraps!" Chloe groaned. "Ugh, excuse the imagery." She took her cell phone from her pocket as she rose to leave. "Sorry for the fly-by, but I have to run some damage control. In case she didn't do it, can I count on you to get me that team profile for the next edition?"
"Sure thing - I don't remember anyone interviewing the team yet anyway."
"Excellent. And thanks for the pavement puff. You almost met the deadline!"
Clark rolled his eyes at her. "Well, it might have been in sooner if I hadn't been sitting here trying to make it worthy of my neurotically perfectionist editor."
"Hey, I am not neur - okay, well I'm not a perf - well I am the editor, so I have an excuse! And now off I go, in pursuit of perfection. See you later, Clark!"
The next day arrived with overcast skies and, for Lois, an equally overcast demeanor. She hadn't seen or talked to Clark since he'd caught her following him to the convenience store. It wasn't for lack of trying - she'd called his house more times than she cared to admit, but was always given the runaround by Mr. or Mrs. Kent. "He's at football practice," was what she usually got from Martha, or Jonathan would say "sorry Lois, the cows can't milk themselves - I'll tell Clark you called when he's finished with his chores." She didn't want to appear desperate, but she was - she didn't like not knowing who she was with or what had happened to her for three hours on a Friday night, and she was very unsettled by the knowledge that Clark had something to do with it. There might be more to this farm-boy than she had first thought, and she wasn't exactly comfortable with that idea.
It had been two weeks since she awoke in her apartment with no memory of how she got there, with only Chris to provide her with any answers. Clark's pure and boyish charm was disarming, to say the least - she couldn't have believed that there was any truly underhanded notion behind those innocent eyes - despite the less-than-modest circumstances of their first meeting. Could she really have been so taken in by a façade that she never suspected he might be someone else entirely? She didn't like to think so.
So now, as she drove to Smallville for answers on a Saturday morning, she mulled over every little detail she could recall about Clark Kent - primarily how those details didn't quite add up.
"Dr. Crosby, really, I don't think we need to perform any follow-up lab work - I'm fine. It's been two weeks, all is well." Marin was trying to worm her way out of following Dr. Crosby's post-experimental protocol.
"Just do it to humor me at least, Marin. Better safe than sorry. We'll just do basic blood work and a urinalysis - shouldn't need more than that."
"Shouldn't even need that," Marin muttered under her breath.
Dr. Crosby raised an eyebrow. "Marin, it was a risky trial, and we knew that. I'm not leaving anything to chance. I'll analyze the samples myself, if that helps. For my own peace of mind, of not for yours."
"Fine, give me a specimen cup and let's get this over with."
Despite her efforts not to, Marin gave in and indulged her memory one last time, using the fact that Dr. Crosby was running one last test as an excuse to keep from finally letting go. After the test was over, she'd push it from her mind and heart forever. Yes, that's what she would do.
But for now, she would remember.
The knock on her door came gently, just after one o'clock. Her hand shook as she opened the door, and she tried to keep the nervous elation she felt from showing when she saw Clark on the other side.
"Can I… um… come in?" He glanced beyond her shoulder into the dimly lit room, as if expecting to see something that would keep him out.
"Sure, of course," Marin whispered, not wanting to draw attention from those resting in the other bunkers. She stepped back and opened the door wider to allow Clark to slip through, and then closed it silently behind him. She turned to find him standing with his back to her, arms pressed across his chest as if he were trying to take up as little space as possible.
"You want to… sit down?"
Clark looked at her blankly and then nodded. "Okay." He sat in the plastic chair at her small writing desk.
Marin smiled wanly. "Um, on the bed?"
Clark looked momentarily confused - or perhaps apprehensive, but then nodded again. "Oh. Okay," and he moved to the bed.
Marin sat next to him, leaving almost a foot of space between their bodies. They sat in silence for an interminable moment, and Marin turned her head to look at him. He was staring at - or possibly through - the opposite wall, his hands gripping the mattress and his bare toes just grazing the floor. "You know, if you kick your feet little, you'll look just like a ten-year-old who's waiting to have a tooth pulled."
Clark's chest heaved with the release of nervous laughter, but he quickly sobered. "Yeah," he sighed wistfully.
Marin moved to close the gap between them by a few inches. "It doesn't have to be like pulling teeth."
Clark finally tore his eyes off the wall and looked at Marin's face. "I'm sorry. It's not you, it's - "
"Oh no," Marin interrupted. "No 'it's not you, it's me' speeches! I hate clichés, especially in clinical trials." She smiled lightheartedly, hoping her levity might loosen up the situation.
She was rewarded with Clark's brilliant, if somewhat remorseful smile. "You're right. It's just that - well, it's not that I don't want to do this, because… well, of course I technically want to do this, it's just that you're - "
Marin raised a finger to his mouth to quiet him, not wanting to hear him say that he really just didn't want to do it with her. She still needed to pretend. "Maybe this will be easier if we don't talk."
"But - "
Marin silenced him again, this time with a kiss. She held his head between her hands and pressed herself against him, and for one terrible instant she feared that he wouldn't requite her, that he would remain despondent or push her away. Then his hand was on the small of her back, and he drew her closer.
If life were made of moments, even now and then a bad one… but if life were only moments, then you'd never know you had one. It was a near-perfect moment, when she had Clark's attention and his body, and his arms around her and his lips pressed against hers - "
"Marin?" Dr. Crosby called to her with an accompanying knock on her door. Marin no longer liked the sound of knocking.
"Yeah, come in,' she called, sitting up and rubbing wetness out of her eyes.
Dr. Crosby said nothing as she entered the room and crossed to sit next to Marin on the bed. She had begun to think of Marin as a sort of daughter, though she'd never been beyond the door of her bunker. She had watched her flourish during her work with Dr. Swann, and saw much of herself in her youth. And much like a watchful mother, Dr. Crosby had difficulty putting into words the news she had come to deliver.
So heavy and lengthy was Dr. Crosby's silence that Marin drifted back to her daydream.
Marin wrapped her arms around Clark's shoulders and pulled him with her as she lay down. He was still hesitant, but now he couldn't pretend that he wanted to keep his distance. He deepened the kiss and allowed his body to settle against hers. He brushed his thumb lightly over her cheek and felt a runaway tear. Abruptly, he broke the kiss and looked down into her expectant eyes. "Marin?"
"Marin," Dr. Crosby began. "This isn't going to be easy to say, but the urinalysis showed something."
Marin blinked and tried to remember which reality she was in, and then shrugged inwardly at Dr. Crosby's words. So? "And what did it show?"
Dr. Crosby calmed herself with a series of deep inhalations and exhalations before dropping the curtain. "You're pregnant."
Marin's jaw dropped for a split second, and then she began to laugh. She laughed heartily and thickly, expecting Dr. Crosby to join in - because it had to be a joke.
"I don't see what's so funny," Dr. Crosby mused.
"Oh, you don't? You really had me going there, for a second - very serious, very straight-faced. Nice one, Dr. C! There's a sense of humor in there after all!"
"Marin, I'm serious - the test is conclusive, I ran it three times to be sure - it's true, Marin. You're pregnant."
Marin's face fell at Dr. Crosby's obviously earnest argument. "But that's impossible."
Dr. Crosby became slightly parental. "Well, no, you did have sex, it's not impossible - you're a smart girl, you know how these things happen."
"Oh, but this thing - this thing did not happen!"
Dr. Crosby looked frustrated. "Look, I understand that it's hard to grasp this right now, but how can you say that it's impossible?"
Marin's eyes widened and her mind retreated once more to her memory.
"Marin?" Clark repeated. He sat back suddenly. "Marin, I'm sorry, I can't - we can't… This was a mistake." He scrambled off the bed and folded himself into the plastic chair across the room.
He'd moved so fast that Marin could almost still feel his weight above her before she knew he wasn't there anymore. She lay there for a moment, praying that her over-dramatic subconscious was fooling her with a masochistic subplot, but then she turned and looked at Clark's face. She sat up slowly - very slowly, so that she wouldn't leave the truth on her pillow and then have to have it hit her again. "Okay," was all she could say.
Marin's words to Dr. Crosby were said dryly, but her eyes spoke with tearful ardor. "Because we didn't do it."