Genesis

Summary: Kal-El vs. the Galaxy, with a war to distract the Eradicator, Clark might actually have to find his own trouble for a change.

-- Chapter 1 -- The Role --

Life is an electrical current, a spark running through a billion cells. You have to understand your own life before you can touch another life. Focus inside. Let go of the boards under your legs. Focus on the cool air flowing into your lungs. The oxygen crossing into your blood and rushing through your heart to every cell nurtures the spark of life. Follow the oxygen into the cell. Do you see it? Can you see the spark?


A pot of deep red sauce simmered and steamed, filling the little kitchen with the pungent aroma of garlic and oregano. Martha scooped a spoon of the sauce out and tasted it. "Perfect." Spaghetti from scratch with fresh garlic, it was one of Clark's favorites. This summer had been an exercise in making meals she knew Clark liked. A book from the library had said that scents and tastes could be the most potent links to memory, and Clark still didn't remember anything. Martha stirred harder and blinked back a couple of unwanted tears. Her baby was home even if he never remembered them. It wasn't like they were living with a stranger. She did everything she could think of to try and make Clark feel at home and comfortable, but he didn't talk to her about anything. He was so obviously unsure and awkward around both his parents. "Jonathan, could you go get Clark? Dinner is ready," Martha said.

"I'm on it," Jonathan said. He slid the last plate onto the table and headed for Clark's fortress of solitude. The sun was all but gone, leaving pink smudges above the horizon. It shouldn't have been a big deal, fetching his son in for dinner. Jonathan could admit the truth though: it was hard to talk to Clark. He would meet your eyes, but it wasn't a son's look to his father. Like he'd never been before, Clark was an alien. Maybe he was just looking for his home and identity and family, but things weren't falling back together. Clark was still so unsure of them all, of everything. Without memory, the trust was missing. The only thing Clark seemed to hold any genuine unencumbered affection for was his rock, Lola. Jonathan had to refrain from grinding his teeth at that thought. His son could hardly carry on a polite conversation with his parents, but an alien rock he could trust.

"Clark?" Jonathan made his way into the barn and squinted into the dim light. His son was sitting lotus style, his damn rock hovering around him, spinning and glowing like some demented satellite. The rock wasn't the only thing hovering though. His son wasn't resting on the floorboards. He'd cleared them by a couple of feet. "Clark?!"

Almost like a cartoon realizing he'd run off a cliff, Clark's eyes flew open and he tumbled to the floor. "I almost had it," Clark groaned. He seemed to notice his father's shocked expression and snatched Lola out of the air. "What? Did I do something wrong again?"

Jonathan shook his head quickly. Don't think that I'm pushing you away or disapproving. "You didn't do anything wrong, okay? You were levitating. I didn't know you could do that." What else was Clark keeping from them?

Are you scared then? You don't know what to make of me, do you? How had they gotten along before? Was he supposed to hide his differences? "I'm not doing it consciously. Lola was just teaching me a meditation technique..." ...and you hate Lola. "I'm sorry if I upset you. Did I forget a chore or something?"

"Dinner," Jonathan said. "It's time for dinner." How was he supposed to ask Clark what was going on with him when he was so aloof and polite, like a guest instead of family? "We could talk if you want? What's up with this meditating stuff? You've been doing a lot of it this summer."

Clark shrugged and joined his father on the bottom floor. "It's a pet project." You probably wouldn't approve. Odd alien activities like training to fight Kryptonite would just freak you out to a new degree.

"Your mother thinks you're trying to get your memory back. Is she right?" Jonathan asked.

"Not exactly, I'd really like to remember, but I'm not spending hours up here trying to reroute my own brain. You have to let things like that take their own course, and sometimes it just doesn't work out." Could you live with that? If I don't remember will you be able to handle me?

"We love you whether you remember or not," Jonathan said. And if we love you well enough and long enough, you might not remember the past, but we'll still be your family.

Clark started the walk to the house without answering or meeting his father's eyes. He was coming to really hate that statement: I love you. His parents told him they loved him every day, more than once a day, like they were trying to convince him or themselves. Clark never quite knew what to say. Should he thank them or tell them he loved them? He didn't even remember them really and a thank you seemed strange, cold. Lola could tell how much those moments upset him, and she always started singing. Thank God for Lola.

Jonathan didn't try to break the uncomfortable silence that settled between them. They had to keep telling Clark the simple things like I love you even if it was hard. Eventually, it would pay off. Eventually Clark would respond. Maybe it wouldn't be because he remembered anything but because he learned to be a part of this family again.

Martha was approximately two seconds from going to fetch the boys when they walked through the door. Dinner was on the table getting cold, and she wanted Clark to get the full effect of tangy Italian spaghetti. "I was about to send out a search party. This is one of your favorites, Clark."

Sitting down, Clark smiled and nodded, mentally tallying up his favorites: lasagna, eggs and bacon, turkey with stuffing, corn casserole, blueberry pie, etc. If his mother was to be believed, he really loved to eat. She kept throwing foods at him and telling him what he liked and how he liked it. She couldn't just let him sit, taste it, and decide for himself. It wasn't just food either. She told him what he like to wear, how he parted his hair, the chores he liked and didn't like. At first it had been okay. He was an amnesiac, and some direction was helpful. It wasn't working for him anymore though. There were a hundred million things that made up Clark Kent, and he felt like his mom was trying to teach him each one. She was teaching him how to be Clark. She made him feel like some blank marionette that needed painting and animation. It was like he wasn't a real person. "It smells nice."

"So, how was work today, guys? I missed your company working in the tomatoes," Martha said. She dipped out Clark's spaghetti for him, adding parmesan and dried seasoning just the way he liked.

"Clark brought the cows in by himself like an old pro, and I'd say we're ready for slaughter next week, knock on wood." Jonathan smiled at Clark, encouraging him to share something.

"We raise cows for slaughter?" Clark frowned and picked a bit of beef out of the spaghetti. "I hadn't really thought about it, you know."

"They may look like two ton pasture ornaments, but they're really just hamburgers in waiting," Jonathan said. He grinned at Clark, trying to connect for even a moment.

Clark was upset about the fate awaiting the cows he'd been herding for a couple of seconds, but it wasn't like he didn't understand how life worked. You had to eat, and humans ate cows. Clark returned Jonathan's smile and tried the spaghetti. "Did we raise this beef?"

"That's supermarket fare," Martha said. The meal continued in silence for a few minutes while everyone attacked their meal. It was almost like a meal from before the Eradicator tried to destroy everything. They almost felt like a family again. "So have you had any new memories surface today?"

Clark let his fork of spaghetti trail back to the plate. Another moment he dreaded: the daily memory recovery recap. It always left him feeling like a failure. Didn't they realize that if he remembered anything worth reporting, they were at the top of the list to find out. "Sorry, nothing today."

Martha shrugged and smiled. It wasn't like she expected him to say he'd remembered anything. "Tomorrow is a market day, and I was thinking we should all go and make a day of it, you know? There's nothing pressing on the farm that can't wait one day."

"Excellent idea," Jonathan said. "You always liked the farmer's market, Clark. When you were about five, you discovered the sheep pens. I've never considered keeping sheep, wouldn't know what to do with them, but you fell in love with this one lamb. If memory serves, you called him Fluffy. You almost talked me into bringing a few home, almost."

"Okay, okay, sounds fun," Clark said. We'll just get your hopes up. Walk me down memory lane, and when I don't remember, you can just tell me how I'm supposed to feel.


Once safely sealed into his room, Clark took out Lola. She whispered into his brain trying to calm him down. "They mean well. They love you. No one wants to hurt you."

"They don't even know me! I can't keep going on like this. I feel like I'm in a movie playing Clark Kent. I have all these lists in my head: what Clark likes, what Clark eats, what Clark listens to, how Clark walks and speaks and sleeps. I'm not their son. I don't remember how to be him, and they keep reminding me of that."

"You have to talk to them. Tell them what you're feeling. They can't read your mind," Lola scolded. "This is your home, whether you remember it or not. Are you going to let things keep deteriorating until the hard feelings have gotten so deep you can't forgive them?"

Clark collapsed onto his bed and nodded. "I should tell them, but it's like I'm telling them that their son is really dead. Those fifteen years are gone, and me, an alien stranger who hardly knows how to talk to them, is all they get out of the deal."

"You're not a stranger though. The mind I touched and knew before ascension is not so different from your mind now. Just because you don't remember everything doesn't make you a completely different person. This doesn't matter so much."

"It does to them. They say they love me, and they want to help me, but they just want their son back." Clark dropped Lola onto his nightstand and sighed. "I shouldn't have come back here. Everyone would have been better off if I'd just stayed lost."


Smog, acrid and biting, mixed liberally with car exhaust, hotdog smell, and some dime store perfume, Chloe grinned and breathed deep. Metropolis smelled like home. The Daily Planet internship had officially ended the day before, but the bus ticket home wasn't until tomorrow morning. It left her one night to enjoy Metropolis for its own sake. There were friends to visit and stores she'd missed. Tonight was going to be a real blast, but first, e-mail.

Chloe booted up her computer and waited for that tell-tale announcement, You've got mail. Every night she had at least one message from Clark. She'd made him promise to write, and he hadn't let her down. At first the messages were about being home and safe and how happy he was to finally know where he belonged. She'd asked a thousand questions about what he was and what he could do. Some of the things he'd told her would have to be seen before she could really believe. The messages did what she wanted in the end. They kept a friendship alive and well, when in the face of amnesia and a summer apart, it shouldn't have survived.

Chloe frowned at her dial up box and crossed her arms. Gradually, Clark's messages had changed. It was a subtle thing. He stopped mentioning his parents, and he never spoke about being home. He hadn't come out and said what was wrong, or that he wasn't happy. Chloe was a reporter though, and she could read between the lines. She'd tried some gentle questions to find out what was wrong, but Clark had ignored them.

Bringing up her inbox, Chloe made quick work of the spam she'd garnered. Clark had only sent one message this time, and she brought it up.

TO:
FROM:
SUBJECT: RE: An Alien, a Cow, and a Reporter Walk Into a Bar

Hi Chloe,

Nice joke, you should be writing for Leno. That wasn't sarcasm. I laughed, really!

...

I've been sitting here just staring at the screen. I can't decide what to write.
I made a reply to the joke, and I should probably be able to come up with something
witty for you to have a laugh over. It's just not coming.

You see I'm angry and frustrated. I'm not angry with you and you don't deserve to
have me vent all this pent up emotion at you, but Lola is being too philosophical
(and logical) and I'm not communicating very well with my parents lately. I guess
you could say communicating with my parents is the problem entirely.

I don't remember them or much of anything from before. They're trying to help and
to fill in the holes for me. They tell me what I like to eat and what I like to wear.
They tell me which television shows I watch and who I'm friends with. They're teaching
me how to be the son they lost, but they can't expect me to live like that can they?
Do they expect me to follow their directions and act the part of their son? Why can't
they just let me figure out who I am and accept that?

Then there's Lola. Neither of them has actually come out and said anything but my
parents hate her. I don't understand why. She's my friend. She woke me up when I
was in a coma after ascension. The only constant I have is that rock.

Stopping now. I'm sorry for throwing all this at you. You're on your last night in
Metropolis and you need to be partying. You're just...you're the only person who hasn't
tried to make me into the Clark Kent they remember. You and Lola are my two real friends
here, and I guess I want to say thanks.

I'm looking forward to seeing you in person and I hope you have a great trip back.

ttyl,

Clark

Chloe read over the message twice before hitting the reply key. She'd suspected Clark was having problems, but she hadn't guessed it would be anything like this. He'd always been so close with his parents. There were a couple of things in there that she didn't quite understand. Lola had already come up in their correspondence, but what was ascension and why had it put him in a coma? Whatever it was, it had to be the culprit for his memory loss. Chloe reigned in her urge to ask questions and tried to address the important part of the message.

TO:
FROM:
SUBJECT: The Secret of Communication

Clark, buddy, have you tried talking to your parents? I'm not there and I can't say
anything absolutely, but talking is half the battle. If you tell them what's wrong,
maybe you guys can work it out?

As for anyone trying to remake you in your own likeness, be assertive. You are who you
are, not who you were. I think your parents will be able to accept that if you explain
it to them.

I'll see you tomorrow, Clark, and we can talk for real.

Sincerely,

Chloe