"Whaaa?" There was something very wrong with this bed, it felt like there was straw sticking into him.
There was straw sticking into him. Well, not into him, but through his clothes. There was also a blond farmer giving his shoulder another gentle shake.
"Are you all right, Clark?"
"Yeah, fine, I just lay down for a few minutes-" He stopped, embarassed. He probably looked pretty stupid.
"And the inevitable happened. Come on inside, Martha will want to see you."
Clark rubbed his eyes again, groggily, and followed Jonathan Kent through the screen door into a kitchen. Martha Kent was seated at a table, doing some kind of paperwork, and smiled at him. "Clark, this is a surprise." The same words Dad had sometimes used, but absolutely differently. "How are you?"
"Doing just fine, thanks, and you?"
She looked at him as though she weren't quite convinced but answered, "We're doing well. Is that you we keep seeing in the newspapers, 'Superman?'"
"Yeah, kind of, I guess."
She was only partly hiding a smile but he figured that she wasn't making fun of him.
"You're doing a lot of impressive things, young man." That was Jonathan Kent and Clark felt a grin break out on his face.
"Uh, thanks."
"There it goes. Would you like to join us for dinner?" He wasn't quite sure what to say. "We'd love to have you." Now he was sure.
"Thanks. I'd really like that. I've got to call somebody first, make sure it's okay." He pulled out his phone.
"The Wayne residence."
"Hi, Alfred. Is Fledermaus around?" That was pretty great, that in German, "bat" was "flying mouse."
"I'll call Mr. Wayne for you."
"Hello, Clark."
Inspiration hit. "Knock-knock."
"Clark."
Probably there were people who would be intimidated by that tone of voice, but not him. "Knock-knock."
He could hear Bruce sigh heavily. "Who's there?"
"Clark."
There was a long pause. "Clark who?"
"Clark who won't be around for dinner tonight. Some friends asked me to stay," he added, smugly.
That was another sigh, Clark was pretty sure, but Bruce's voice was carefully level when he answered. "All right, there's nothing urgent right now, but be back by nine, we think that's when they'll be at the hospital." Area hospitals and large pharmacies were being invaded by large groups of armed thugs, holding staff and patients hostage for access to the pharmaceutical supplies. What really ticked Clark, once Bruce told him, was that they took everything, not just the street drugs, and since stocks were down after the earthquakes and shipments still weren't coming in fast enough, so the hospitals often ran dangerously low or completely out of basics, like antibiotics and blood pressure medication and things like that. People could buy them from dealers, but at outrageous prices and often adulterated. Somehow, it was really weird to look at a good business tactic--establish major control of a vital supply and reprice accordingly--and think about nothing but how to stop it.
"Right, I'll be there. Be good."
Another pause. "Nine o'clock."
"I'll be right there and ready to give you a great big hug." It was different annoying Battering Ram over the phone, but in some ways, just as satisfying to put together his reactions just from how he sounded, he decided, shutting the phone.
Mrs. Kent was looking amused again and he couldn't see Mr. Kent's face, since he was setting the table. He stood a bit awkwardly until everything was on the table and they sat down.
It was spaghetti and meatballs and they smelled just as good as if they were made from lamb instead of beef and pasta out of a box instead of fresh. There was also a great big bowl of. Peas. When Mr. Kent passed it to him, he took just a few, but, misunderstanding his reasons, the older man said, "Don't worry, Clark, there's plenty." So then he had to take two more big spoonfuls.
"So what have you been doing with yourself, other than being a hero?"
At Mrs. Kent's question, everything started pouring out. How it felt when there were people he couldn't save and he saw them die and now that he was Superman, people expected him to have answers and solutions whether he did or not. He explained that really, he knew that Lex was right, well, mostly right, in going to Lionel, but how he hated the way Lex hadn't told him, even when it was going to affect him, too, and how again, he knew the League was right in concentrating on saving people in worse danger, but still, he wished that one or two of them would think it more important to rescue his brother and get Clark out of having to be Lionel's marionette, even if the League still decided to wait.
After he'd stopped talking, he looked down at his plate. He'd probably screwed this up, too, not from displaying emotion and showing vulnerabilities, which is what Dad would have scolded him about, but by thinking that they really wanted to know. Well, they wanted to know about Lex, but probably not about him.
"That's a lot to bear, Clark." A work-roughened hand settled on his wrist. Startled, he looked up, to see concern on Jonathan Kent's face, warmth on Martha Kent's, and sympathy on both. "It must feel like you're bearing the weight of the world on your shoulders. But I admire that in a man."
Wow. It hadn't really been his choice, but he was proud that he had the last name "Kent," too.
There was straw sticking into him. Well, not into him, but through his clothes. There was also a blond farmer giving his shoulder another gentle shake.
"Are you all right, Clark?"
"Yeah, fine, I just lay down for a few minutes-" He stopped, embarassed. He probably looked pretty stupid.
"And the inevitable happened. Come on inside, Martha will want to see you."
Clark rubbed his eyes again, groggily, and followed Jonathan Kent through the screen door into a kitchen. Martha Kent was seated at a table, doing some kind of paperwork, and smiled at him. "Clark, this is a surprise." The same words Dad had sometimes used, but absolutely differently. "How are you?"
"Doing just fine, thanks, and you?"
She looked at him as though she weren't quite convinced but answered, "We're doing well. Is that you we keep seeing in the newspapers, 'Superman?'"
"Yeah, kind of, I guess."
She was only partly hiding a smile but he figured that she wasn't making fun of him.
"You're doing a lot of impressive things, young man." That was Jonathan Kent and Clark felt a grin break out on his face.
"Uh, thanks."
"There it goes. Would you like to join us for dinner?" He wasn't quite sure what to say. "We'd love to have you." Now he was sure.
"Thanks. I'd really like that. I've got to call somebody first, make sure it's okay." He pulled out his phone.
"The Wayne residence."
"Hi, Alfred. Is Fledermaus around?" That was pretty great, that in German, "bat" was "flying mouse."
"I'll call Mr. Wayne for you."
"Hello, Clark."
Inspiration hit. "Knock-knock."
"Clark."
Probably there were people who would be intimidated by that tone of voice, but not him. "Knock-knock."
He could hear Bruce sigh heavily. "Who's there?"
"Clark."
There was a long pause. "Clark who?"
"Clark who won't be around for dinner tonight. Some friends asked me to stay," he added, smugly.
That was another sigh, Clark was pretty sure, but Bruce's voice was carefully level when he answered. "All right, there's nothing urgent right now, but be back by nine, we think that's when they'll be at the hospital." Area hospitals and large pharmacies were being invaded by large groups of armed thugs, holding staff and patients hostage for access to the pharmaceutical supplies. What really ticked Clark, once Bruce told him, was that they took everything, not just the street drugs, and since stocks were down after the earthquakes and shipments still weren't coming in fast enough, so the hospitals often ran dangerously low or completely out of basics, like antibiotics and blood pressure medication and things like that. People could buy them from dealers, but at outrageous prices and often adulterated. Somehow, it was really weird to look at a good business tactic--establish major control of a vital supply and reprice accordingly--and think about nothing but how to stop it.
"Right, I'll be there. Be good."
Another pause. "Nine o'clock."
"I'll be right there and ready to give you a great big hug." It was different annoying Battering Ram over the phone, but in some ways, just as satisfying to put together his reactions just from how he sounded, he decided, shutting the phone.
Mrs. Kent was looking amused again and he couldn't see Mr. Kent's face, since he was setting the table. He stood a bit awkwardly until everything was on the table and they sat down.
It was spaghetti and meatballs and they smelled just as good as if they were made from lamb instead of beef and pasta out of a box instead of fresh. There was also a great big bowl of. Peas. When Mr. Kent passed it to him, he took just a few, but, misunderstanding his reasons, the older man said, "Don't worry, Clark, there's plenty." So then he had to take two more big spoonfuls.
"So what have you been doing with yourself, other than being a hero?"
At Mrs. Kent's question, everything started pouring out. How it felt when there were people he couldn't save and he saw them die and now that he was Superman, people expected him to have answers and solutions whether he did or not. He explained that really, he knew that Lex was right, well, mostly right, in going to Lionel, but how he hated the way Lex hadn't told him, even when it was going to affect him, too, and how again, he knew the League was right in concentrating on saving people in worse danger, but still, he wished that one or two of them would think it more important to rescue his brother and get Clark out of having to be Lionel's marionette, even if the League still decided to wait.
After he'd stopped talking, he looked down at his plate. He'd probably screwed this up, too, not from displaying emotion and showing vulnerabilities, which is what Dad would have scolded him about, but by thinking that they really wanted to know. Well, they wanted to know about Lex, but probably not about him.
"That's a lot to bear, Clark." A work-roughened hand settled on his wrist. Startled, he looked up, to see concern on Jonathan Kent's face, warmth on Martha Kent's, and sympathy on both. "It must feel like you're bearing the weight of the world on your shoulders. But I admire that in a man."
Wow. It hadn't really been his choice, but he was proud that he had the last name "Kent," too.