Title: To Hold Back The Tears

Author: Elizbeth Goode

Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Smallville, etc. I make no
money from writing fanfiction. In fact, I think I might be making negative
money writing fanfiction. In short, Elizabeth Goode has no money, don't
sue her.


Part II

Clark wasn't sure which was worse; the sick, shaky feeling that had yet to fade entirely, or the embarrassment at his reaction to a simple dessert item. His mind understood that no Kryptonite was present, but his heart still pounded in his chest at the memories the harmless green Jello had evoked. His mother still looked slightly shocked, but his father seemed angry. Childishly, he hoped the anger was not directed at him.

Martha quickly shook off her temporary immobility and moved to her son's side. "Clark, sweetheart. Are you all right? Can you stand up?"

He nodded slightly.

"Then let's get you up to the couch, okay? You'll be more comfortable."

Knowing and understanding that the nausea and weakness he felt were entirely psychosomatic were two very different things. He knew that he felt ill because of his own mind, not because there was any Kryptonite in the vicinity. But, that did not change the fact that he still felt ill. The embarrassment of his predicament finally dictated that he at least attempt to make some explanation, reclaim a bit of his dignity.

"I - I guess I kind of overreacted, huh?" He shook his head and stood shakily.

Jonathan and Martha exchanged glances, but also stood. Martha reached up to push strands of dark hair away from Clark's forehead. Jonathan took his son's arm supportively and together, they led him to the couch to sit down.

"Clark, you didn't overreact. You had a terrible experience, son."

Clark tried to pull his arm away, but Jonathan tightened his grip. "Clark, you're not going to deal with this on your own. I'm your father, and I need to know what happened to you at Summerholt."

Realizing that the only way he was going to be able to avoid talking about it would be to use his abilities to make an escape, Clark sighed resignedly.

"I was worried about Lex. He was going to Dr. Garner for an experimental treatment to get his lost memories back. I – I went to his father because I didn't know what else to do. Lionel used Lex as bait to get me to Dr. Garner for research. The room was so full of Kryptonite I – I couldn't –"

The young man gasped, unable to continue as the memory of the pain and fear he had experienced assailed him. He felt his mother's gentle hand stroking his back, heard his father swear, cursing Lionel Luthor and Dr. Garner.

"He – he put me in the tank. It was all around me. Everything hurt." He shuddered at the remembered pain. "I was dying. It hurt so much … I knew I was going to die, and I didn't want to never see you and Mom again …" His voice broke. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

Jonathan shook his head, taking his son's face in his hands firmly. "I don't know what you think you need to be sorry for, but I don't want to hear that from you again. You shouldn't have gone to Summerholt, even to help a friend, but I'm not angry that you did it. It's part of who you are, Clark. You are a compassionate young man who willingly risks his life for those he loves. I'm proud of you, and it worries me that you're afraid to confide in me. Do you think that I love you less when you do something I don't approve of?"

Clark shook his head. "No, it's not that. I just …"

"Just what?"

Martha burst out, unable to remain silent any longer. "He didn't want to worry you, Jonathan! Because of your heart!"

Clark's eyes widened, and his stomach felt as though a bird was flapping around inside of him.

"Is that true, son?" Jonathan asked quietly.

The smallest of nods let him know that it was, in fact, true.

"She was nice."

Jonathan's frowned. "Who? Who was nice?"

His son's voice was so soft it was barely audible. "My mother. Her name was Lara, and she was nice. She wasn't like Jor-el. I – It's my fault for listening to Jor-el. If I hadn't run away … I didn't want you to worry about – about me seeing her the way you do about him. I was afraid your heart –"

Clark could not finish because he found himself enveloped in his father's strong arms. At that moment, it did not matter that Clark could have lifted the house from its very foundations. He had never needed his father's strength the way he did now.