Forgiveness is the key that unlocks the door of resentment . . .

-Corrie ten Boom

"I'm afraid Dusty has committed an indiscretion," Martha said, snapping beans on the front step. "Look at that dog. Does she look like she's carrying a litter of pups or what?"

Clark watched Dusty stroll across the yard and had to agree with his mother's suspicion. "Any idea who the sire might be?"

"Well, you know Pete Ross has a dog now-some kind of German Shepherd mix. Apparently she spent an entire afternoon with it in Pete's backyard. Heaven knows how she got in, but I'm not too keen on having some five or six puppies to feed."

Clark clapped his hands and Dusty quickened her pace. She climbed up on the porch steps and promptly sat down between him and Martha, laying one paw on Martha's knee as if to ask for clemency. Martha smiled slowly and shook her head.

"By the way, I'm still planning on coming back here next week for the Fourth of July," Clark said, changing the subject. "Provided there aren't any emergencies or anything like that . . ."

"Do you expect one?" Martha asked.

"If that disturbance out in the Atlantic turns into a hurricane, my help might be needed."

Martha nodded. "There's going to be a potluck at the church and fireworks after. I was hoping to go. It would be more fun than staying here by ourselves."

"That sounds good to me."

"Are you sure?" she asked pointedly.

Clark smiled. "I still won't play football after we eat, but I won't hang back from everything else like I used to. The idea of a potluck doesn't terrorize me anymore, not now that I know I'm not terrorizing everyone around me."

Martha reached over Dusty and patted his shoulder. "Well, good. I like that attitude."

She stood up with the bowl of snapped beans on her hip. Clark mustered up the courage to look up at her and put in a request.

"Lois Lane is taking the whole week off."

"Really?" Martha asked distractedly, brushing off her jeans.

"What would you say to inviting her down here?"

Martha looked hard at him for a moment, then withdrew her eyes and gazed sternly over the grassy field behind the house. Clark kept silent, scratching Dusty's back while he waited.

"I want to be friends with her, Clark," she finally said. "I just don't know that I . . ."

"What?" Clark prodded.

Martha ran her calloused fingers through the beans. "It's one thing for our neighbors to pretty much know your secret and not say a word about it to you or me. They've known you all your life. Miss Lane is a stranger. She's not from around here, she didn't watch you grow up, she doesn't know what we went through-what the whole town went through . . ."

"But she's kept my secret for a whole year now," Clark said. "I trust her."

Martha swallowed. "I know, I know. It's just hard to get out of my mind that image of her coming up this porch asking about you. I'll never forget what it felt like, thinking that this reporter could completely wreck our lives."

Clark stood up and rubbed his mother's arm. "Well, then, just replace that memory with one of you and I standing on this same porch, seeing her run down the driveway to tell me there was a way to stop Zod. If it hadn't been for her, our lives really would've been wrecked."

Martha shrugged, nodded, smiled a little weakly. "I suppose she'd have to spend that vacation with that bossy mother of hers if she didn't come here, anyway. All right, Clark, ask her. I guess it's about time she and I met again."

"Oh, no, Clark-no, I couldn't do that," Lois said. She was on the phone with him, sitting on her couch and trying to polish up tomorrow's article. "A whole week? Your mother would be sick of me."

"No she wouldn't, I swear," Clark insisted. "Besides, what will you do with your vacation if you don't come? Is your mom twisting your arm to come to some event or another?"

Lois grimaced at the accuracy of his guess. "Your deductions are uncanny, Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"Elementary, my dear Watson. What is it this time? A ball?"

"No, it's not quite that bad, thank God," she laughed. "Some friends of hers have invited her to spend the holiday with them. But they're also friends with Lex Luthor and he's going to be there . . . so the pressure is on for me to tag along, meet this powerful ball of charisma, and fall head-over-heels in love with him."

"Oh really?" Clark sounded suspicious.

Lois snorted. "No need to fear the competition, Smallville. I'm not crazy about anyone who's not crazy about you. And I've been rather spoiled by a boyfriend with a full head of hair."

He laughed out loud at that. Lex Luthor, while young and fairly good-looking, was totally bald.

"I really want you to come, Lois," Clark insisted.

"But does your mother?"

"Listen." His voice was so firm, he sounded more like Superman than Clark Kent. "My mom will be highly impressed if you come. It'll not only show her that you're brave enough to face her, but that you care enough about our relationship to reach out to her. She wants to be friends. She's just . . . shy."

Lois sighed. "Okay, but I want you to make a promise to me in case you're wrong."

"What's that?"

"If she can't stand the sight of me, you'll take me home. Right away. I don't care if you-um, whisk me away. I just don't want to make her miserable."

"It's a deal."

The call ended but Lois couldn't return to her work. The idea of spending the next week at the Kent farm was thrilling and disconcerting-thrilling because it meant a week with the man who was becoming her whole world, disconcerting because Martha Kent was still a formidable figure in her mind.

Clark had said Martha wanted to be friends but that she was "shy." What did that mean? Did Martha think of her as an intruder? But if a show of bravery could prove to her that Lois was worthy of her son . . .

Lois clenched her teeth and picked up her phone again. She dialed her mother's number and held her breath until Annie picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mom," Lois said, trying to keep her voice carefree. "How are you?"

"Well, let me tell you about my day-" and Annie did. What followed was an eternity-or so it seemed to Lois-of complaints and triumphs, including the recap of a conversation with a fellow member of the most prominent musical society in Metropolis. Lois had no chance to speak for a good five minutes until Annie finally asked what she was up to.

"I need to talk to you about next week," Lois said.

"Independence Day-yes! Your vacation days are secure?"

"Yes, but . . . remember, Mom, I never did commit to going with you to the Marleys'. I told you I was thinking about it but I couldn't give you an answer just yet."

"Well, what will you do if you don't come? Sit up in that puny apartment all week long chasing plot bunnies for your Great American Novel?"

Lois fought to keep the irritation from her tone. "Actually, a friend of mine has invited me to spend the week with him and his mother in Kansas."

" 'Him?' You have a boyfriend?"

"A shocker, I know," Lois said wryly. "It only took me thirty years to find one."

"Who is he?"

Annie actually sounded eager and interested, a good sign. Lois breathed a sigh of relief. "He's one of our stringers. He's a smart guy, Mom, one of the most talented freelancers around."

There was a stunned silence on the other end. Then came Annie's voice again, dull and slow.

"A stringer. You, a Pulitzer Prize winner, the Daily Planet's finest reporter-going out with a stringer. How long have you known him?"

Lois stiffened and didn't answer the question. "Why does it matter if he's a stringer? He's a fine writer, better than half of the people on the Planet staff."

"For Heaven's sake, Lois, you could do better than that!" Annie cried. "You'd be better off with your alien."

Lois' grip tightened on her phone. "Ten months ago you all but ordered me to keep my distance from him. Now you're telling me you'd rather see me with him than with a hard-working reporter I've gotten to know over the past four months? What do you take me for?"

"A young woman in desperate need of some practical instruction in romance."

"Practical instruction!" Lois cried. "You of all people-you're going to give me instruction on romance? You, who left your husband high and dry because you were sick and tired of him? I'd rather take romance lessons from Henry the Eighth than you!"

"How dare you talk to me like that?" Annie snapped. "I am your mother-you have no right to speak to me in that tone."

Lois snapped her mouth shut but felt her face growing hot; she pursed her lips and clenched her phone until her fingers hurt.

"I'm not going to make further judgment on this friend of yours until I meet him," Annie went on. "But I will remind you that you are a well-known, prize-winning journalist, and the daughter of one of the most culturally-influential women in Metropolis. Your talents should be combined with those of an established man, not some freelancer who probably doesn't even have a college degree. Do you follow what I'm saying, Lois Joanne?"

"Perfectly," Lois said through gritted teeth.

"Good."

"And I'm going to spend next week in Kansas."

"Lois-"

"If you need me, call my cell phone-but it had better be an emergency and you'd better leave a message. I'm not answering it otherwise." Lois' voice shook. "Goodbye, Mother."

She jerked the phone away from her ear before Annie could respond and ended the call. Then she plunged her hands into her hair and wrestled with pain from a thousand old heart-scars her mother had just ripped open.

Saturday came; she and Clark met at the airport and flew-on a plane, of course-to Kansas. Lois tried to write on the plane but couldn't keep her focus. She was too nervous. Finally she slammed her laptop shut and let out a long breath. Clark looked up from the book he was reading and looked at her with concern.

"Calm down, sweetheart," he murmured, patting her hand.

That didn't exactly help her calm down much, seeing as how it was the first time he'd called her by such a name-but she did grasp his fingers and squeeze tight, grateful.

A rental car waited for them at the airport and before long they were on one of those endless roads where Lois could see nothing but flat prairie and bright blue, cloudless sky. Lois rolled down the window on the passenger side. The air was hotter and drier than in Metropolis, but the wind blew hard and kept the temperature from feeling oppressive.

"Skyscrapers don't let you feel the wind very often," she said, gathering her hair up into a high ponytail. "It sure does feel good."

"I know," Clark said, smiling a little. "That's the only thing I haven't gotten used to yet in Metropolis. The closed-in feeling gets to me sometimes."

"At least you can escape and fly around a bit to clear your head. The rest of us are bolted to the ground."

When they finally reached Smallville a couple of hours later, in the late afternoon, her anxiety was replaced by curiosity and delight. When she came here a full year ago looking for clues of her mystery man, she'd been fascinated by the little town. It reminded her of Mayberry, the main setting of the Andy Griffith re-runs she'd watched as a kid with her dad. He'd loved that show.

Even now, Lois half-expected to see Barney Fife prowling the streets. It had that same quaint, welcoming Americana atmosphere. The few buildings that hadn't been damaged in last year's battle looked like they'd been around since the 40's. Old men congregated in front of the barbershop to talk crops and cuss the weather. A white-painted church with stained glass windows boasted a large sign inviting the whole town to a Fourth of July potluck. American flags rippled on every streetlight.

"No need to disguise myself here," Clark said, taking off his glasses. "Put these in your purse, will you?"

"That's the gas station you and Zod plowed through, isn't it?" Lois asked, pointing.

"Well, that's the one that was built over the one we plowed through," Clark said. "Look, see that new asphalt up ahead? That's where they re-paved the road after the missiles pretty much blew out the old street. There's the new water tower . . . and the Sears is on this corner, coming up. It looks good as new, too."

Lois smiled mischievously at him. "I heard you slammed through the whole appliance section. Rather an undignified landing spot for Kal-El, don't you think?"

Clark shot her a playful glare and poked her in the ribs. Lois threw herself against the car door. "No! Don't you dare-not while you're driving."

"Yes, ma'am," was the teasingly obedient response.

Another stretch of prairie, and then a familiar driveway. A house up ahead. A black-and-white border collie barking, running alongside the car. Clark stopped the car several yards from the house, and he and Lois looked at each other.

"Are you okay?" he asked gently.

"Yeah," she whispered. "Remember your promise. If she can't stand the sight of me-"

"I'll take you home. I haven't forgotten."

He squeezed her hand and got out of the car. She followed suit. Immediately the border collie pounced on him, then raced around the front of the car and laid her front paws on Lois' knees.

"It's all right, she won't bite," Clark assured her.

Lois ran her hand down Dusty's head. The dog seemed to accept her without question. At the sound of the porch door slamming, she could only hope Martha Kent would be as trusting.

The first time Lois met her, Martha Kent had only scowled at her in distrust and answered her questions in little more than monosyllables. The second time, she'd just been manhandled by Zod and therefore was hardly cheerful. This time she was so different, Lois had to take a second look to make sure it was the same woman.

Martha was probably in her late fifties, tall and spare; her layered, shoulder-length hair was greying and her face, while attractive and strongly-featured, was weathered. She wore blue jeans and a loose-fitting blouse. That was all the same. What was different was that she smiled.

Lois watched, hanging back, while Clark and Martha met and embraced. When Clark turned to face her again, she drew herself up and swallowed hard.

"Mom, this is Lois," Clark said.

"Goodness, Clark, I know who she is," Martha said, but with an indulgent cutting of her grey eyes at her son. She nodded her head towards Lois. "Nice to have you."

Lois stepped forward, clutching her purse strap with one hand until her knuckles whitened, while extending the other and hoping it didn't shake. "It's nice to be here, Mrs. Kent."

Martha took the proffered hand; her grip was strong, her palm calloused, and her grey eyes pleasantly calm. "Please, call me Martha. Come on inside, you must be tired and hungry after your trip. Clark, you need help with the suitcases?"

"No, you go ahead into the house," he said, waving them on. "I'll be inside in a minute."

Lois followed Martha onto the porch and into the farmhouse. It, too, was far different from the last time she'd been here; everything was freshly painted and had a clean, updated look about it. The warm, heavy smell of something in the oven permeated the small kitchen.

"I've put you up in the upstairs bedroom," Martha said, leading the way with long, confident strides. "Hope you don't mind heights."

Lois smiled. "No, heights don't bother me at all."

When Martha opened the door, the sight took her breath away. The room was small but fresh and bright, and the open windows allowed a magnificent view of the sprawling prairie to the south. The bed was covered by a white comforter, with a beautiful, old-looking chest at its foot. It captured Lois' attention and she wondered if it was locked.

"This is lovely," she said, running her hand over the edge of a painted dresser. "I haven't stayed in a room this nice since I was a little girl."

"Well, I'm glad you like it," Martha said, as if the compliment rolled lightly off her back. "I'll let you freshen up . . ."

Lois whirled. "Martha, I want to thank you for letting me come. I know . . . I know it might not have been the easiest thing for you to say 'yes' to."

Martha leaned against the open door. "You're right. It wasn't."

Her words were like a bucket of ice cold water on Lois' head, but only for a moment. Just when the dread was almost unbearable, Martha spoke again.

"But you know, there are things more important to me than my own pride-like my son down there." She gestured with her head towards the living room downstairs. "You don't know how much he wanted to bring you here. And you don't know how difficult I knew it would be to look you in the eye and apologize for the way I treated you last year when you came here asking some perfectly honest questions . . ."

Lois almost sank to a seat on top of the chest, she was so relieved. "Well, I'm sorry, too. I know I made a pretty awful first impression."

Martha's face softened. "You didn't know any better."

That's true, I really didn't. Lois extended her hand again, and this time Martha clasped it with an amused, gentle smile. It wasn't a handshake. It was a gesture of mutual acceptance and forgiveness.

How odd . . . to reach over a wide gulf of mistrust and clasp hands with Martha Kent so soon after her own mother had widened the distance between them.

That evening, as Lois headed upstairs for bed, Clark stopped her at the foot of the stairs. "A word, Miss Lane?"

She turned, smiling a little. "Yes, Mr. Kent?"

Clark settled his weight on one leg and cocked his head at her, arms folded over his chest. "Want me to take you home now?"

Lois cut her eyes at him. "You really are impossible sometimes."

Clark laughed, turned down the hallway towards his own room. "I won't say 'I told you so,' but . . . I told you so."

Lois rolled her eyes. "Goodnight, Superman."

"Don't call me that."

Lois shot him a playful look over her shoulder. "Then don't say 'I told you so.' "

There'll be one more chapter in Smallville, and then we start getting into some suspense and intrigue! The story is progressing well on my end and my muse gives me little rest...and I do think I'm going to tie in a little bit of Batman/Lex Luthor stuff after all. But it's all from my own imagination; I'm not even trying to imagine the plot for the new movie. That's the beauty of fanfiction-you do what you want ;) Hope y'all are still enjoying the story!