Hello everybody! Just wanted to thank everyone for the input and encouragement I received over the past week. I really appreciate you taking the time to leave your thoughts, and trust me, I have considered each one very seriously! There are only a few more chapters to this story so it's a little late for me to backpedal and fix some of the story's flaws, but hopefully I'll tie it up well and it won't be a complete blot on my writing record :P
Okay, I'll be quiet now...
One month later
The screams of the girl in the crumpled Corolla sent shivers of horror down Clark's spine long before he got to the wreck. He took in the details with one quick glance. Two cars and a much taller, sturdier pickup . . . five people involved.
Thankfully, the passengers of the pickup and the lone driver of one of the cars were unhurt. He could see them standing beside the Corolla, trying to speak to someone inside. Other commuters caught in the traffic snarl plugging up the Tunnel scrambled out of their cars to see if they could help. Once they saw Clark, however, they all stepped back.
"She's trapped, she can't get out!" someone cried.
Clark gave him one quick nod and peered through the broken window. The driver was dead, and he looked away. The teenage girl in the passenger's seat, however, was very much alive; she half-sat, half-lay against her unmoving companion, the crumpled passenger door and battered dashboard pinning her where she was. Blood streamed, thick and dark, from her forehead. She sobbed and shook violently.
Clark reached through the broken window and touched her shoulder. She looked at him with wild fear at first; recognizing him, she began to cry all over again.
"It's all right, it's all right," he said, keeping his voice low and calm. "Take a deep breath. Are
you hurt anywhere besides your head?"
"I c-c-can't move my legs, they're stuck," she stammered. "I tried to get free—it hurts—"
"All right, all right," Clark soothed. "Calm down. I need you to breathe. Has someone called the ambulance?"
Someone had, but as Clark glanced at the traffic behind them, he knew the ambulance would be tardy. He was thankful he only had to deal with one injury.
He scanned the crumpled door, the smashed-in front of the car. The door was responsible for most of the problem; the dashboard, if anything, was keeping the girl from falling forward onto the floor of the car. He clenched one hand over the handle and the other over the open window ledge. The broken glass never penetrated his skin.
He braced his foot against the car's side and gave a hard pull. With a groan of steel, the door wrenched off its hinges. The girl let out a choking gasp as the pressure on her legs ceased. Clark shuddered at the side of her bloody legs. A quick scan told him they were both badly broken.
Carefully avoiding touching or jostling her legs, he leaned over the girl and tried to ease her upper body into a more comfortable position. Still shaking and gasping with pain, she watched him with wide, tear-filled eyes.
"It's okay," he said. "Your legs are broken and I don't want to move you until the ambulance gets here—"
"Don't leave me," she whimpered.
He smiled, squeezed her hand gently. "I'm not. Just hold on and be brave. I've got you."
Without ever letting go of her hand, he grabbed hold of the top of the car and moved aside so one of the pickup passengers, a grandmotherly woman, could drape a blanket over the shivering girl. When the ambulance and police finally fought their way through the traffic jam, he only let go of the girl's hand when they laid her on a stretcher. She smiled thankfully at him and he drew a deep breath, grateful for a chance to save another life, or at least to ease someone's suffering.
Police reports, however, were not so satisfying, and as a witness he was pulled aside by an officer who took down his take on the situation. Nothing irritated Clark so much as an indifferent police officer. He'd met plenty in the past two-and-a-half years since the battle who were good and noble sorts. This fellow wasn't one of them.
"And you said the young lady's legs were trapped?" this particular officer asked rather coldly.
"The whole front of the car was smashed in like a tin can," Clark said, gesturing towards the Corolla, which was being towed off. "The door and dashboard were bashed in and pinning her down. The door was removed and that relieved the pressure on her legs."
"And you didn't wait for the ambulance to do that?" the officer asked, a little belligerently.
Clark took a deep breath. "Sir, the ambulance was going to take an extra fifteen minutes to get to the scene thanks to this traffic jam. The girl was in agonizing pain. Something had to be done. If we hadn't helped her she might've gone into shock."
He said "we" in reference to the other commuters who had done everything possible to relieve the girl—those who'd given her the blanket, a bottle of water, comforting words. He wasn't the only one who'd helped her. The officer didn't seem to notice, and instead pulled something from his pants pocket without meeting Clark's eyes.
"Thank you for your cooperation. I was instructed to give you this."
Clark took the folded piece of paper, nodded, and walked away. Only when he was out of the stifling, fumes-filled tunnel and back in the crisp late-winter morning did he unfold the paper. He had to read it twice to believe what he was reading.
It's time for a man-to-man. If you're interested, meet me at the lab on Monday night. You know which lab. I'll be waiting.
That was all, but the stationary was embossed with the LexCorp logo.
Clark set his teeth and crumpled the paper in his hand. So, after all the indirect threats and the ceaseless bashing through the LexCorp-controlled press, Luthor finally wanted a face-to-face confrontation. That would be all very well and good—in fact, Clark's preference for honesty and openness thought it was about time—but if it was a trap, if Luthor had more of that Kryptonian material packed in a syringe with a needle . . .
Whoa, Kent, slow down, Clark thought, taking a deep breath to clear his head. You might be walking into a trap, and you can't afford to die right now.
He gave his foot a push off the pavement and shot up into the air. Today was Friday, and a quick glance at the sky told him the day was getting on. Friday evening meant a trip to Smallville. The whole weekend with his mother and Lois lay ahead of him.
First, though, a quick trip to Gotham, to show this letter to someone with far more experience than his own.
"Mrs. Kent?"
Lois glanced up from the magazine she'd been perusing and saw a tall, thin woman with her hair scraped back from her face standing in the doorway. In spite of her austere appearance, the woman smiled kindly. "You're next, honey."
Lois took a deep breath, smoothed her almost-too-tight shirt, and strode confidently towards the midwife. The woman led her down a small corridor and into a prettily-decorated examining room. She shut the door behind them.
"I'm Edith," she said, holding out her hand. "Edith Morgensen."
Lois raised her eyebrows mischievously. "Then you're from one of the families that dukes it out with the fireworks every Fourth of July, aren't you?"
Edith laughed. "Oh, you know about that? Yes, it's my husband who does battle with Myron Kelsey every July. It's all in fun, you know. If you'll sit down here, that would be perfect."
Lois obeyed, taking a seat on the cold examining table. Edith shut the blinds and turned on some kind of machine just behind the table.
"You look pretty far along for this to be your first visit," she said, but not in a confrontational manner; she was simply trying to make conversation. Lois, prepared to be defensive about her lack of medical care for the past five months, relaxed.
"I'm twenty-one weeks along," she said. "I'm pretty sure I'm due in early June."
"Ah, a spring baby! That'll be fun. Just be thankful you won't still be pregnant in the dead of summer. I have women come in here every July and August sweating like sinners in church."
Lois snickered at the expression, then cleared her throat and tried to assume some degree of seriousness. She ran her hands over her round stomach. No one could call it a "baby bump" anymore; she was starting to feel like she'd swallowed a small bowling ball.
"I guess my mother-in-law has told you about me."
"Yes, as a matter of fact, she has," Edith said, calmly writing something down on a clipboard. "She's excited about being a grandmother, isn't she?"
"As excited as Martha Kent can be about anything," Lois admitted. Martha's steadiness often bordered on stoicism, a quality that the expressive Lois found intriguing and, at time, a little intimidating. It wasn't hard to figure out where Clark had learned to be so stern and lordly-like.
"Kansas folk are not very demonstrative, that's for sure. But let's talk about you." And with that Edith launched into a series of questions—how Lois was feeling, did she have any prior medical concerns, was she drinking enough water, how high was her calorie intake these days, and so on.
Lois, well-prepared for this visit, answered the questions easily. In spite of avoiding this visit for the longest time, she'd done her research. To her relief, Edith seemed impressed by her knowledge of pregnancy and how well she'd been taking care of herself for the past five months. Finally the midwife instructed Lois to lie back and lift her shirt over her stomach.
"This won't hurt, but the gel will be cold as heck. At twenty-one weeks we should be able to tell the gender easily. That is, if you want to know what it is."
Lois, her adrenaline rising, bit the inside of her cheek to keep back a giddy smile. "Actually, the answer is an unequivocal yes."
Edith nodded, spreading the chilly gel over Lois' tight belly. For a moment they were silent, and then Edith said, in a lowered voice, "You know, I've known your husband since he was six years old."
Lois looked at her with a start. "Really?"
"Mm-hmm." Edith turned off the lights, activated the monitor. "You know Pete Ross?"
Lois nodded. "He was the first person from Smallville I ever met. Besides Clark, of course."
"Then you know about the school bus," Edith said.
Lois took a deep breath. "Oh yes."
"My daughter Caroline was on that bus."
Lois felt her eyes widen, but she said nothing. She didn't have to. The understanding look the midwife gave her as she pulled out the transducer told Lois all she needed to know. Edith Morgensen was yet another protector of Clark's secret. Small wonder Martha believed she'd be the best midwife for her daughter-in-law.
The transducer pressed against Lois' stomach and Edith turned to the monitor. Lois watched, transfixed, as a black-and-white image materialized. She brought a hand to her mouth.
"Are you making out everything all right?" Edith asked gently.
Lois nodded and murmured, "Mm-hm." She hadn't expected the image to be so vivid. There was no mistaking the white, baby-shaped object nestled in the black womb on the screen, and it took her breath away.
That's my baby—and I resented it. I wished it had never been. Oh God, forgive me . . .
"Now this is obviously the head," Edith said softly, pointing at the screen. "See its profile? I think—and this may just be me—but that looks like your nose."
Lois laughed. The baby's nose did look small and rather pointed. "But that's not my mouth, from what I can tell. Look—oh my gosh—is that—?"
Edith chuckled. "Yes, it's sucking its thumb. Good luck dealing with that habit later on."
She moved the transducer around Lois' stomach and the image changed. Lois could see two arms, two bent legs, and a round tummy, all looking normal. The baby's heartbeat pounded on the monitor, strong and regular.
"That's a surprisingly strong heartbeat, even as far along as you are," Edith said. Lois didn't reply, wondering silently if the baby had inherited Clark's strength.
"Are you ready to see what you're having?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," Lois said, taking a deep breath as Edith moved the transducer.
"Any preference? Not that it matters . . ."
Lois giggled. "No, no preference. Boy or girl, it doesn't matter . . . I'm just glad it's healthy."
"That's a good attitude," Edith said brightly.
Yeah . . . a lot better attitude than I used to have about this baby.
Lois closed her eyes and wished Clark was here to see this. His visits over the past four weeks had been consistent and faithful, and of course he could've looked to see the baby's gender whenever he wanted to. He'd insisted, however, that it wouldn't be fair to her, and had refrained from peering into her again.
He was coming home tonight, though. That was her comfort. She'd be the first to find out, but she wouldn't have to wait long to tell him if they were having a son or a daughter.
"Look, hon," Edith's voice startled her, and Lois opened her eyes. The midwife stared with narrowed eyes at the monitor, searching for clues. Lois saw nothing, and her heart caught in her throat. If you didn't see anything, didn't that mean . . . ?
There was complete silence in the room for a moment, broken only by the baby's heartbeat.
"Mrs. Kent?"
"Yeah?" Lois whispered.
Edith smiled and patted her hand. " 'Sugar and spice and everything nice—that's what baby girls are made of.' "
Lois had gotten pretty accomplished at driving the pickup, and she parked it in front of the house with ease. She drew in a breath and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. If she didn't, she had a feeling she'd leap out of the pickup, run up to the house, and slam into the kitchen screaming at the top of her lungs, "It's a girl!"
Which wouldn't be very considerate, given that fact that Martha was home and might have a heart attack if Lois raced in at top speed shouting like a madwoman.
Lois snickered, scolded herself, tried to compose herself into the dignified expectant mother she really ought to be. She stepped out of the pickup carefully, gripping the door with one hand, holding onto her stomach with the other.
Even if I wanted to run, I don't think I could at this point, she thought wryly.
The chilly air felt good on her flushed cheeks as she walked briskly up the porch steps. She could hear Martha's hand mixer running. Martha must be baking a cake—probably for Clark when he came in this evening. Lois wasn't so sure she'd pass up a slice herself. Her baby girl was worth celebrating.
She pulled open the screen door. Martha looked up from where she worked at the counter and smiled eagerly.
"Well?" she asked, turning off the mixer. "How did it go?"
Lois didn't reply; she'd frozen in the doorway at the sight of Clark in the living room tying his shoelaces. At his mother's question he glanced up, saw her, bolted to his feet with such force that the windows rattled and Martha winced.
"For heaven's sake . . ." she muttered.
Lois hardly heard her; she met him halfway and drew in a sharp breath of delight as his arms closed around her and he kissed her like he hadn't done it in months. For a second Lois recoiled, remembering that Martha was standing right there watching—but then the hand-mixer started up again and she knew Martha really couldn't care less.
"I missed you," he whispered, pulling away slowly.
"You always say that like Sunday wasn't the last time you saw me," Lois laughed; her voice sounded a little shaky to her own ears.
"Well, it feels like I've been gone longer," he said, and a brilliant smile flashed over his face. Funny how his smile still made her feel all light-headed and flustered. He nodded towards Martha, who stood facing them and working the mixer with one hand. "Mom looked as shocked as you did when I landed. I know I don't usually come home this early in the day . . . "
"Everything all right?" Lois asked, searching his eyes.
"Yeah, just fine," he said, but there was a strange inflection in his voice, a hint that there was something wrong. Lois felt a twinge of worry, but he only stroked her hair and managed another smile that she bravely returned.
"I'll ask you again, now that you've greeted each other so enthusiastically," Martha said with a teasing lift of her eyebrows. "How did it go?"
"Wonderful," Lois said—and meant it.
"Edith made you feel comfortable?" Martha prodded.
"Very comfortable. She knows about you, Clark—" Lois rubbed his shoulder "—and she seems very sensible, very confident in what she does. I like her a lot."
Martha shut off the mixer again and wiped her hands on her apron. "And did you have your ultrasound?"
"Yes . . ." Lois said slowly. She felt her heartbeat quicken and was sure Clark could hear it.
"How's the baby?" he asked.
His deep blue eyes were full of eagerness and excitement. Lois lifted her hand up to his neck and ran her fingers through the curls at the back of his head.
"She's fine," she whispered, unable to get her voice any louder for fear it might crack. "She's beautiful, and she's as healthy as a little horse."
Clark's eyebrows shot up high. "She?"
"She!" Martha gasped.
"Yes, she," Lois repeated with a choking laugh. She reached into her purse, still slung over her shoulder, and produced the roll of ultrasound images. "There you are. Your first grandchild, Martha—and your daughter, Clark."
"Ours together," he reminded her with a tender look that made her throat tighten; she nodded fiercely and ducked her head so he wouldn't see the tears of gratitude and happiness.
That night Clark sat up in bed, waiting for Lois to emerge from the bathroom. When she did, in a nightgown that accentuated the curve of her abdomen, he gazed with unconcealed delight at her. She caught the look and blushed, but she walked towards him and brushed his hair back from his forehead. He shut his eyes, savoring her cool, gentle touch.
"Are you happy?" she whispered.
He opened his eyes and looked at her incredulously. "What kind of a question is that?"
"You didn't want a boy?"
He took her arms and gently brought her to a seat beside him on the bed. "I would've been as happy about a boy as I am for a girl. All that matters is that it's our baby."
"Well, good," Lois said, nestling her head against his chest with a happy sigh. "Because I felt the same way. You don't know how good it was to see her with my own eyes."
Clark smiled, thankful for technology that let her see what he could see, whenever he wanted to see it. He sat there running his hand up and down her arm, listening to her slow, steady breathing, feeling her relax against him. He hated to ruin this moment. He pulled her hair back from her neck and chose his words carefully.
"I talked to Bruce today," he began.
"Oh yeah?" She sounded sleepy. "How are Selina and the baby?"
"We didn't really talk about them," Clark said quietly. "Luthor sent me an invitation and I wanted Bruce's advice."
Lois was very still for a moment, then sat up and looked him in the eye. He reached under his pillow and pulled out the paper he'd unraveled from its crumpled mess in the Bat Cave and neatly folded again before heading to Smallville. She took it from him and read it over several times before looking at him again.
"What did Bruce say?" she asked in a skeptical sort of way.
Clark cleared his throat and lowered his voice to a raspy growl in imitation of the Batman. "Exactly what you'd expect Bruce Wayne to say."
Lois, however, did not laugh like she normally would. "Which mean you're going to meet Luthor bright and early on Monday morning, aren't you?"
"Would you rather I didn't?" he asked, serious again.
"Would I rather you didn't walk right into a trap and maybe get shot up with whatever almost killed you back in September, four months before I give birth to your daughter? Of course I'd rather you didn't."
"So you think I should just ignore this and let him keep taunting and threatening me?"
Lois hesitated, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You didn't ignore Zod."
"He was trying to destroy the planet," Clark pointed out gently. "I couldn't ignore him even if I wanted to."
"I know." She leaned back against him again, wrapping an arm around his waist. "And even though the people of this planet were ready and willing to turn you in to him, you looked him in the eye and told him 'No.' Now everyone knows you're their champion. You fight evil and injustice and cruelty wherever you see it, and you're ready to give a helping hand wherever it's needed. So . . . so if you don't stand up to Lex Luthor, what will that say about you?"
Clark frowned, trying to unravel this sudden one-eighty. "So what you're saying is, you'd rather I didn't walk into a what may prove to be a trap—but you don't want to see me back down, either."
She turned her face up and smiled weakly. "I'm a bit schizophrenic, aren't I?"
"A bit. But I think I understand." He ran his hand over her hip, thinking aloud. "What kind of hope will it give people if even I'm too afraid to meet Lex Luthor head on, no matter what he might have waiting for me? When you look at it that way, I have to go—and you wouldn't have me do anything else."
She nodded, but said nothing and only tightened her arms around him.
"If it makes you feel any better," he added softly, "Bruce has agreed to come along. We'll go at night, meet Luthor in his lab. Hopefully I'll get some information on that weapon—if he doesn't go ahead and tell me anyway."
"You really think he would?" she murmured.
"If Zod was any example, bad guys like to brag on their accomplishments and ambitions. I have a feeling Luthor is cut from the same cloth."
"We already know he is," Lois said quietly. "He's not above threatening those you love. Zod was the same way."
Clark clenched his jaw, and this time he was the one who made no reply. She sighed, slipped out of his embrace, and punched her pillow hard before plopping down on her side, facing him. He didn't move; he just sat there thinking, biting the corner of his mouth, scowling at the mental image of his faraway antagonist.
"If you think you're in any real danger, Clark," she whispered, jolting him from his thoughts, "just act fast. I'm not asking you to run, just please don't hesitate to protect yourself. Please."
Clark gave his head a shake to clear it. "Don't worry. I won't hesitate."
"Promise," she whispered.
"I promise." He turned and leaned over her, running his thumb over her chin. "Besides, I've got a daughter to think of now. I've got to make darn well sure I get back to her safe and sound."