Well this started as a one shot but then my brain wouldn't leave it alone and added more story. I don't anticipate it to be more than several chapters long, but I have to say it feels weird to add on to it. Hopefully you'll think it's worth it! Thanks for the positive feedback on what is now the first chapter, and thanks for reading, hope you enjoy it. :)

Seek His Monument

Chapter 2

Eight Months Later

The parking garage was dark and mostly empty as Lois moved through it, her heels clicking quietly with every echoed step. She threw a quick look behind her and found no one, but still clutched her bag a little tighter as she located section 3B. Once she arrived she only had to wait a few moments before a nervous figure in a hoodie emerged from behind a pillar and drifted to her side.

"I could get in serious trouble for this." The figure's voice was thin and reedy, betraying his nerves.

Lois nodded but gave him a direct look. "I know. Thank you, Dan. Do you have it?"

The figure shifted. "You need to swear to me this won't get out."

"I already told you I won't print it."

"Then why do you need it?"

"It's complicated."

Dan shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. "I don't want to get fired for this. But also, I can't stand feeling guilty about it if something bad happens."

Lois hesitated, sensing deeper meaning. "What do you mean?"

Dan's eyes flickered up to meet her face briefly, then stared at the dirty pavement. "I—are you sure this is a good idea? This guy stops a lot of crime where I live. He's saved lives. He's probably a nice guy who just wants to help. Like Superman. Or maybe he's a bear we could poke and really piss off. How do you know? Maybe it's just better to leave things alone."

"Dan, we've been over this already. This is important. I need to find him."

Dan grimaced and hunched his shoulders, still staring at the ground. Finally he got the nerve to say what was really on his mind. "I don't want to be responsible for some guy's death. If I hear anything like that, I'll tell everyone. I don't care what happens to me."

Her mouth curved in a tiny but sad smile. Dan was lucky it was her he was dealing with. Lex Luthor probably would have killed him for being this reluctant. Or arranged for a convenient bombing to cover up his actions. "I don't think anyone I'm dealing with has intentions to hurt him."

Dan gazed back at her doubtfully. "Are you sure?" His hands pushed into his pockets again.

Lois pushed away the mental image of Batman looming over Clark holding a Kryptonite spear. It wasn't like that anymore. "Yes." She shrugged. "Pretty sure."

Dan scrutinized her face, and what he saw there made him relax somewhat. "Okay. I hope I don't regret this." He pulled a thumb drive from his pocket. Lois waited while he wrestled with his conscience one more time, then he placed it in her palm.

"Thank you, Dan." She wrapped her fingers around it and slid it into her own pocket. He nodded and walked away quickly, almost rushing to get away from any possible consequences. She waited for him to disappear from sight before she raised her voice.

"This is the third time you've shadowed me this week. If you want me in on this you should trust me a little."

A beat passed, and then a black figure dropped from the ceiling and landed behind a car. Batman's eyes flickered in the dim light, otherwise he was almost hidden in the shadows. Lois crossed her arms. "Where's Diana? I noticed her following me quite a bit too."

A rumbling altered voice emerged from the shadows of his corner. "She's...in the Atlantic."

Lois nodded. Diana was probably pursuing the water-dwelling metahuman then, though almost eight months of dogged searching had yielded very little on that front. Lois had finally managed to get a lead on the possible city the one with super speed lived in, and the records that she was sure existed for the robotic one were sealed behind the impenetrable wall of the military. They certainly weren't going to talk. She was still looking for a weak spot on that point, and it looked like Batman was doing the same on his end.

But if he was busy following her it seemed that he didn't trust that she'd share whatever she did find. It was irksome on many different levels. "Why are you following me to every meeting I have?"

"You didn't say anything before." He was dodging the point, she could tell. He was good, but she'd seen it too many times as a journalist.

"If you want to learn more about possible corruption inside the mayor's office then follow me all you want." Lois watched his head tilt ever so slightly, a concession that at least one visit he'd eavesdropped on had lacked any information he was actually looking for.

"How did you know?" He was trying to divert her from her original question. If she wasn't so annoyed she'd appreciate how deftly he managed to do it. She could see why no one ever suspected Bruce Wayne of being the Batman. He was very good at making people underestimate him.

Her head tilted, slightly amused. "I found out Clark's identity before he ever told me. I can tell when a bat is following me." She waited for him to reply, noting that even six feet tall in solid black he somehow still looked like a small boy who knew he was in trouble. When he didn't reply, she continued. Might as well tackle it headfirst. "I'm sure you saw that Dan finally gave me something real this time."

He held out his hand. "Thank you. This should help."

She didn't move. "Not so fast. I want to see what's on it first."

There was an awkward pause before he conceded. "Fine."

But she could tell that he wasn't very happy about it. "Why did you bring me into this if you don't trust me enough to share information with me?"

He shifted uncomfortably, aware that trying to divert her again wouldn't work. "It's not about trust."

"Isn't it? Looks that way."

"I trust you. But there's a lot more to this than it seems."

"If you trust me, enlighten me some."

She waited without any real hope that he would comply, and she was right. He looked at her a moment and then stepped back, preparing to leave. "Be careful going home. It's late." And with that enigmatic request, he melted into darkness.

Lois shook her head, still annoyed. Getting answers out of him was like talking to a stump. Not for the first time she wished Clark was home waiting for her. As quiet as Clark had been he was always open to her and she missed their easy conversations, the open honesty between them. It had been eight months since he died, and she still missed him. She shouldered her bag and headed home.

Their apartment was dark and quiet. Very little had changed since Clark's death, Lois spent so much time working and looking for metahumans that she hadn't given much thought to clearing out Clark's things. Sometimes she had a moment of overwhelming grief when she opened their closet and spied his shirts and suit jackets hanging next to her own clothes. It was then she'd think to herself that she really did need to do something about it. Getting rid of the constant reminders would probably help ease the pain of his loss. But then she would leave for work and get caught up in an investigation for a story, or follow a lead on the metahumans, and nothing would change. She tried not to dwell too much on it, because if she did she might have to admit she didn't want to get rid of his things. That would shut the door on a period of her life she didn't want to see closed. It was the same reason she still wore the engagement ring. People who noticed were confused by it because she clearly wasn't engaged, but she didn't want to explain it either. So she just kept working.

Since she'd already had dinner, Lois changed and went to bed. She had adjusted to sleeping alone again after eight months, and she pushed herself so hard she usually fell right asleep. Tonight was no exception.

Her phone ringing on the nightstand woke her the next morning. She rubbed her eyes before she checked to see who it was, but once she saw who was calling she answered immediately. "Hi Martha, how are you doing?" She laid back on her pillow, ready to hear details about the previous week. They talked at least on a weekly basis if not more. Martha still worked swing shifts at the diner and called Lois often after her morning walk.

But this time, there was empty line where Martha's voice should have been. "Martha?"

The sound of stifled sobs came over the line. "Lo—Lois. I'm sorry to bother you."

"What's wrong?" Lois sat up in bed, now very worried.

"I—I walked up to the cemetery, like I do every day, to see Clark." Lois nodded, waiting for the rest. "But today," Martha was weeping openly now, Lois could tell even over the phone. "He was gone! Someone came and took him!" Martha broke down into sobs.

Lois sat utterly still, a hollow ache spreading out from her core. Someone had taken Clark's body. Never had she considered that. Never had she thought that she could feel worse than she did when she realized he was dead and cradled his head on her lap. But this was so much worse. The utter disrespect, the violation of it, made her want to throw up. Someone had desecrated Clark's final resting place, and who knew what they would do with his remains.

Martha's sobbing made its way through the shock and disbelief, and Lois pulled herself together. "Call the police. Report it right away, I'll be there as fast as I possibly can."

"Okay," Martha had probably already realized she should call the police, but she sounded as if just having another woman to talk to about it was helpful. They needed each other so much now.

Lois was dressed and throwing a few things into a leather bag in minutes. She looked for her keys as she dialed a number and put her phone to her ear, holding it with a shoulder while she fastened a shoe. The phone had barely rung when it was answered.

"Lois? Did you find something?" Bruce Wayne sounded wide awake. She wondered if he ever slept.

"Bruce I need to get to Smallville as fast as possible, right now."

"Is Martha all right? What happened?" She could hear his voice change instantly, immediately clipped and ready for action. It was somewhat reassuring, but she really didn't want to get into it until she knew more. Just saying it out loud was beyond her right now, not while she was still processing the horror of it.

"I'll tell you more when I get there. She's okay right now but I need to be there fast." She was now fully dressed and ready to go, grabbing her bag and coat and heading for the front door before she even had the thought that Bruce might refuse if she didn't share more details. He still didn't seem to trust her.

Or maybe he did. "Go to my private airstrip, by the time you get there one of my planes will be ready to go. But I want to know what's going on once you arrive."

"Done." She rushed out her front door and headed down to the street to hail a cab.

Lois made it to Smallville in record time and paid the cab driver extra to rush, which was a fairly easy feat considering the lack of traffic. Once they pulled up to the Kent farm she paid the driver and rushed for the front door.

"Martha?"

Martha's tear-stained face appeared at the screen door, grief conflicting with surprise at how fast Lois had managed to travel there. She pushed open the door, and Lois made it to the top of the stairs before dropping her bag and wrapping her arms around the older woman. Martha returned the gesture and burst into tears. They held onto each other for dear life.

"How could someone do this? Why? Why won't they just leave him alone!" Martha's voice was riddled with anger and agony, a mother who had watched the world hate her son even as he sacrificed himself for it. Lois clutched her tighter.

"I don't know." Lois had spent much of the extremely short flight trying not to imagine why someone would dig up Clark Kent's body and steal it. It made her sick to think of it, but her mind was filled with awful possibilities. Lex Luthor had figured out Clark's true identity, was he somehow pulling the strings, even from behind bars? Who else knew? Was Clark's body going to be desecrated by people who hated him for being an alien, or turned into some kind of abomination that belied everything he stood for, everything he was? Was he going to be dissected and studied, treated like a lab experiment instead of the kind and gentle man that he had been? Lois could feel anger crystallizing into hatred for whoever had done this. She'd find them and make them pay.

She guided Martha to the porch steps and helped her sit down on the top one. She left an arm around her shoulders as they sat for a moment in silence, broken by the occasional sniffle from both ladies. Finally Lois spoke. "Did you call the police?"

"Yeah. They're up there now." Martha made a vague gesture behind her that Lois took to mean the small private cemetery a short distance away. She stood up and dusted off her slacks.

"I want to see what they find."

Martha stood up as well and wiped her eyes. "I'll go with you."

They each held the arm of the other on their way there, leaning on each other as they repeated the same route they had taken eight months ago following Clark's coffin. Lois tried not to think about how that coffin was empty now.

The cemetery was still when they arrived, except for the police vehicle and forensic van parked near Clark's grave. Lois could see a forensic expert working in the broken ground in front of Clark's gravestone and a police officer standing nearby. She and Martha stopped on the edge of the cemetery, and Lois stared at the grave site. The reality of seeing it with her own eyes was gut-wrenching. The earth was disturbed and broken where it should have been smooth and flat. She could feel the renewed anger building inside her. She wanted answers.

The ladies moved closer, and Lois craned her neck to see down into the hole that was now present over Clark's coffin. She could see shattered bits of wood and shreds of fabric. Someone had broken through the lid of the coffin and pulled Clark's body out. Lois had to fight the urge to scream.

"Ms. Lane, nice to see you again." She had been so distracted by the grave she hadn't noticed the police officer approaching them.

"Pete? Pete Ross?" She took his offered hand and shook it even as she stared at his face.

Pete's round face was suffused with sympathy, his red hair visible even under his hat. "I'm sorry we have to meet again under these circumstances. When Martha's call came in I made sure I took it." He gestured to the edge of the cemetery and began to escort them away from the scene.

Lois allowed it. She had seen what she needed to see. "I didn't know you'd become a police officer."

Pete smiled self consciously. "Yeah, about two years ago now. I needed a new job after the um, IHOP was wrecked and the chain decided not to rebuild. It just wasn't worth the money I guess. But it was a good thing, I decided I'd do something to help people."

There was a lot of hidden meaning in his words, Lois realized. She hadn't seen him since she had found him at the IHOP to ask him about being saved as a kid, back when she was still tracking down the identity of her mysterious hero. Back before Smallville had become ground zero of an alien invasion and subsequent military battle. Clark had mentioned seeing Pete at the IHOP after he tackled Faora. It was one of the reasons he had been trounced so thoroughly, he was distracted by someone he knew. Lois had gleaned from her interview that Pete knew far more than he was telling when she questioned him, and he had pointed her to Martha as a way to avoid being involved. It was a fair bet that Pete knew who Superman really was and had been sitting on that information most of his life. She appreciated that, even as she wondered if he had finally been induced to talk to the wrong person. She shook off the suspicion as she nodded and smiled back. Martha was giving him a fond look at her side.

Lois gestured to the grave behind Pete. "Do you know anything yet?"

Pete shook his head. "We don't get much action in Smallville, as you can guess. Well, except for two years ago. We had to call in the forensics expert from the neighboring town, he moonlights over here to help us out. There's just not enough work for a full time one here. He got here and started an hour ago, and I think he might be done soon. So far no fibers or other leads. But we'll do everything we can."

The women nodded, and Martha asked Pete about his own mother to bridge the silence. Lois reached for her phone but decided to wait on calling Bruce until she had more information. She did notice a missed call from Diana and a text from Bruce asking if she'd landed. She slid the phone back into her pocket as the forensic expert called Pete over to the scene. She and Martha watched from a distance as the expert, now in the hole that had been documented and then widened so he could investigate more, handed up something to Pete and made several motions to help describe what he was saying.

Pete returned several minutes later with the strangest look Lois had ever seen. It made her nervous.

"What?"

He stood for a few moments, collecting his thoughts, before he handed Martha a somewhat crumpled picture. Martha took it and recognized the one she had placed in the coffin before they buried him, Jonathan and a young Clark smiling together. Her mouth quivered but she took it with murmured thanks.

Lois swallowed, fearing the worst. "What did he find?"

Pete looked at her, then Martha, then back at the grave where the forensic expert was finishing up. Lois watched his face screw up as if he didn't even know how to make the words for this. Finally he spoke. "According to his findings, no one broke into that grave."

Martha and Lois stared at him. Martha spoke first. "Yes they did. I saw it this morning, it's empty."

Pete nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes it is. But the way the earth is disturbed, and how the breakage of the coffin is all on the outside, it indicates more that...someone broke out." He gave them a look loaded with questions as he waited for it to sink in.

Lois gasped. Was that even possible? She looked at Martha, who looked to be thinking the exact same thoughts. They knew little about Kryptonian biology when it came right down to it. They knew how being on earth affected Clark's body, and they knew what powers came from it. But they had no idea if his alien genetic makeup could combat death and bring him back from the grave.

But suddenly it wasn't outside the realm of possibility anymore. Because that grave was decidedly empty. And if the forensic evidence was right, someone had left it on their own.

Lois immediately went into the mode she hadn't used for eight months: Protect Clark's identity. She moved closer to Pete and lowered her voice. "Pete, is there any way to keep this quiet while we investigate on our own? We need to find out what really happened and if...if he might be alive."

Just saying it out loud sounded too good to be true. Martha had her hands up against her chest, almost in prayer position. They both gave Pete a beseeching look.

Pete glanced behind him at the other man, looking nervous. "I can't stop him from filing his report. And I can't falsify a document." Martha looked as if she might middle name him any moment, so he rushed his last sentence slightly. "But I do think I'm distracted enough I might accidentally mis-file it. It could be lost for a long time, if it ever gets found."

Lois breathed in relief. "Thank you."

Pete smiled and moved back to the grave.

Martha and Lois headed back down the road, their minds scrambling with questions. The possibilities were overwhelming, and while it sounded like good news, Clark still wasn't anywhere to be seen.

"Why wouldn't he come home? Why would he just leave?"

Lois patted Martha's arm. "I'm sure there must be a good reason."

But she was wondering the same thing. If Clark had resurrected during the night he could have made it to their apartment easily before she left. Where would he go that was more important? Where could he be?

The Night Before

He woke, cocooned in quiet darkness. It was intensely dark, for a moment he felt blind. Everything was cold and still. Even he was still, lying on his back with his arms crossed over his chest in an impossibly tight space. He stayed that way for a few moments, confused, before he finally became aware of the signals his body was sending. He couldn't breathe very well.

The air was stale and suffocating, his lungs tight and constricted. He needed to breathe. Now.

He barely felt the paper crumpling next to him as he thrashed and contorted, trying to find his way out. He felt weak and limp, but all the same he lifted an arm as much as he could in the cramped darkness and pounded on the top of his prison, soft padding and fabric masking a harder layer. It did minimal damage. He pounded harder, even though he felt like he had little strength to do it. He was grunting with effort, the sound muffled in the padded cell. It only increased his discomfort and his efforts intensified, pounding harder and harder until he broke a fist through the top layer.

But his relief was short lived. Still in utter blackness, dirt began to fall in through the hole he had made, threatening to fill his already minimal space. Panic began to take over. Both fists raised and pounded now, his entire body thrashing and lurching upward until finally he propelled himself through wood, fabric, and six feet of earth. His frantic fingers felt cool air as he grappled with the broken ground and pulled himself upwards. Slowly his head emerged, then shoulders as he pushed with all his might, a harsh cry escaping with the effort. He put two fists in the air and surged upward with a guttural sound only to find himself suddenly airborne as he shot up into the sky. He easily cleared the small grove of trees and fence, trailing a shower of dirt as he went. He sailed for almost a quarter mile. Air rushed over his sweating face, creating a calming feeling, until he lost momentum and fell like a rock. He crashed to the earth and bounced, skidded, rolled, tearing up plants in neat rows and finally coming to rest sixty feet away.

He lay there, still in darkness, too weak to do anything but gulp in lungfuls of air. Had he the strength, he might have cried. His body was infused with pain, weak and floppy. He could feel the intense effort his escape had cost him, stripping him of already sparse power and energy. He felt weighed down by the world itself as he gazed up at the night sky, full of stars.

He found enough strength to blink soil from his eyes and vaguely shake his head to dislodge any in his hair. But it took several more minutes before he could move again. He staggered to his feet, swaying and tripping as he moved further into the vegetation that surrounded him. It was shorter than him but he was so bent over that it felt like it could swallow him up as he moved into it, providing a calm protective feeling. Like a blanket. He trudged on, his muscles quivering with effort.

He made it another hundred yards before he collapsed.

When he woke next it was daybreak. Sun was streaming down into the field where he lay. It warmed his body. He briefly closed his eyes again, breathing deep. He could feel his body gaining strength, however minimally, with every passing second.

Eventually he stood, still wobbly and weak, and surveyed his surroundings.

Green and gold stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. He squinted, feeling that he should be able to see even farther, but his eyesight remained 20/20 at best. He let that thought go as a tickling new one teased his mind. He should know this place.

The stalks surrounding him were tall but they still only came up to his hips. He reached out a hand with a mild curiosity to finger the head of one, running it through his fingers.

"Wheat," he murmured in faint surprise as the word rose unbidden to his lips. The heads were still vertical; not bowed as they should be if they were ready for harvest. So it wasn't ready. The extra coolness of the morning indicated that it wasn't the height of summer. This was winter wheat, kernels sowed in the winter and allowed to rest until they grew in early spring. Usually harvested in May through early July, which allowed farmers to plant in the same field twice and gain an extra crop for the season. Judging by the immaturity of the kernels he was rolling between two fingers, it had been an extra harsh winter and they had gotten a slow start. They weren't fully mature yet. That meant it was...late April or May?

Again, he was surprised the information rose to the front of his mind so easily.

Reaching out both hands to brush his palms over the softly waving fronds, his eye caught the sleeve of the jacket he was wearing. Like a baby with no memory retention, he was immediately distracted by it and looked down at himself.

He was wearing slacks and a basic dark blue suit jacket. Slightly worn but in good shape, painstakingly pressed, probably clean before he had pushed through a wall of dirt. Now it was decidedly worse for wear, missing a few buttons and sporting a tear in a shoulder seam. He straightened it as best he could and dusted himself off, idly noting it to be strange that he would feel so at home in such a location considering his clothes were wrong for it.

He was running his hands down the front of his jacket to check for any loose dirt when he felt a hard ridge through the folds of fabric. Curious, he located the inner pocket and withdrew a pair of black-framed glasses. He recognized what they were for, though when he lifted his gaze to check his vision again it seemed perfectly fine. He hesitated, then slid the glasses in place over his nose. His eyesight remained unchanged. He took them back off again.

"Glass." They were simple glass lenses. No prescription at all. Odd. But he still felt compelled to put them back on. It felt right. He searched his remaining pockets and found every one empty. No wallet, no keys. His jacket felt padded somehow though, especially in the back. But again that thought was lost as he took in his surroundings with more consideration.

Now that he felt put back together, it didn't seem to make sense to stand here any more. He turned in various directions, scouting for landmarks. Nothing looked familiar. He could see some grain silos and some trees in the distance, what might be a barn and a farmhouse even further on, but everything else was field stretching out to the horizon. He was debating heading to the farmhouse to ask for help when a glint of moving light caught his eye.

The sun was reflecting off a car moving along what must be a road two fields away. It seemed as good a move as any, and slightly familiar. He carefully picked his way through rows of crops, careful not to ruin any, as he headed for the highway.

Ten minutes and three cars later, a semi-truck hauling a trailer rumbled to a stop going in the opposite direction. A bearded but friendly face leaned out of the open driver's side window, taking in his clothes and looking around curiously, obviously expecting to see a broken down car somewhere.

"Where ya headed?"

He opened his mouth to reply, and realized he had no idea. "I'm not sure," he offered with a smile.

The driver laughed. "I guess none of us really knows, do we? That's as good an answer as any. I can take you as far as I'm going if you want."

"Thank you." He moved to the passenger side and pulled open the door. He was settling himself in, just fastening his seat belt, when the driver leaned over with an extended hand.

"I'm Paul. Nice to meet you..." his voice trailed off, waiting for a name to be offered. But one didn't come. Instead an awkward pause filled the cab as the newcomer took his hand but failed to reply, frowning in concentration. Paul moved to fill the silence. "I'm not bothered if you don't wanna tell me your name, we all feel the need to protect ourselves. But I gotta call you something, so I'm gonna call you Hank, is that good?"

The newly dubbed Hank nodded with a grateful look. "Sounds fine."

"All right then." Paul shifted gears and started driving, letting his new companion stare out the window for a while.

Hank watched the fields roll by, disturbed by the realization that he didn't know his own name. And even now, with every passing second, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something vitally important. He realized he was tense now, muscles pulled taut and his fist clenched tighter and tighter around the door handle until a small cracking sound alerted him he was exerting too much force. He immediately let go and forced his muscles to relax. Maybe it would come to him in time. Maybe he just needed to recuperate more. He could still feel the weakness dragging at his body, in spite of the sun pouring in through the window. When Paul offered him a granola bar he gladly accepted.

The semi drove on, leaving Smallville and its surrounding farms miles behind.

And we're off and running! Hope to have the next chapter up soon! :)