-- Chapter 3 -- Pete's Bright Idea --
Chloe threw her last bag over her shoulder and boarded the charter bus for home. The bus was pretty full for a one way out of Metropolis, but then the only stop wasn't Smallville. She took a seat next to an old woman who looked like she might sleep rather than try to talk and stowed her bag. Now if she could just get Pete on the phone...
Being away in Metropolis all summer should have been a major obstacle to resurrecting a friendship with Clark. Who knew that reintegrating an amnesiac alien into his home could be as difficult as it had turned out though? Clark was feeling alienated from everyone and everything, no pun intended. All those people back home had spent the summer trying to turn him into Clark Kent, to help him. Lucky for her, she spent her summer fetching coffee for some of the greatest print journalists in the world. The free time e-mail tag with Clark was spent more on what her alien friend was than who he was or what he remembered. He was so much the same in those correspondences that she'd forgotten about the amnesia most of the time. Occasionally, he'd ask about a reference that he didn't remember, and it would hit her: Clark didn't remember her or anything they'd been through together. As far as he remembered, it was a new relationship without history or baggage.
If Chloe hadn't been so caught up with defining what he was, she might have fallen into the trap his parents had. Honestly, she'd done quite a bit of reading on memory recovery strategies, and if she'd had a little better proximity, Clark could have been annoyed and alienated over the flash cards and life synopses she'd have rained on his head.
Must not let Pete go through with operation- This Is Your Life. Chloe dialed up Pete for the fiftieth time since last night and counted rings. His voice mail picked up again on ring seven, and Chloe sighed. "Pete, this is very important. You have to call me back the moment you get this, okay? Where are you anyway? I've been calling since last night!" Snapping her phone shut, Chloe slouched low in her seat and waited for the bus to get going. Maybe she'd get back to Smallville in time to derail Pete in person?
A steady stream of people flowed through the booths of produce and livestock at the county farmer's market. Clark sat quietly behind his parents' booth and just watched the people. Everyone was so similar. Most folks were wearing flannel in one color or another with faded jeans, the uniform of the Midwest farmer. This was almost like the time he'd spent on Azar, alien watching. There he'd been searching for anyone like him. He'd been alone and confused. Well here was a world full of people who, at least superficially, were just like him.
Jonathan and Martha Kent, his parents, they fit into this world perfectly. They were a smiling, flannel-sporting, postcard for Kansas living. How had they ever survived an alien son? Martha leaned over to help a woman with her squash, and Clark couldn't help grinning. His parents told him he was stronger than the average human by a lot, but he hadn't really understood how weak they were until he was working alongside them. At first he felt kind of superior, but then he just got scared. Sure they were getting on his nerves a little, and they were shoving his own identity down his throat, but they were his parents, the only thing tying him to this world, and they were so delicate. Any random thing could come along and snuff them out.
"Clark, load up Mrs. Henry's corn and peas for her, would you?" Jonathan asked.
"I'm on it." Clark scooped up one of the bushel baskets, feigning effort.
"You're a very strong young man. Thank you." Mrs. Henry, an older lady with bright brown eyes and bluish hair, slipped a dollar into Clark's hand after he had her produce settled and tottered away.
"Thanks." After Mrs. Henry's truck was already rolling away, Clark snapped the crisp dollar at his father. "It is okay if I accept tips?"
"Another one like that and you'll have a cup of coffee paid for," Jonathan quipped. He leaned in and added, "Try making it look a little harder there. A bushel of corn is heavy. You looked like you were carrying a bushel of air. Grunt a little."
It was just a comment on his acting skills, but Clark immediately bristled at the criticism. "I'll try that, grunt. I'll just wait over here for my next big load."
Jonathan saw Clark's hand go into his pocket as he walked away, and he wanted to hit something. His son never went anywhere without his rock, and apparently, Lola had a comment on their conversation. Jonathan couldn't help feeling Lola was to blame for their problems with Clark. The damn rock was keeping him at arms length. I hate that stupid...
"Jon, breathe." Martha slipped an arm around his back and squeezed him. "You looked like you were about to throw something? What's wrong?"
"I'd like to throw something, that rock. I was talking to Clark, and he dropped his hand into his pocket..."
"And you knew he was fundamentally gone," Martha finished. "Today's been nice. There's no reason to ruin it by starting something. I think it's time to sit Clark down and have a little talk about some things too but not today. Breakfast, tomorrow?"
"How do you do that, catch my mood swings before I do? I'll let it rest until tomorrow, but only because Pete is doing his thing this afternoon." Jonathan dropped a peck on his wife's cheek and chuckled. "I'm pretty pathetic, jealous of a rock."
Martha turned and stared at Clark, the picture of a bored teenager at market, except she knew where his mind was. "If you're pathetic, so am I."
Long, thin, razor sharp, Lex stared at the rapier on his desk, a real weapon. The hilt of the sword was utilitarian and wrapped in worn black leather. The leather felt right under his hand and Lex hefted the weapon. It was heavier than his foil, and the balance was different too. His foil wasn't meant to kill, but this sword had been bathed in blood a thousand times. The dealer claimed it was an authentic Renaissance era weapon which had seen heavy use. The way the leather conformed to his fingers, ancient but not cracked or broken. The artisans of the era made this weapon to last.
Lex imagined his father across from him with a similar sword, except gilded and shiny. Like a man possessed, he fought the ghost, parrying and thrusting and blocking. Lionel was laughing though. His cold blue eyes stared straight through him, accused him, and claimed him all at once. We are the same. Lex thrust his sword forward through the heart of the ghost and into a petunia in one of the paintings on his wall.
"What did the De Gas ever do to you?"
This time it wasn't a ghost Lex turned to face. His father had returned for another sparing session, more likely verbal than with foils. Words had always been the weapon of choice in their relationship. "Dad, what brings you to town? Are you here to check on the plant again? Despite the economy, we're still in the green. Shouldn't you be checking on some of your less fortunate enterprises?"
"I need a reason to visit my only son?" Lionel walked over and pulled Lex's new sword out of the wall. "Don't tell me you're still collecting rusty weapons? You could hurt yourself or more artwork with this thing."
Lex snatched his sword away from his father and shrugged. "I'm not a five year old. You don't have to tell me what's dangerous. Not that you were ever into active parenting."
"I beg to differ." Maybe we never had a traditional father son relationship, but I made you strong. "I was there at every big crossroad, every time you succeeded or failed." Lionel grinned at Lex and thumped his shoulder. "I've got a new crossroads for you today."
"Haven't you found someone to save LuthorCorp Chemical in Detroit yet? It must be a real lemon." Lex settled his sword on a swathe of soft crimson cloth and wrapped it up. "Where's the pitch? You're wasting my time."
"Maybe it isn't LuthorCorp Chemical. Maybe it isn't a lemon at all." Why didn't Lex even look interested? Well that could be remedied. "You've been transferred to our Metropolis-Based Fiscal Risk division. The board has stamped and sealed your fate, and your replacement at the fertilizer plant is in transit. I'd start packing if I were you."
The bastard was smiling like the cat who swallowed the canary. Lex was sorely tempted to unwrap the sword in front of him and reenact his fantasy, skewering the smug bastard. Never let him know he's won a victory. "Sorry, I can't see myself working insurance even in Metropolis." Lex chuckled and sat on his desk casually. "You really think you have that much power over me. I hate to disappoint, but you'll have my resignation in the morning. Be sure to tell the replacement that the house isn't part of the deal. Mom left it to me, if you recall."
"Touche." Never let anyone, not even me, push you around, good. "Whatever will you do with yourself out here? Live off your trust fund and charm the locals. It sounds pretty boring to me."
You haven't met the right locals. "I have unfinished business in Smallville. When I'm ready, I'll see you in Metropolis on my own terms. Try to be patient."
Lionel considered raging at Lex, making a nice dramatic scene of it. Not this time, he decided, placate instead. There was something in Smallville, something Lex was willing to walk away from LuthorCorp over. Maybe it was time to spend a little quality time in the country? "You should think long and hard before burning bridges, Lex. A resignation would be hard to take back."
"Maybe, some burning bridges would help me find a better direction..."...a direction that doesn't involve you. "If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment."
Freedom at last, Clark made his way through the different farms' booths and displays. For once his parents had let him go off on his own. Getting a ten minute break that didn't involve a tour or a flashback to his childhood was such a relief.
"Hey, Kent, catch."
Clark turned in time to intercept a bright green apple sailing at his mid-section. The man who threw it, an older guy with a Mitchell's Orchard hat, waved him over. "Thanks, do I owe you anything?" Was this someone he was supposed to remember? Of course it was. Clark Kent knew everybody around here. Surely, the word had gotten around about the amnesia though. This guy wouldn't expect much, would he?
"Are you kidding? You worked afternoons at the orchard for three summers. With what I paid, you're owed. Trust me." Mr. Mitchell set a half-bushel of mixed red and green apples out on his tail-gate and pushed them toward Clark. "These are for your mother. Liza wasn't up to baking anything, but we really appreciate the food she sent over."
"They're nice," Clark said. There wasn't any use wracking his brain for some sliver of information on this man or his family. It wasn't there. "I'll tell Mom. I'm sure she'll appreciate them."
Mr. Mitchell took off his hat, exposing a matt of white hair, and his gaze dropped to his feet. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but it's good you're back. It isn't any secret that you have a few memory problems, and I know it's probably hard dealing with a lot of people you don't rightly remember. I guess..." Clark wished he could walk up to this man, clap him on the shoulder, and just reassure him. He wished he could smile and reminisce about those three summers of orchard work, but he couldn't. "I guess the boys and Liza, we all want you to know we've been praying for you, and you best come to dinner some time."
"Thanks," Clark said. "I'd love to have dinner some time and meet everybody again." And he did want to have dinner and meet these people. As long as they understood it would be a first meeting for him. "I apologize for not remembering, but is Liza your wife? Is she ill?"
"Yeah, she's my wife, and she hasn't been well for a long time. She's always thought a lot of you and your momma and daddy. I don't want you to worry about not remembering. Everything happens for a reason. If God takes something, he gives back ten fold. Sometimes it's hard to see the gift, but you have to have faith. You're going to be fine Clark. I know it."
Clark lifted the apples, adding a grunt for good measure and waved to Mr. Mitchell. Everything happens for a reason. His dad had already tried that line on him. Mr. Mitchell added in a twist of religion with the whole faith bit. Clark's parents weren't bible beaters, and they didn't shove religion at him, but he knew they prayed, and they believed in God. He should have faith that his memory vanished for a reason? Faith didn't make sense. You're just supposed to blindly believe that there's a method to the madness of the universe. Some higher power was watching over, and keeping the books equal? Maybe it was a human thing? Maybe his alien brain wasn't capable of faith?
"Lola, do you have a faith? Did Kryptonians have a faith, a religion?"
"Personally, no, I don't have a religion. There are beings greater than I in the universe, but I haven't met a God yet. As for Kryptonians, they had a tendency to believe in science, in what they could prove and understand. Technically you've been learning the closest thing they had to religion. The meditation we've been practicing is a spiritual approach to understanding life."
"So, do you think I'm incapable of human faith?"
"No." Lola hesitated before finishing. Clark might take this the wrong way, but it was true. "You had faith before: faith in humanity, faith in family, faith in justice. I don't know about God."
"Another bit of Clark Kent I've misplaced."
Lola would have sighed if she had lungs. Clark shut her out before she could argue that he hadn't misplaced his faith. It was still alive in him, if he'd just trust the old emotions.
Clark settled the apples into the bed of their truck. His parents were over at their booth talking up Pete Ross. Wasn't that just great? If dealing with his parents was awkward, dealing with Pete could be downright painful. A best friend you don't remember, and who doesn't know any of your secrets...Clark would rather spend the entire day mucking out stalls than ten minutes dealing with Pete. Was it feasible to head back into the market? Pete looked entrenched though. He might as well deal with them as a group.
"Hey man," Pete called. "Guess what? You're sprung. Mr. and Mrs. Kent said I could steal you for the afternoon. Have I got a surprise for you, man."
Clark felt like he hesitated for a million years, but the world just slowed down when he panicked. He got the opportunity to agonize an eternity in a matter of seconds. An afternoon with Pete, it would be so much easier if he could run away at top speed. He'd have to think of an excuse. "I don't think I should run off in the middle of everything..."
"Go," Martha said. She and Jonathan exchanged a knowing smile and Clark felt his stomach flutter. Whatever the surprise was, everyone was in on it apparently. "We've got things covered."
Pete jingled his keys and jerked his head towards the parking lot. Clark didn't exactly look excited but he followed. "You know, I feel really bad about how little I've been around this summer. The job at the Co Op was killer, and I figured you needed the time to get adjusted to everything anyway. Forgive me?"
"Sure, I wasn't mad at you. I needed the time." I had to learn who knew what and what was taboo: speed, strength, x-ray vision. "I don't guess you'd tell me this surprise? I don't think I like surprises."
"You're going to like this man, trust me." You should like it. Pete couldn't help feeling a little nervous about this afternoon. If everything hadn't changed so much, he'd be sure that Clark would like the surprise. The few times he'd come to visit, their conversations were positively stiff and distant.
When Clark remembered, everything could go back to normal, and this event was going to help him remember. Sure it had taken hours of planning and not a little cash at the photo hut, but it was a small sacrifice to help reclaim his best buddy. "Any guesses about what's going to happen?"
"I don't know." Clark didn't say it, but part of him hoped this had something to do with Chloe's return. Maybe it was coincidental, Pete having a surprise for him and Chloe returning to town on the same day, but it was a big coincidence. "We seem to be headed toward home, so this isn't a road trip."
Clark let Pete lead him to his Fortress of Solitude, and he tried not to expect the worst. It's going to be something nice and easy to deal with...Chloe fresh from Metropolis. Stepping inside, Clark felt the urge to run away building in him again. The barn had been converted into some kind of freakish fun-house. There were mirrors and streamers. There were blown up pictures everywhere: Clark on tractor, Clark rides a horse, Clark with Pete and Chloe. Every possible age was represented and they seemed to progress from young to older. He couldn't think of a word to say.
"This is your life, man. I put together a video at the end, and there's a grand finale after you finish the little tour. Impressed?" Pete's nervous grin died a quick death. Clark didn't look impressed. He looked claustrophobic and freaked. "Are you okay?"
Clark could hear Lola buzzing at him, begging for his attention. She probably wanted to calm him down, to keep him from saying something he'd regret. "I can't take this anymore," Clark said. He walked up to one of the blown up pictures and ripped it off the wall. "I wish everyone would stop beating me over the head with who I'm supposed to be. I am who I am. You can't turn me into him." Clark ripped the picture in half and strode toward the door, consciously containing his need to speed away.
"Man, I wasn't trying to turn you into anyone. You are Clark. I just wanted to help you remember..." Pete flinched at the look Clark leveled him with and took a step back.
"Don't lie to me. If you could live with who I am, you wouldn't need me to change this badly. You and my parents and everyone have to stop. My parents helped you with this, didn't they?" Clark didn't wait for Pete to respond. "Who else masterminded this? I want to know."
Pete just shook his head. "I'm sorry, okay? You're my friend, and I wanted to help."
"You're not my friend. You don't even know me. You didn't try to know me. In three months I've seen you twice. A friend would have tried to know me." Clark knew it was time to leave when he started stumbling over his words. If he didn't leave he was going to absolutely lose it and scream or cry or something. "I'm out of here."
It took Pete a second to gather his thoughts and follow his fleeing friend outside, but amnesia or not, Clark could still make an exit, and he was nowhere to be seen. "Man, I'm sorry!" If Clark could hear the apology, he didn't respond, and Pete reluctantly headed back inside. His grand finale had peeked around the corner, and she came around into full view. From her perfectly French twisted hair to her second-skin shimmering purple mini-dress, Lana looked the part of fantasy girl. Too bad Clark missed it.
Lana smiled sympathetically down at Pete. He'd approached her weeks ago about his surprise, not long after Whitney left for Kansas State. She had broken things off with Fordman. Long distance relationships were hard, but honestly, it had been an excuse. She didn't love Whitney, and she couldn't see herself marrying him or making a life with him in the long run. "I guess the blind date's off."
"I'm so sorry," Pete sighed. "I guess I screwed up here. We never even made it anywhere near the grand finale, so Clark won't hold your involvement against you." He will hold it against me though. Why hadn't Mr. and Mrs. Kent warned him that Clark was sensitive about this kind of thing? Unless they didn't know but how could they not know?
"Since I won't be on that date, I'll help you clean up." Blind dates were always a hassle and they never turned out well. Lana was surprised to find herself less relieved than disappointed at this turn though. Clark was always the handsome mysterious guy. Then he sort of busted out of his shell in the last year before disappearing. He was playing hero, and he'd started talking to her instead of gazing soulfully from a distance. They were just becoming friends, and now they weren't anything. Lana pulled down a set of streamers and started rolling them into a ball. "This whole thing was a little over the top, but you meant well. Clark will calm down and realize that."
"I don't know. He's right about part of what he said. I've been avoiding this place and him all summer. It was easy to say that it was my summer job or that the amnesia was making the situation uncomfortable, but part of it was me." Pete sank down on a bail of hay and stared at the wall and its sharp-looking farm implements. "I gave Clark up for dead and tried to talk Chloe out of looking for him. I told his parents they should have a memorial service for him. He was my best friend, and I let him down. This was my sorry attempt to make it up to him. If I could help jog his memory, it was something you know?" Not to mention the grand finale...Chloe would kill him if she knew he'd tried to set Clark up with Lana. He wasn't trying to be cruel or even play match maker. This little event was supposed to help recover Clark's memory, and Lana had always been his dream.
Lana let Pete have his say, but she wasn't about to let him get away with blaming himself for everything. "That's a lot of BS, Pete. The only way you're going to let him down is letting him go now. Everyone thought Clark was dead, me included. Maybe he doesn't remember it now, but you're a good friend, no a great friend." Lana scooped her streamer ball back up and threw it at Pete. He wasn't looking, and it whacked him upside the head with a soft papery thump. She grinned playfully at him, trying to elicit some amusement.
Pete turned her way and gradually shared her smile. "What was that for?"
"The pity party is over. Let's get this place cleaned up, and we'll wait around to talk with Clark when he gets tired of avoiding us."
"Okay, but I'm predicting a long wait."
Lex poured a finger of rich bourbon into a pair of crystal liquor glasses. He handed one to a man on his sofa and sipped at the other. "Mr. Fisk, how was the flight and the drive? You look well." And he did. If you compared this calm shaved individual to the half-crazed mountain-man he'd found in Colorado, the adjective 'well' didn't quite do the change justice.
"My welfare was never a concern of yours. You got me back here with your veiled threats and your pocket book. What do you want? Your friend isn't missing. Why do you need a psychic?"
"What I need is the truth, Mr. Fisk."
Author's Note:
Happy Easter!
I have to say this to the speculation...You are a smart girl becs... **grin**
No new chapters next week. Finals are looming, but I'll see you all on the other side of exams. I might post something on Colorblind after a while, but I make no promises.
