- - - Chapter Two

Clark flew over Metropolis, just high enough so that nobody would see him. He dwelled on the flight he had just taken, the woman he had had in his arms. Lois had held onto him like she never wanted to let go, and kissed him back with equal passion even though she was engaged to another man. He'd promised her he'd be there for her, and he planned on it. The only thing he wasn't looking forward to was going to work the day after next and seeing her with Richard. Will she still be with Richard Monday morning?

He pushed the selfish thoughts from his mind and flew to the hospital. He considered going back inside and letting the doctors officially release him, but he'd always been a little nervous about doctors; ever since he'd seen the movie E.T., actually. He decided not to fly back through that window, but he heard the worried voices of the doctors who had taken care of him panicking to find him gone.

Clark examined the crowd for a moment and spotted his mother near the door. She had a different look on her than any of the other well-wishers did. She looked worried, pale; Clark regretted for a moment that she couldn't tell anybody who she was or even visit her son when he was in the hospital. Everybody in the crowd looked tired, and it was a big crowd. A large portion of them held candles and were staring at the windows above them, probably wondering which pane of glass separated them from him.

Clark made a quick decision and flew down out of the clouds, coming into view of the crowd from around the side of the hospital. There were gasps and then a cheer rose from the collective. He focused on his mother, she was sobbing and he wished he could go to her, but he couldn't. He stopped near the edge of the crowd, raising his voice so that it would carry down to them all. "Thank you," he said simply, before stretching out his arms and soaring over them. He picked up speed just after clearing the crowd, there was a faint pop of a sonic boom and he disappeared into the night sky.

He circled back a moment later, setting down in a nearby alley and changing into what was left of his Clark Kent clothes- wrinkled gray slacks, dress shoes that had lost their shine, and a white dress shirt that had a spot of his own blood on the sleeve and was more wrinkled than his pants. It was a miracle his glasses hadn't broken. He checked himself again, hiding the Superman suit under a dumpster so that he could roll up the sleeves and hide the blood.

The crowd was beginning to thin. People at the edges were making their way to taxis and the bus that was lucky enough to have been driving past when Superman flew overhead. Everybody was talking about him, relieved and amazed. His mother just stood silently where she had been when he'd flown over, still staring at the spot he'd disappeared into, and still crying silently. People were hugging around her, but she was just breathing, not bothering to wipe her tears.

Clark made his way through the crowd against the flow with a grace many men his size could only dream of. He approached her from behind, setting a careful hand on her shoulder and holding her steady when she spun around, her eyes wide with fright.

"Clark?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"It's me," he said, trying to sound soothing.

"Are you okay? Why didn't you just let the doctors release you properly?" She asked, letting him pull her into a hug.

"I'm okay," he said, smiling and holding her tightly against his chest. "But you know how I feel about doctors and needles, I didn't want to stay and have them do all sorts of… tests before they let me go."

"I understand," and she was the only one who really would. Growing up, his parents had been just as worried as he was about anybody, especially scientists or doctors, knowing anything about him. Even though people knew he was from a different planet and nobody at Metropolis General would dream of doing tests on him, the threat was always there.

"It looks like the crowd is heading home," Clark said after a moment of silence, blending with what was left of the crowd. Clark pulled away from his mother, guiding her by her hand to the dark alley where he'd left the suit. She was silent as he became a red and blue blur while he changed into the costume again.

"Take me up slowly," Martha cautioned as she stepped onto her son's toes and gripped his forearms tightly for the first time in more than a decade, "my heart isn't as young as it used to be."

Clark smiled a little sadly and held onto her tightly, lifting off just as gently as she'd asked for. He heard her heartbeat speed up when she looked down and discovered that they'd already cleared the buildings.

At the farmhouse, Martha set about her kitchen. While Clark was in his natural habitat in the skies, she was in her natural habitat in this kitchen.

"What happened?" She asked, pulling out pots and pans and generally making a lot of familiar kitchen noises while she searched for the means to make her son the biggest breakfast he'd had in years.

"Luthor happened," Clark said. His mother was silent, arms crossed in front of her, even the cooking forgotten while she waited for the rest of the answer. "He had a shard of kryptonite, he stabbed me… Lois pulled it out in the plane, but there were a few shards left inside. I put as much rock between me and that continent as I could but… it was made of kryptonite and the normal rock fell away and the kryptonite in the wound and the kryptonite I was lifting took it all out of me."

"Took it out of you," his mother mumbled. She walked over and unbuttoned his shirt without hesitation, pulling it back so she could look at the huge greenish bruise and the faint red line where the shard had punctured his 'invulnerable' skin. He flinched away when she fingered it gently.

"It's a little tender…"

"And yet you're out here flying around," she shook her head and then glared at him. "You should still be in that hospital- they're trained to help… What the hell were you thinking?! You could've died, Clark!" She frowned again. Fresh tears came to her eyes but didn't fall, "I couldn't even get in to see you! What were you thinking? What would I have done if you'd died! I can't very well go to the morgue and request Superman's body so I can bury it next to his father! They'd think I was crazy just because you were too caught up in your own little mystery to tell that Lois Lane that you didn't just swoop in yesterday! We had to deal with a three year old with high fevers and an aptitude for pulling cabinet doors off when he got too excited and a thirteen year old who liked jumping off the silos to see if he would bounce…!"

"But I did bounce…" Clark said, trying to lighten her mood.

"Only because you had springy knees," she said without thinking and smiled. "Darn you," she said when she realized that her anger was gone. Her voice was soft again, "Are you sure you're okay? You look a little pale… and that bruise…"

"When am I not pale, Mom?" He smiled and she shrugged. "It'll heal."

"But you are not going out and trying to do anything heroic tonight! You are sitting down at that table and staying still while I make you something to eat and then you're going to sleep," she told him, poking him in the chest just hard enough so that it didn't hurt her finger, but she emphasized her point.

"I'm fine …"

"No way, mister," she said holding her finger out threateningly again. "I don't care if you are Superman, you said you were fine after you woke up after you got home too and then you ate breakfast and slept for another fourteen hours!"

Clark sighed, he wouldn't win this one. "Fine," he said, turning and sitting down at the table behind him, setting his glasses on the counter in front of him and scrubbing a weary hand over his eyes before re-buttoning his shirt.

"That's what I thought," Martha said. After another few minutes she asked, "Have you been eating right in that big city of yours?" She turned the burner down under the bacon before going over to the griddle to flip the pancakes.

"Probably not," Clark admitted, trying to think of the last thing he'd eaten and not coming up with anything.

"Didn't think so," his mother responded, pouring out a few more pancakes and putting the first stack she'd made on a plate in front of Clark.

"Mom, you should sleep," Clark said after a few hours. She'd made him the biggest breakfast he could ever remember eating and eaten her own portion of the food. They were on their fourth pot of coffee and she looked exhausted. The sun was just beginning to show itself on the horizon. "I just woke up from a lot of sleeping, but you've been standing out there… you should rest, Mom."

Her face had pinched when he mentioned his 'sleep,' but she didn't mention it. She just nodded and headed up to her room. "Oh, Clark," she started, remembering something. "Ben Hubbard will be by at about eight with some zucchini from his garden that I'm supposed to be making zucchini bread out of for him. If you could just take the bin and put it somewhere in the kitchen where I'll see, that'd be great."

"Of course, Mom," he said, running water in the sink to start the dishes.

"You should rest too, you know," she said. "You've been through just as much as I have in these past few days."

"I'm okay, Mom," he smiled at her and she went up to bed.

He couldn't sit still. After he'd done the dishes he'd tried to be the good little farm boy everybody knew and take a nap on the couch, but he'd been too awake. He watched the sun rise from his usual spot by the gate and then turned to look at the house and barn. They were his sanctuary more than the Fortress of Solitude had ever been. This was where he had grown up, and this was where his heart always came back to.

He went to the barn, moving things around and fixing what he saw was broken. He fed the horses, both of them had been barely mature when he left home the first time, and they didn't look much different. It was surprising what changed and what didn't.

"Martha?" He heard a somewhat familiar voice call from the driveway. Ben Hubbard had arrived with his vegetables and was getting out of his truck. Clark walked out of the barn, hoping to intercept the older man before he woke his mother.

"Hey, Mr. Hubbard!" He said with the goofy smile that employees of the Daily Planet associated with bumbling Clark Kent, but that the people of Smallville associated with the happy-go-lucky farm boy gone city slicker who'd made it in Metropolis.

"Clark? Is that you?" Ben asked, forgetting about the zucchinis long enough to shake Clark's hand.

"How've you been, Ben?" Clark asked, dropping the dorky smile for a mask of polite inquiry.

"Good, um, oh! I've got the zucchinis for your mother's bread," he said with a smile.

"Thanks, Ben," Clark said, smiling again and taking the over-full box of zucchini from the aging farmer as though it weighed no more than a feather. Ben's eyebrows went up at his ease, but he didn't say anything. "Do you want me to have Mom give you a call when she wakes up?"

"Sure, um, she's not already up?" It was unusual for Martha to sleep later than six or seven even on weekends.

"No," Clark said, shaking his head. "I got in late last night and she wanted to talk, so she'll be sleeping in this morning… hopefully."

"Hopefully," Ben repeated with a knowing smile; Martha wasn't one to rest when she could help it, and she'd been truly restless of late. "It'd be great if you could have her give me a call when she wakes… See you around, Clark."

"See you around, Ben."

"What's between you and Ben Hubbard?" Clark asked early in the afternoon while he was chopping the zucchini for his mother.

"What do you mean?"

"Well…" Clark shrugged. "He seems to be around a lot and this morning he seemed really… comfortable to be here…?"

"He's a friend, Clark," his mother assured him. "He's a couple years older than me, but he's the nearest person within my age group that's not in a nursing home. It's nice to have somebody around to talk to who can remember the same things I can," she smiled at him. Clark gave her a suspicious look but dropped it, turning back to the cutting board in time to see himself run out of zucchini and bring the blade down on his fingers instead. Of course, the blade made a horrible noise and bent at the handle.

"Sorry," he said, holding up the knife for a closer look. Martha was just staring at him, eyes full of worry. He waved his hand at her, showing five whole and completely unaffected fingers. His mother just shook her head and went back to work on preparing the bread while Clark used his heat vision to soften the blade and bend it back into position.

"Clark, I do have one question for you," Martha said after taking a second loaf out of the oven.

"Yeah?"

"I saw Lois Lane go in to see you…" she glanced at him, looking for a reaction but he just nodded to show that he was listening and waiting for whatever came next. "She had a boy with her."

"That's Jason, her son. He's five," Clark said, his voice getting quieter. Do I tell her now or do I wait and resolve things with Lois first?

"Are you his father?" She asked. Her voice wasn't accusing or any of a number of things he might've expected. He paused a moment before answering.

"Yes," he couldn't look at her straight.

"You left while she was pregnant with your child," now the tone held some accusation.

"I didn't know she was pregnant," he said, forcing himself to look at her so that she would know he was telling the truth. "If I'd know that I'd never have left."

Martha regarded him for a moment. She knew he was telling the truth, but it was a lot to take in. "I expect to meet my grandson sometime."

"Mom, Lois doesn't know that Clark Kent and Superman are the same person…"

"She deserves to know, Clark; you have to tell her."

"I plan to, but it'll take time," he sighed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "And she's with Richard now, and Richard thinks that Jason is his son…"

"Clark…" now there was pity in her voice.

"I'll think of a way to tell her who I am, then I'll ask her if I can bring Jason for a visit, or if I can bring you to Jason, but… She has a stable life with Richard, something I can never give her being who I am," he sighed heavily. "She deserves a stable life, and so does Jason… I'll do what I can."

"You always do," Martha commented before turning back to the next loaf of bread and leaving her son to his thoughts.