Family
"Any luck?" Lois asked from the bedroom doorway, her phone calls apparently finished.
At the sound of her voice, he turned sighed. "There are over three thousand matches for Martha Kent according to Google. So far, none of them look like they could have anything to do with my mom. How about you?"
With a wry grin, she offered him a halfhearted shrug. "Oh, you know…pretty much the same. There are no likely looking Martha Kents in the greater Gotham area, unless your mom is pushing seventy." At Clark's negative response, she continued, "I don't really know anyone in Smallville, Kansas, but I called some people I know who do. They didn't have anything on a Martha Kent either. So no leads there, but at least we know that, wherever your mom went, it wasn't Gotham."
"Great," he said with forced lightness, pretending a nonchalance he didn't feel. "So two down, about a billion cities to go!"
He appreciated that she didn't try to pretend like they were further along in their search for his mom than they were. "We're not completely without options, here, Kent. I'm still waiting on a couple of people to call me back. Why don't we go ahead and look at that list of sites while we wait?"
She walked forward to look at the computer screen over his shoulder and stopped when her proximity caused him to cringe and suck in a sharp breath. "Ah…sorry," she muttered lamely, backing off.
"N-no, that's okay," he responded, brushing a hand across his forehead to wipe his sudden perspiration away. Then, to cover for the awkward moment that had fallen between them, he asked, "So…uh…did you call Bruce to see how he and Chloe are doing?"
Lois scoffed. "Clearly, you don't know Bruce. He's working on a problem right now, so anything short of an atom bomb…or Alfred…is not going to get his attention until he's solved the puzzle to his satisfaction. We'd better just leave him alone for right now; he'll get in contact with us if he finds anything – or at least Chloe will, I expect. And if Chloe's anything like Bruce, Alfred will have to make sure the two of them don't pass out from hunger in the meantime."
Having passed on her assessment of the situation, Lois perched on the arm of the sofa at a safe distance from Clark and arched her neck, trying to peer at the computer screen over his shoulder. The distance was such that Clark doubted she could really see anything, and she asked, "Any luck?"
"Not yet," he conceded, turning back to the computer to continue scrolling through the pages. In silence that was more uncomfortable than anything else, he continued to scroll through page after page, looking for anything that might lead to information on his mother. He was on page thirty-seven when Lois's cell phone rang, bringing him out of what had almost become a trance.
When he heard her answer, he cast a glance at her over his shoulder, wondering if this was one of the calls she'd earlier declared herself to be waiting on. Her face, which melted into a mask devoid of any emotion as soon as the other person on the line began to speak, gave nothing away, which only served to heighten his curiosity. He'd seen Lois in a variety of emotions in the short time he'd known her. He'd never seen her so face look so utterly blank.
"Yes, of course," she was saying into the phone. "I understand…Yes…It is important, I promise you. I wouldn't have asked if…No, I'm sorry, I can't tell you what…No! It has nothing to do with…yes. Yes, of course. I'll be there in an hour…No, I won't be late, I promise…But I…Damn it, I said I wouldn't be late, didn't I?" These snapped words were the first sign of emotion she'd betrayed throughout the entire conversation, but she had herself under control again almost as quickly as she'd lost it. "No, of course I know you don't have to do this, and I appreciate the fact that you're taking the trouble…Yes, yes, of course. I'll see you then."
Snapping her phone shut, she turned that expressionless mask of a face towards Clark. He hadn't realized that he'd turned completely around in his chair and was gaping openly at her until that moment, but she didn't seem perturbed to note it. "Well, Clark, I know someone who may have some good news for you, after all. I have to run out for a few minutes to meet someone, but when I come back…"
"I want to go with you," he interjected suddenly, leaning eagerly towards her. If there was even a chance that the person she was meeting really had some information on his mom, he wanted to be there to hear it.
"Not a chance," she said abruptly. "It's too dangerous."
"I don't care," he said stubbornly. "I'll wear a disguise if you want, but if this person really does have information that could lead to my mom, I want to be there. I need to be there."
She scowled at him. "You know, don't you, that stubbornness isn't exactly an attractive trait?"
His mouth quirking into what was dangerously close to a smile, he replied, "You should know."
"Yeah. Yeah, I should," she conceded, though she didn't sound pleased about it. "Okay, fine," she finally agreed, jumping to her feet. "You can go with me, but only if you agree to do exactly as I say."
"But I-!" he began to protest, but she cut him off.
"No. It's that or no deal, Clark, and we can just sit here in the apartment for the next hour and my source can keep the information she's found and never take my call again. And she won't, I can assure you. We either do this my way, or we don't do this at all." Because her tone was utterly implacable, Clark nodded. Whatever rules she'd ask him to abide by, she probably had her reasons.
"Okay," she said shortly. "My source is going to meet me at a café downtown. We've got to hurry, because we should get there early, if you're coming along. Now, listen, because this is very important. At no time while we're there can you act like you and I came together, or even like we know each other. We have to come in separately, and we leave separately. Understand?"
Nodding, he said slowly, "Yeah, I understand what you're saying. I just don't understand why you don't want us to –"
She didn't need him to finish his thought, as she interjected, "Because I don't want to draw attention to you at all. Not by anyone in the café, certainly, but definitely not by her. That's the most important thing I need you to remember. She cannot notice you. Got that? You need to stay as inconspicuous as you possibly can."
"But I want to know what's going on," he protested. "I mean, this is about my mom, ultimately. I want to know what she has to say!"
Grimacing, she admitted, "I know. So this is what we're going to do. I'm going to go into the café and sit at a table. My source will come in shortly after me, if we have it timed right, and she'll sit across from me. Now, trust me, this is critical. Wait until after she comes in and sits down before you come into the café. You can take a seat close to us, if you want to know what she's saying, but you need to stay completely out of her line of sight, understand? Because I'm telling you, Clark, if she sees you, it's all over. So you don't ever let her see you. I don't care what happens or what you hear. I don't care if the café catches on fire; you don't let her catch sight of you, okay? If anything happens – if you even think she's caught sight of you – I want you gone so fast there's not even a blur of you left behind. You come back here and wait for me. Got all that?"
He nodded, but he was still frowning in confusion. "Okay, I'll do what I say. But why do I have to be so careful? I mean, who is this person?"
"That's not important," Lois said brusquely. "The only thing you need to know is what I just told you. And, trust me, I don't expect this meeting to be entirely pleasant. You just sit back and keep your mouth shut, and everything will be fine." As if realizing that he wasn't entirely satisfied, she sighed heavily. "Clark, I know this is hard for you to understand, and I wish I could explain it all to you, but I-I can't. Just trust me when I say that a lot of people out there hate Kal-El for everything he's done. A lot. But most people won't recognize you, because people see what they expect to see most of the time. There are only a handful of people who either knew Kal-El well enough or hate him passionately enough to recognize him on sight, under any circumstances, regardless of disguise. I'm one. She's another."
Though he wasn't sure that he wanted the answer, he asked quietly, "And which one is she? Does she know Kal-El well enough or hate him passionately enough to recognize him?" The tightening of her lips and the glance she shot him out of the corner of her eye were answer enough. What would have perhaps been a better – if more dangerous – question would be into which group Lois herself would fall.
The two of them didn't speak on the way to the café, giving Clark plenty of time to mull over Lois's instructions and work on being inconspicuous. It was actually a good deal easier than he'd suspected. His baseball cap and glasses obscured most of his facial features, hiding the blue eyes that many had told him were his best feature from sight. What was perhaps more interesting was the re-emergence of his old limp. It wasn't something he consciously affected; he didn't even notice it at first, in fact, so familiar was that catch in his stride. It was strange, but his body, when not concentrating on being "super" and the confidence that came with it, had reverted to the old habit.
He had never thought he would ever be grateful for the accident that had nearly crippled him, but what had once been a tolerated bane of his existence now contributed to his disguise. Superman (he could not bear to think of the man another Lois had so loved as Kal-El, certainly not while he was here in this world) walked with fluid confidence; Clark knew this was so from the video tape he'd seen. Clark Kent, or, rather, the man he had once been and was now pretending to still be, was half lame. Given that, how could anyone suspect the two men were one and the same?
Following Lois's instructions to the letter, Clark waited outside the café she led him to until he saw a woman dressed in stark black wearing large, dark sunglasses approach her table and sit down. Only then did Clark follow suit, choosing a seat in the booth directly behind the newcomer. From this vantage, he could see the expression on Lois's face but her companion could not see him. Neither could he catch a good glance of her face.
He did hear every word she said, however, and that was enlightening enough. "Wanna tell me what this is all about?" she asked irritably, and Clark took the moment to assess what he could of her. His first thought was oddly that she reminded him of Lois as he'd first seen her in the graveyard – dressed in black with her hair pulled severely back from her face. The tone of her voice – including the mistrust and anger – also reminded him of his first meeting with this world's Lois.
"I can't tell you that," Lois said flatly. "All I can say is that it's important."
Her companion scoffed. "Sure it is! Let me guess…for a story? Oh, but I forgot. You're not a reporter anymore!" Lois didn't reply, she just stared steadily into her companion's face. Unperturbed by the lack of response, the angry woman switched topics but continued the attack. "You know, I have to say you had some damn nerve, publishing that last story of yours! You think I wouldn't realize that was you?"
Clark wondered what she was talking about, but Lois didn't seem confused. "I did what had to be done," she said quietly.
"All you did was drag up old ghosts!" came the irate retort, hissed through clenched teeth.
Clark could tell by the twitch in the muscle of Lois's jaw that she was struggling to maintain her temper, though her voice was still flat and emotionless when she replied, "She needed to be put to rest. I would have thought you'd understand that."
He wished he could see the expression on the stranger's face as she leaned forward angrily. "And who lays your ghosts to rest, Lois? Or have you forgotten about them?"
Lois ducked her head and began to trace designs into the woodwork of the table. "I haven't forgotten them, but…what do you want from me? It was a mistake! I made a mistake! But what was I supposed to do? Just sit back and wait until…"
"You could have come to me!" For the first time, the stranger's tone raised, her exclamation carrying easily over the tables around them. Glancing around at the faces that had turned curiously in her direction, she lowered her voice once more. "You should have come to me! I could have looked into what was going on; I mean, I was married to…"
"Yeah, you were married to him!" Lois blurted, her voice accusing. "You were married to him and you didn't have a clue! Do you think it didn't occur to me to ask you what was going on? But you made it pretty damn clear that you weren't interested in looking closer at what you deemed 'his business.' Were you afraid of what you'd see?"
"He didn't leave those people to die," the woman in black snarled.
Lois shook her head. "No, you're right. He didn't. But he was just as responsible, and you know that."
In response, her source flipped the manila envelope she'd brought across the table. "Here, take it," she said angrily. "But just so you know, this makes us even. I don't ever want to hear from you again!"
As the woman in black shot to her feet and whirled toward the door, Lois stood quickly and called after her, "Lucy, wait! I don't want…"
She didn't finish her sentence though, because her companion, Lucy, whirled back towards her with a glare. "Don't, Lois. Don't even bother. Let it go."
"You're still my little sister. I can't just let it go," Lois told her simply, staring unflappably into the irate woman's face.
Lucy sighed heavily. "You remember when we were little kids and we'd get into a fight? Dad used to line us up in front of him and forced us to make up, like there was a break in the chain of command and he wanted us to fix it." At her older sister's nod, she said, "You want to be a family again? That's a joke, Lois. We're not a family; we never have been. We're just a broken chain of command. And the only way I'll ever forgive you, Lois, is if the General orders me to. You think that's going to happen?"
Lois looked pained. "No," she whispered.
"Then I guess you're just going to have to live with that." With these rather damning words, Lucy slung her purse over her shoulder and stormed out. Though he wanted to move to Lois's side (as close as he was able) and offer her comfort, he remembered her words and checked himself. She'd been incredibly clear about her instructions, so instead of moving towards her, he waited until she stood and walked out before he followed.
Three blocks from the café, the two of them turned down a side street and walked into a small park, where they found a bench by a narrow gravel path. It was only after they'd both sat down on opposite ends of the bench that Clark found the courage to speak. "Lois? What happened in the café…you want to talk about it?"
She shook her head. "Not particularly," she admitted. Glancing at his face, she pressed her lips together tightly. "Just…just leave it, okay? Besides, we've got other things to worry about."
"O-okay," he agreed grudgingly. He didn't really know that it was a good idea to just "leave it" as she'd put it, but he also knew he wouldn't get anywhere by pushing her about it. "So…uh…what did she give you? Is it about my mom?"
"Uh huh," she admitted as she tore the envelope open and pulled out the sheet of paper inside. "Lucy's got connections with people who…let's just say they're no longer returning my calls, if they ever did. So I gave her what little information I had on your mom and asked if she could get me a list of likely suspects. See anyone on this list that looks promising?"
Clark scanned the list of six names in silence. Along with the name, the list included each of the women's addresses. "Maybe…maybe this one," he said, pointing to an entry that seemed promising. It was the only one with an address in Metropolis.
"Why that one?" Lois asked, craning her neck to see the list from where she sat on the far end of the bench.
He shrugged. "No real reason, I guess. Except my mom lived in Metropolis when she was younger; it's where she went to school and met my dad. I think she might have decided to go back there after…after everything that happened."
"Fair enough," Lois replied, taking the paper from his hand and slipping it into its envelope. "We'll hit that address first. So, how are we going to get there without one of us dying on the trip?"
Clark frowned, acknowledging the dilemma. The two of them in a small car would not work; there simply wasn't space. They'd only managed to make it to the café together by taking the bus. "I could go alone," he suggested.
"Not a chance, Sparky," she responded quickly. "Or have you forgotten? We don't know if there's some bad blood between your mom and Kal-El. The last thing we want to do is give the poor woman a heart attack."
"Okay, so what would you suggest?" he asked heavily.
Lois looked thoughtful. Then a tiny smirk quirked at the edges of her lips. "Clark, have you ever driven a motorcycle before?"
Clark had to admit that Lois's connection to Bruce came in handy at times. She hadn't even needed to explain the situation to Alfred when she'd called him on her cell to ask if she could borrow one of Bruce's many vehicles. Without so much as a single question, the austere gentleman told her he'd have a motorcycle delivered to her apartment immediately.
When Clark asked who Alfred was as he and Lois stood together in her living room once more, waiting for the delivery, she replied simply, "Bruce is an orphan, and Alfred is…well, he's pretty much the only family Bruce has left. I guess you could say he's part butler, part conscience, and part mother hen, but the only thing you really need to know about him is that man makes these double chocolate chunk brownies that can bring grown men to their knees."
"Sounds…er…great," Clark replied, a bit dubiously; he was feeling a little grumpy again. Honestly, he was beginning to wonder, was there a single thing about Bruce or anyone having to do with Bruce that Lois didn't like?
Happily, he didn't have much time to ponder his churlishness, because a buzz at the door indicated that their delivery had arrived. "Sorry it's got to be a bike," Lois said as the two of them jogged outside. "But, see, Alfred's got me kinda on probation from borrowing Bruce's cars for a while."
"Oh, yeah?" Clark asked politely, though he was pretty sure he'd vomit if he heard Lois talk about Bruce one more time.
"Yeah," she said, not seeming to pick up on the undercurrents of his bad mood. "He apparently says I'm a bad influence on Bruce, with the way I drive." Only because it seemed odd that this statement would be made about a grown man did Clark throw his companion a curious look. It certainly wasn't because he wanted to hear more about the absent billionaire. But as Lois slipped on a pair of sunglasses, he saw her mouth widen into a mischievous smirk. "But, hey, what's the point of having a product of fine Italian craftsmanship if you're not going to channel your inner Mario Andretti, right?"
Clark grunted in reply. Clearly, there was a story there, and it was probably even an amusing one. However, it was definitely one that had to do with Bruce and Lois, what great friends they were, and the trouble the two of them got in together, so Clark had absolutely no desire to hear it.
Perhaps it was fortunate that Lois was ignorant of Clark's sudden spate of irritation. Without further comment, she tossed him the keys, saying, "Okay, well…follow me, and try to keep up, okay?"
The road to Metropolis didn't take long, and with the way Lois drive, it took even less time. Clark marveled as he watched her weave in and out of traffic. He was able to steel himself to follow, but he at least had the comfort of knowing he was invulnerable, so at least he wouldn't be hurt if he were to be involved in an accident. Lois had no such assurance, and so he was hardly assured on her behalf.
But, either through fortune or fate, the two of them made it to Metropolis in safety. They parked in front of the address Lois had been given, and Clark looked at the plain white façade of the building with some trepidation. He couldn't help but wonder what he'd find inside. Would his mother be as scared of him as Lois had been? There was only one way to find out.
"Maybe I should go in first," Lois suggested as they stood on the sidewalk and stared in trepidation at the door. "We've gotta anticipate our worst case scenario, here. If your mom is afraid of Kal-El, then having someone who looks just like him show up at her door could freak her out."
He grimaced. That it wasn't a bad idea was something he didn't really want to admit. "But she's my mom, and I –"
"Clark, I understand," Lois said, turning to him. She looked like she was going to step closer, but given that she was just at the limit of his tolerability now, it was a good thing that she refrained. "I'm not talking about you not going in at all. I'm just saying, you know, that maybe I should prepare her first."
After a moment, he gave her a reluctant nod. "Okay, I guess – I guess that makes sense. I'll stay out here and listen in…if I can. I still haven't gotten the hang of all my abilities yet. As soon as it seems like she's prepared to see me, though, I'm going to go see her!"
"Of course," Lois agreed with a nod before squaring her shoulders and marching forward, leaving Clark behind on the sidewalk to stare impotently after her. He watched as she knocked on the door and gained entry, and then he tried to focus his hearing on the house in front of him. Though it took longer than he'd hoped, he finally managed to pick up Lois's voice again.
"…to drop in on you like this, but it's about your son." Lois's voice was clear and strong, lacking in any self-consciousness, and Clark had to admire her confidence, given that they both know she'd sound insane if she explained much about the situation. Clark caught his breath at the sound of his mother's voice, and if it wasn't for the fact that her voice sounded brittle and on-edge, he'd have rushed through the door right then.
"I'm sorry, what's your name again?"
"Lois. Lois Lane." A long silence followed this confession, and with his eyes squeezed shut, Clark could picture the expression on the woman in question's face at that moment. Though he'd yet to get the whole story from her, he had picked up on enough to know that she seemed to have something of an infamous reputation in this world – no small thanks to Kal-El. Whatever it was he'd done, she'd been forced to carry some of the blame.
Finally, his mother spoke again. "The reporter for the Gotham Gazette?"
Again, the voice that replied was unwavering."Once upon a time."
"Well, I don't know what you're doing here, Miss Lane, but I don't have anything to say to you." Now Martha's voice was angry, with a deep undercurrent of pain. Whatever she thought about this newest intrusion into her life, in was clearly unwelcome. "I lost my son…a long time ago."
"I understa–" Lois began, but she wasn't allowed to continue.
Before any explanation could be forthcoming, there was a loud banging sound, as if a fist had been slammed angrily against a wooden surface. And yet, when his mom spoke again, her voice sounded more terrified than angry – though there was a definite note of pain in her words. "And what are you doing here, anyway? For a story? What could you possibly want to know about my son? H-he disappeared a long time ago! What are you doing here, digging up old ghosts?"
There was that word again. Ghosts. It seemed as if, in this world, everyone had them. More, it seemed like everyone was one in this world. A ghost, a shadow – a reflection of the people they could and should have been.
As Clark listened, he realized that the situation inside was quickly degenerating and Lois wasn't having much success in getting to tell her story. His mom was obviously afraid that Lois had somehow stumbled across the truth – that the man known as Kal-El had grown up a very different person. A boy named Clark Kent.
Without a second thought, he strode forward and charged into the house unannounced. He came not a second too soon, it was clear. His mother, seated behind a desk in the living room, was pale, her lips pressed tight together though her cheeks were blotchy with anger. She was easily as livid as she was scared. For her part, Lois was looking alternately mutinous and at a loss for how to proceed.
"M-mom?" Clark began hopefully as he saw his mother's gaze switch to him. He hoped he'd made the situation better, but he recognized he might have just made it a hell of a lot worse. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lois whirled to look at him, but his gaze was focused firmly on his mother's face as he waited for her to process this newest surprise.
When she finally did react, he felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. In slow, deliberate movements, she began to move around the desk, but she didn't stand to do so. When she'd cleared the edge of the table, he could see why.
His mother was in a wheelchair.
He sank to his knees at the sight, knowing somewhere deep inside that, just as with the injuries Lois had sustained, this, too, was somehow his fault. "Oh god…no…" he whimpered, wanting to cover his face with his hands but unable to tear his gaze away from the woman in front of him.
He was waiting for her to turn from him, as Lois had done, too afraid of the man this world's Clark had become to let him close. But when she finally spoke, her words surprised him. "Cl-Clark?" she stammered in an agonized whisper. "Y-you're really…?" Even as he watched, her surprised expression melted into a beatific smile and she burst into tears as she held her hands towards him, murmuring his name like a benediction again and again.
She hadn't called him Kal-El; she'd recognized him as Clark. Even as he marveled at that, he raced to her side, sweeping her into his arms to hold her close as the two of them wept together. She was sobbing with joy to have her boy back, he knew, and he was crying for so many reasons. He was crying for her, for what had been done to her. He was also crying for Lois and everyone else Kal-El had hurt in this world. Finally, he was crying for himself, the life he'd rather thoughtlessly given up to come to this world, where everything was wrong. It was just so wrong here. And, try as he might, he knew he might never make it back home – or even if, given the choice, he would be able to make the decision to do so. There were just so many things here he needed to fix, so many mistakes the Kal-El of this world had made that he had to atone for.
Even as these thought raced through his mind, he saw Lois out of the corner of his eye as she took a step towards the two people huddled on the ground in front of her. She had a strange, inexplicable expression on her face, but then she turned away and Clark's attention returned to the woman sobbing on his shoulder.
It took a while before the tears stopped for the both of them, and Martha pulled away a bit. "I don't understand…C-Clark, how…?"
Clark didn't even begin to know how to answer the question, but before he could stammer out an inane reply, Lois spoke up from the position she'd taken by the window, much further away than the Kryptonite she wore dictated. "How did you know it was him?" she asked curiously. "I mean, that it was Clark and not Kal-El."
Martha didn't take her eyes off her son as she answered with a watery smile, "I just knew. He's my son…I just knew…"
Lois's face twisted again, but she apparently decided not to join in the conversation any further, because she turned and gazed out through the window once more. It was up to Clark to explain what he and Lois were doing on Martha's doorstep and what he and a woman named Chloe were doing in this world at all. Perhaps all the years of raising an alien child had worn away his mom's ability to be terribly astonished, because while she expressed amazement at the story he was telling, she seemed to process it all fairly well.
When he'd finished his story, his mom sat quietly in her chair for a minute or two, and then she asked, "So, I don't understand. What are you…you're trying to find your way back?" He nodded
"Y-yeah," he said a little uncertainly, wondering why he didn't feel so certain about that. He wanted to go home, to get back to the people he loved…didn't he? But part of him felt like he couldn't leave, not yet. He had to make amends for the terrible things Kal-El had done – once he found out exactly what that was. "We thought…I mean, I thought…do you know if the Clark of this world ever built his fortress in the arctic? We thought maybe…maybe Jor-El would know if…"
"No!" Martha blurted, cutting off Clark's tentative suggestion. "Clark, you can't!" Her tone was so vehement that Clark was taken somewhat aback. Leaning forward in her chair, she cried, "You can't go see him! It isn't safe! The last time you trusted him, I lost my son! You…he was Clark when he left, but when he got back…"
Her voice trailed off, but Clark didn't need her to finish her sentence. When he got back, he'd been different. "I don't…I don't know how else to get home, Mom. The crystal that brought Chloe and I here broke; I can't use it to get back."
Looking dissatisfied, Martha sat back in her chair with a frown. Finally, she spat, "And you're working with her?"
The "her" to which his mother referred could be no mystery, as Martha's gaze shot to the woman standing in front of the window. Though Lois didn't respond – or even so much as turn around – Clark could see her shoulders stiffen, and he knew she hadn't missed his mother's pointed remark.
"Lois?" Clark asked in surprise, wondering at his mother's animosity. Earlier, he'd imagined that Martha was simply feeling defensive to find a reporter (or former reporter) on her doorstep asking about her missing son. Now he wondered if there wasn't something more beneath it all. "I don't understand," he said slowly. "Why…?"
"What has she told you? About Kal-El, I mean?" Martha demanded, and at this, Clark saw Lois turn around, her arms crossed in front of her chest. Though her chin was raised belligerently, she didn't offer a comment.
"Nothing," he admitted, looking between the two women before him. "Why? What hasn't she told me?" As the words left his mouth, he realized the question was absurd. When he thought about it, he realized that Lois hadn't told him much of anything – not about Kal-El at any rate. He'd imagined her recalcitrance was because the memories were painful, but was there another reason?
"She hasn't told you what Kal-El did?" Martha pressed again, glaring accusingly at Lois as she spoke.
Lois arched her eyebrows in challenge, and Clark admitted, "She told me…she told me that he killed people."
His mom's eyes shot to his face. "It's a lie," she bit off angrily. "My son wouldn't do something like that."
"But Lois said…" he protested, but his mom cut him off.
"I know what she said, and I don't care. I'm telling you that my son would never have killed anyone! I don't care what she wrote!" Returning an accusing glare to Lois's face, she finished, "He was different when he came back. He wasn't the boy I raised. But I don't care; he never would have done the things she accused him of. Not my son."
But he hadn't been her son, not really; Clark couldn't help the thought that came to mind. He knew it, deep inside. Whoever – whatever – Kal-El had been, it had no longer been Martha and Jonathan Kent's son – just as he wasn't the same Clark who'd humiliated himself publicly by singing to the woman he loved. He wanted to be that man, but it wasn't him. Not yet; maybe not ever.
"But what did he do?" he whispered, looking between the two women. He wanted answers, and all he'd really been given were more questions.
"I told you," Lois finally said, her voice strong but lacking emotion. "He let people die."
Though Martha opened her mouth to protest, her words were interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door. Her attention diverted, his mom looked at the clock and muttered something darkly under her breath before turning to look at Clark with desperate eyes. "You can't stay here," she said suddenly. "You have to go."
"Wait; what? Why?" he demanded as his mom wheeled her chair backwards. Even as he asked, he heard the scrape of metal against metal; someone was unlocking the door.
"You can't be found here," his mom explained hurriedly. "That's my assistant. If she finds you here…it would be impossible to explain, don't you see? My son disappeared a long time ago; if we say that you've suddenly come back, there would be too many questions! Someone would notice that you look like Kal-El, and I just…You'd be in danger, sweetie."
He grabbed her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. "It's okay," he murmured. "I understand. When she gets in here, you distract her and Lois and I will duck out before anyone sees us."
His mom's hand lingered in his own longer than necessary, and he could see in her eyes that she was having as hard a time letting him go as he was walking away from her. He'd promised to take care of her. How could he do that if he had to leave her? Though part of him rebelled at the idea, he had to accept the fact that, at least at the moment, he'd put his mom in more danger by being found with her than she would be in alone.
"Come on, Lois," he said quietly as he finally released his mom's hand and backed away. "We have to go."
"Clark!" his mom blurted in a low hiss as the front door opened and slammed behind a woman who called out a very cheerful greeting. Glaring at the woman moving to Clark's side, Martha continued in an undertone, "Listen to me…you can't trust her. Whatever she tells you…you can't listen to her! Kal-El would never have done the things she accused him of!"
Clark still wanted to know what that was, exactly, but he didn't have time to ask. Instead, he and Lois moved to opposite corners of the room to keep out of sight as the newcomer walked through the door and straight towards his mom's desk. Even as he and Lois made their escape, however, he resolved that he wouldn't be put off any longer. As soon as the two of them made it back to her apartment, he was going to get the answers to his questions.
He was going to find out what, exactly, Kal-El had done.