Chapter 1
Martha stood on the second step of the kitchen staircase, holding onto the banister as she called Clark down for breakfast. Then she silently listened to make sure he was up. She could hear his uneven, sluggish movements coming from his room above. Clark's body had healed almost completely but she was concerned because he was emotionally fragile and extremely underweight. Her motherly instincts insisted she should help him get dressed, but she and Jonathan had decided that Clark needed some independence in order for him to regain his self esteem. She quickly scurried back to the kitchen when she heard him nearing the stairs. She couldn't help but think that he sounded like an old man coming downstairs, not her son. She heard the guardrail creak and figured he must be relying heavily upon it to balance himself as he made his descent down the stairs. She quickly busied herself at the sink so Clark wouldn't think she was hovering over his every move.
He reached the bottom step, "Morning Mom," he said in a monotone voice and gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his haunted eyes.
She turned around to face him, "Good morning, Sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"
Clark hesitated before putting on a perfectly unbelievable fake smile, "Yeah," he lied. The truth was he hadn't slept much at all that week. After a few nights of nightmares he decided to stay awake as long as possible. He would try to read or sneak downstairs to watch television but mostly he sat in his room and stared at the wall, trying to keep his mind clear of unwanted thoughts. As Clark stood near the dining table, a feeling of awkwardness washed over him, it had been the norm since his return a week ago. He didn't feel 'at home' or a sense of belonging with his parents. He couldn't shake his inner feeling of loneliness.
The kitchen door swung open and Jonathan walked in from the porch, "Morning" he said with a smile. Clark immediately straightened his posture, almost as a soldier would for his General. Jonathan was heartbroken to watch his son react to him in this way, yet he knew this behavior was stemming from Clark's feelings of abandonment, so he didn't want to make Clark feel worse by calling attention to it.
"How are you feeling today, son?"
With his head down Clark quietly replied a simple, "Okay."
"Good," Jonathan replied then went to Martha for a good morning kiss.
Clark couldn't watch his parents; he couldn't look at his father. He felt so volatile still that he felt he might break down at any given moment. So he sat down at the table and stared vacantly ahead while he waited for them to join him. Martha could see his discomfort and grabbed hold of his hand underneath the table to give it a gentle squeeze. Clark lowered his head. He felt ashamed and couldn't wait for breakfast to be finished so he could go to his loft and be alone.
They all remained unusually quiet while they ate; each lost in their own thoughts. Clark tried to steady his hands from shaking too hard when using his utensils and he chewed slowly, fearing that his food would come back up. He hadn't been able to keep much down and was tired of showing such weakness in front of his parents. Feeling his stomach protest in a rumble he asked, "May I be excused?"
"You've hardly eaten anything," Martha said, glancing at his plate, "I think you should try to eat some…"
"No" Clark cut her off, "I'm sorry…I just…I can't eat anymore."
Martha glanced with concern at Jonathan and he gave her a nod, as if to say 'go ahead'. She turned her attention back to Clark, who was still staring at his plate. "Sweetheart, your father and I have discussed it and we think it would help if you told us what happened." She put her hand over his and squeezed, "I know it will be difficult for you to talk about, but we think that in order for you to heal in here…" she reached her other hand over and laid it against his heart, "…you'll need to unburden yourself first. We can help you work through this; we love you."
Clark lowered his head down and closed his eyes. He swallowed repeatedly. His parents watched as his Adam's apple frantically danced inside his throat. The silence around the table was deafening. His Dad cleared his throat, "Clark…"
"No!" Clark's head shot up, "I'm not ready. Don't pressure me." His eyes were frightened and angry. His voice was firm, perhaps too firm.
His parents glanced at one another, surprised over their son's reaction. Martha removed her hand away from Clark's. She didn't want to appear to be pushing him to speak.
Silence returned to the room. No one was sure what to say next. Clark found a spot on the table and focused his gaze; escaping to some far distant place within his mind. His body shook as he was clearly trying to collect himself. Finally, he sighed. He sighed as though it were coming from deep within his soul. When he looked up at his parents, they were startled to see the depth of his anguish. His eyes glistened, "I'm so sorry. It's just…that…you really don't need…I mean…it's best if we let that stay buried." He looked back and forth at both his parents; guilt washed over him and he was hoping for some measure of redemption on their faces.
Jonathan's heart broke as his son chose to suffer silently rather than share the burden of his pain with them. Even in this tumultuous situation, Clark chose to protect his family over himself. Jonathan rose from his chair and moved to kneel down beside Clark, placing his hand on his back, "Son, you don't need to protect your mother and I. It is our job to protect you." Clark briefly leveled him with an accusatory glance before his eyes returned to the table. "We need to know who did this to you so we might prevent it from ever happening again."
Clark rose quickly from his chair, tipping it backwards in his rush. He clenched and unclenched his fists; "You can't protect me from Lionel Luthor! No one can!" He looked to both of his parents as the true horror his situation washed over them. His mom had her hand over her mouth as if she tried to suppress a scream and his dad's eyes flashed with unrestrained anger. Jonathan rose from his kneeling position and stormed to the door. He turned just once in Clark's direction before leaving the house. The look he gave Clark was unidentifiable but Clark understood it as 'disgust'.
Clark looked to his mother whose face was now covered in tears. He felt vulnerable and exposed and once again had been abandoned by his father. Martha just shook her head as tears ran in streams down her face. She couldn't speak, her horror to great. They watched each other, both at a loss for the right thing to say. She reached out her arms to draw him into a hug but he didn't feel worthy and turned away from her to leave the house. He needed the security of his loft where he didn't have to face his feelings of self worth. He could just exist without thought.
The two men walked warily through the halls of LuthorCorp, talking quietly, "What do you think Mr. Luthor is gonna do to us?"
"He was beyond pissed that this happened in the first place. Once he finds out that we can't even find that son of a bitch doctor, there's no tellin' what he'll do." They reached a petite woman sitting behind a large desk, feverishly typing. "Ah hem," she looked at him, "Mr. Luthor is expecting us."
She nodded and spoke through her headpiece intercom to Lionel, "Yes sir." She looked at the men "Mr. Luthor will see you now."
They walked down the hall and through the glass doors. Lionel stood with his back to them, gazing at the Metropolis skyline. He turned around slowly, his fury evident and as of yet unleashed. The two men struggled to remain standing as their instincts screamed for them to turn and run. It had been exactly one week ago that Clark had escaped with the help of Logan. Not only was Lionel infuriated from losing his 'prized possession' but he also felt betrayed by Logan. In his mind, he gave Logan his career, he paid for his schooling, gave him the best of the best, and this is how he was repaid. He walked forward to the men and coldly said, "Well?"
The larger man cleared his throat, "Uh, Mr. Luthor we searched everywhere but it's like he just dropped off the face of the earth."
"Did you check all overseas flights?"
"Yes sir, if he took one it must have been under a pseudonym."
Lionel sighed, "Keep checking. I want him found," he concluded with an unmistakable undercurrent of hostility not to be misunderstood.
"Yes sir." The men left, relieved that they had one more chance to redeem themselves.
Lionel returned his gaze to the skyline. With his lips pursed in a thin line, he took a deep breath and whispered with disgust, "Lex."
After a moment of thought he turned back to his desk and dialed a number on his phone. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk as he awaited an answer on the other end. When the call was picked up, he spat out, "David, I want those reports on Mr. Kent's stay in Smallville on my desk in an hour. No exceptions."
Clark loved being outside in the fields on days like today. The sun was high in the sky, surrounded by white puffy clouds floating by in the gentle breeze. His senses delighted in the smell and feel of the autumn air. He stopped for a moment and took a large breath of fresh air in, filling his lungs, and then continued on to the spot he had settled on in the field for his task today. He easily carried the two four by fours under one arm and a box of nails in the other while he trucked across the field. He decided to do this chore without speed, wanting to enjoy the day. His thoughts were on his parents as he neared the scarecrow's new home. They had been so supportive throughout his recovery over the past month since he came home. But despite all of their support he was still afraid to feel content in his life again. Lionel's words stuck with him and he felt guilty every time he looked into his father's face. His dad barely spoke to him anymore and his usual easygoing temperament had changed into one of constant irritability. Clark felt as though he had been reduced to nothing more than a burden in his father's eyes. He could feel the tension between his parents and felt responsible for it, but didn't know how he could fix it. And yet, through all of his apprehensions, he still felt thankful that he at least had a 'home' to come to after his ordeal. His stomach churned every time he thought about being taken again yet he couldn't help but wonder why Lionel had left him alone since he returned home.
He stopped in the middle of the vast field and dropped the wooden posts. He sat the box of nails next to them and took the taller post in his hands. He held it up in the air and then slammed it into the ground, driving it down as far as needed. He picked out a handful of nails from the box and placed them in his pocket, then leaned down and picked up the remaining four by four and placed it crosswise against the other post. As he connected the posts together with the nails, he thought about Lex, wondering if he'd ever feel comfortable around his friend again. Lex tried to visit him on several occasions since he came home but each time Clark refused to see him. Lex had always been a good friend but he couldn't shake the 'guilty by association' feeling. No matter how many times he told himself that Lex was his friend and would never hurt him, the fact was, Lex was still Lionel's son.
He drove the last nail into the wood and stood back, brushing his hands together and admiring his work. Seeing the empty cross without its scarecrow gave him a slight shiver. It reminded him of the cross he had been strung up on a few years back. He shook his head to erase the humiliation that was crawling up his spine and gave his creation one last look, picked up the box of nails and headed back towards the farm.
After a quick pit stop at the barn to put away the nails, he went straight to the house so he could clean up and grab a snack. Just as he reached the porch he heard the muffled voices of his parents having what appeared to be a heated conversation from somewhere deep inside the house. He hesitated, not wanting to intrude, and began to turn back around when he was stopped by the mention of his name. He curiosity was peaked, so he turned back again to listen. He was taken aback by the angry tone in their voices but leaned in closer to the door and heard his father say, "I can barely look at him without feeling disgusted!" Clark jerked back, in shock, with his mouth hanging open. Confusion was beginning to set in and he wanted to sneak inside to get a little closer so he could hear more clearly but didn't want to risk getting caught eavesdropping.
His mother replied, "Well you need to get over that feeling for you son's sake." Clark's eyes were glazing over; he turned his head and swallowed. His breathing began to grow louder as he felt his feelings becoming raw. He missed something that was said and turned back once more to listen, "Martha it takes all I have to prevent myself from killing him." Because of him, his father now had the urge to kill. Guilt tightened his throat and his chest pounded. He turned to leave the porch but hesitated when he faintly heard, "Every time I look at Clark, I see Lionel Luthor. I see what he did to our son and I can't take it." He heard his mother's muffled cries as he took a step down the stairs; his feet felt like bricks. He grabbed onto the banister, trying to balance himself. He turned his head back to the door with a pained expression and listened one last time, "I know it's not Clark's fault, Martha. And I know it's not healthy for this family but I'm just going to have to avoid Clark until I can get control of these feelings."
Clark walked slowly down the remaining stairs and away from the porch with his head hung low. Lionel was right. His parents only saw him as a burden. He felt sick as he considered the possibility of being forced to leave his home.
He reached his loft and sat down on his couch. His loft was his sanctuary. When the world shunned him, he could go there and feel a sense of belonging, feel comfort and safety. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and rocked. He thought about why he was sent to Earth. Why had he been sent here if he was so disgusting? He wished Jor El had just left him on Krypton where he could have died with the rest of his people. At least then he would have belonged, he wouldn't be thought of as a burden. He felt so alone as he stared ahead in dumbfounded silence. He couldn't leave his home and face the likes of Lionel Luthor again. He had to prove to his parents that he was worthy to stay, worthy to be their son. He pulled his knees to his chest and laid down on his side. He closed his eyes, praying that he wouldn't have another recurring nightmare. He was so exhausted and wanted just one moment of blissful rest.
