Neither of them really knows what to say after that—neither of them knows how to follow up those moments of honesty—so they both fall gratefully back on old habits. When Artemis suggests that she'd like to practice her archery, he eagerly agrees. Words—words like the ones they'd just shared—are so much harder than action.

They walk out into the Kansas sun and he sets up the gear. Not just a stationary target—oh, no, not for his girl—but also skeet launchers and a target guarded by spinning blades that'd she'd have to fire through to hit her target. Not just standard arrows, but arrows equipped with flares and nets and stunning tips—arrows that aren't perfectly balanced so she can learn how to compensate. And a jury-rigged obstacle course so she can practice firing while in motion.

It's hard work. A challenging course. In the past, he's made her run it time and again, run it until her hands blistered from the arrows she unleashed, her knees were scraped raw from falling, and her feet were bloody. He made her run it until Jade threatened to kill him if he didn't let her stop.

He hates himself for that. He hated himself for that then, but he had thought that it was necessary. His girls needed to be tough, his girls needed to be strong. He wanted them to be strong so they would survive anything.

Now … now watching her, he's torn between pride at her accomplishments and shame over how he had taught her. No wonder Jades him; no wonder Artemis fears him.

How can a man who could do that ever hope to do the right thing? How could he save his daughters from the life that he had spent years preparing them for?

Artemis runs through the course three times before he finally makes her stop long enough to drink some water and take a break. He checks her hands over, seeing the calluses that now protect her hands from damage. "You don't have to do this, baby. You can stop anytime you want."

"No. I can't."

"Why not?"

She looks at him with a lopsided smile that makes him ache with pride and recognition. "Because I'm not the best yet."

"Yip! Yip!"

He pushes Artemis behind him without thinking and grabs an arrow to use as an impromptu weapon.

The dog looks at him quizzically and then wags its tail.

Artemis laughs. "It's Skip!" She drops her bow and kneels down to hug the dog which enthusiastically licks her face. "Good boy! Good boy!"

"Hope you don't mind, Lawrence, but Skip needed a walk." Jonathan Kent is carrying a picnic basket. "And Martha wanted me to drop off an apple pie."

"Hello, Mr. Kent." He seldom calls anyone "mister" and means it, but he finds himself feeling strangely respectful to this quiet farmer. He's not a fighter, but there's something about him.

"Jonathan," the old man says with a smile. "The only people who call me 'mister' are trying to sell me something. Hello, Artemis."

"Hi," Artemis shyly looks away from the farmer and offers a one handed wave.

"Looks like you two have been busy. Artemis, would you mind terribly taking Skip on his walk? I'm sure he'd much rather run with you than dawdle along with me."

Artemis looks so hopeful, so excited, that he can't find it in him to refuse. "Be back soon, baby. And be careful."

"I will. Come on, Skip!"

"Yip! Yip!" Tail wagging, the odd little dog follows Artemis into the field.

"Don't worry, Lawrence. She'll be perfectly safe with Skip. He wouldn't let anything happen to her."

"She knows how to take care of herself."

Even so, he finds himself anxiously watching her fade into the distance.

"Where's your other girl, Lawrence?"

"Jade? She wanted to take a look around."

"That won't take her long. There's not much to see here in Smallville."

"That's good." He feels strange. He doesn't know how to talk to people—not normal people. "Jonathan, would you like a piece of this pie?"

Jonathan chuckles. "Long as you don't tell Martha, I'd love it."

"Your secret's safe with me." He grins at the smaller man. "Come on. Let's go inside." He leads the older man into the house. "Sorry I don't have any beer…"

"That's all right, Lawrence. It's a little early for me. I'll take coffee or Lemonade if you have it."

"Sure thing." He pours two cups of coffee from the morning pot and hands one to Jonathan. "Sugar?"

The old man grins for a second. "Well, I'm already being bad with the pie … what the heck. In for a penny, in for a pound."

The pie is awfully good, and it's quite possibly the first homemade pie he's ever had in his life. He finds himself envying the old man for the life that he's had—for still having his wife with him.

He sits his fork down and shuts his eyes for a moment. He looks at the old man for a moment, and then turns away. He's never cried in front of another man before, let alone a stranger, but the grief comes over him again like a tidal wave and he's helpless before it.

He cries.

For a moment, there's silence, and then he feels a strong hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Jonathan."

"For crying? No shame in a man grieving over what he's lost—and from what Mr. Malone told me, you've lost a lot, son. Do you want to be alone?"

"Yes." He's grateful for Jonathan's kindness, but he doesn't want anyone to see what losing Paula has done to him. He has to be strong. Strong enough to keep his girls safe.

"All right. You can just tell Skip to come home when you need him to go. He'll find his way back."

"Thank you."

"Lawrence?"

"Yes?"

"Your girls. You have some awfully special girls. I can tell they're really something. You should be proud of them."

"I am."

"They need you, Lawrence."

"Paula—their mother—she could have handled this so much better. I just … just don't know if I can do this."

"You can. You will. Because they're your girls, and they need you."

"Their mother—""

"Isn't here. You love your girls, Lawrence. I can see that. Just make sure they know that."

"I'm not a good man, Jonathan. . I've been a lousy father. How do I fix that? How do I take care of my girls? How do I make things better when I've spent their entire lives screwing up?"

"By being honest with them. By being honest with yourself. You love your daughters, Lawrence. Don't be afraid of that—don't be afraid to show that. Don't be afraid to tell them that. More than anything else, that's what they want from you. That's what they need." Jonathan walks over to the door and looks back at him. "You can't change the past, Lawrence. You can only live with it. But the future? The future you can change. Don't let the past take that away from you—or your girls."

And with that, Jonathan Kent walks out the door.