Chapter 2.

Clark lay on his couch in his Fortress of Solitude. For the first time in his life he felt sick.

Outside the sky was dark, and the night air filled with the sounds of rural Kansas sleeping. He didn't hear it. His parents had called for him. He hadn't heard that either.

The loft was dark, no lights were on, and he had no need for any. Because he didn't even notice the darkness. He didn't see it. All he saw was her face. He had tried picturing the smile that he had seen so clearly only this morning, the smile he had seen for as long as he had known her. The smile he would give his left arm to see again. But it didn't show. Instead he saw her face as he had seen it only a fraction of a second. And it plagued him. Her face, hurt and betrayed, staring at him, sent shivers down his soul.

He stared unseeing into the darkness. He had tried closing his eyes to end the vision of her pain. It hadn't worked. The images had tenfolded. Now he lay there, silent and unmoving, to afraid to blink.

He had avoided her all day. He knew that he didn't have the courage to look into her eyes.

He knew he wouldn't see anything he hadn't seen before. And it was that which made him fear it. Either her hurt was there, plain to be seen, and he had never seen it and never would. Looked into her eyes, laughing with her, never noticing he hurt her at every turn. Or, and he couldn't decide which was worse, it wasn't there, but hidden from his eyes. It scared him worse than looking into her eyes and seeing her pain. To see only what he always saw, or had seen, knowing what she hid behind her eyes. Hiding it, being his friend, even though he dragged her emotions in the dirt, ignoring her. He didn't think he could stand that. No, he knew he couldn't stand that.

So he lay in his Fortress, knowing she was right now struggling with her paper. Struggling because he wasn't there for her. Wasn't there when she needed his help. Knowing that only intensified his pain, and parts of him screamed for him to rush over there and help her, face her gaze and his problem. He had tried to sum up the strength to rise and do just that, only to fall back down into the couch. The vision of her pain sucked his strength from him in a way even meteor rock couldn't match.

Eyes brimming with unshed tears he lay staring, unblinking, at her face in the darkness.

---------------------------------------------------

Jonathan Kent was starting to worry. He wasn't usually a worrier, that being the role his wife took upon herself to play, but having called out for Clark several times sowed a seed of worry in his mind. Ordinarily he wouldn't even have to shout once, since Clark would come running as soon as the food left the oven. Or if the aroma from the kitchen smelled unusually appetizing, which was saying something, since Martha's usual cooking would be appreciated even at a five star restaurant; he would just feel a rush of wind and turn around to see Clark sitting expectantly at the table, fork ready in his hand.

Any notion he had that Clark had just been busy in the loft was dismissed as he saw him shuffling dejectedly out of the barn, his face a mask of misery. As he met his gaze the seed of doubt sprouted into a full-fledged tree. As he met Clark's gaze something flickered in his son's eyes and made him flinch. He immediately realized the meaning behind the flicker of emotion. Unrecognized, his face had for a moment not been what Clark had seen. But what had he seen in its place?

As Clark collapsed against his shoulder, wrapping his arms around him in a desperate embrace, his worries once again multiplied. Clark's body shook in silent sobs as he clutched Jonathan as if he was the only thing keeping him standing.

"What is it, son?" Jonathan asked in a soft voice, awkwardly patting Clark's back.

"I think I've… hurt someone." Clark said, desperately trying to hold back tears.

For a moment Jonathans worries grew into a forest. Hurt someone? Since they decided to take care of Clark this was what Jonathan had feared. If Clark took a tiny step wrong he could, almost certainly, hurt or even kill someone by accident. And if someone tried to turn his son into a lab-rat Jonathan could fight it, would fight it. But how could he protect his son from accidents? He had awoken screaming after nightmares of something like this happening. But then the rational part of his mind silenced the mounting sense of panic. If Clark had hurt someone like that he wouldn't need to add 'I think'. He would know.

And then the meaning of Clark's words finally dawned on him.

"I think we should go inside. Your mother is better equipped to this than I am." Jonathan said, fervently wishing he was right. He was far out on uncharted territory here.

In the back of his mind he realized he was as ill equipped to deal with ordinary teenager problems as he was to the prospect of Clark crushing someone's spine as he gave them a pat on the back.

Strangely this didn't help his mood at all.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Happily Martha Kent seemed better suited for the task in hand. As she sternly sent the dejected Clark of to wash his hands before dinner her husband gave her the little information he had. She smiled, her face unreadable, at his worried face before sending him of to join his son. As Jonathan washed his hands he sent a heartfelt thank you to the man above. Martha hadn't even seemed visibly concerned by the problem. He, himself, couldn't be happier than he was handing the problem to his wife.

Even though his stomach growled and the smell of food nearly drove him insane he dragged his feet as he walked back to the kitchen. He really didn't want to get involved in this. Especially since he felt like one more shocking surprise would lead to a heart attack and an early grave. He still couldn't get the recurring nightmare of Clark hurting or killing someone out of his head.

As he neared the kitchen snatches of conversation became audible. He had hurt someone. Ok, knew that. Emotionally? Is that good or bad? Better than killing someone? Definitely. He was afraid to face her? He hurt a girl? Who? Afraid to lose a friend?

In his mind the connection took some time. Friend. Girl. Chloe.

He had hurt Chloe. Now, Jonathan had always tried to be nice to all the people Clark hung around with, but he genuinely liked Chloe Sullivan. It was impossible for him not to. Even with the inquisitive streak he knew was going to be a problem Chloe struck him as one of the people who would stay on Clark's side no matter what. And sometimes she kind of reminded him of another Metropolis girl he had grew to like. The thought of someone hurting her felt…wrong. He felt an almost paternal wrath engulf him. The fact that it was his son hurting her was not important. If anything it made him even more furious. Clark should know better.

As he listened to brief snatches of the rest of the conversation he managed to piece together roughly what had happened. It didn't make him any happier.

For a moment he had to restrain himself from rushing in screaming his head of. Instead he waited. And waited some more. Until finally Martha noticed him lurking just out of sight, how she did he never knew, and called him over.

Joining the others at the dinner table he felt thankful the conversation drifted of Clark's problems and unto mundane easily solved problems like how to find money to keep the farm running and the family eating. Clark almost looked himself again and volunteered some information on how school was going.

It seemed the incident had been entirely forgotten. At least it had seemed, if it hadn't been for the barely hidden discomfort and the moments of silent staring beetween father and son.

As the dinner drew to an end Clark fidgeted in his seat. Finally gathering courage he ultimately managed to squeeze out a question.

"Aren't you going to say something?" He asked in a nervous voice, obviously expecting him to yell at him.

Jonathan thought for a moment. So that's how it is, is it? His mother for comfort, advice and understanding, and his father for furious yelling? He smiled. It fits me perfectly. His smile disappeared.

"Just this; I don't know exactly what you did, and I don't want to know. But if it happens again, if you hurt… I…" His voice had risen to a near yell, and it took some effort to force it back down. "… I will personally duct-tape a meteor rock to your forehead and hand her a bat." As he said it he was surprised, he had meant every word. Hurting Chloe had obviously triggered some things best left alone.

Martha looked at him, shocked that he would say something like that. Clark just met him stare for stare.

He might be a nearly invincible alien with the ability to bench a tractor and run cross county in a minute, but against his fathers steel hard gaze he fell short. He looked away.

"Trust me, if I ever do I'll hand her the bat myself."

Looking into his eyes and seeing the remembered pain, barely kept inside, Jonathan believed him.

-------------------------------------------------

R&R! Sorry it took so long.

//TheUnwelcomeVisitor