A/N
Dear readers, this tale has a life of it's own. Supes is thought-casting it from another dimension (just wish he would speed it up) and I'll get it to you as fast as I can, but you know me; the updates are steady but spaced out (much like myself, I fear). It's good to know you are still with me -- It's been a while, but hopefully, this chappie is worth it.
I based Dr. Schwartz on Alvin Schwartz, creator of Bizarro, writer of many of the early Superman newspaper comic strips -- and one of my neighbours. He was 90 years old his last birthday, God bless him.
A note about Martha's accent; I always thought she and Jonathan should have Kansas accents (Ma and Pa Kent). I used this voice sample from the Department of Theatre and Film at the University Of Kansas as a guide. httpCOLONSLASHSLASHwebDOTkuDOTeduSLASHideaSLASHnorthamericaSLASHusaSLASHkansasSLASHkansas4DOTmp3
Please forgive me if I transcribed it wrong, I meant no disrespect to The Kents or farmers in general. My own family has farmer accents, and I managed to lose mine – not on purpose. I figured Superman would have a good reason to erase his to protect his family.
PS It's been a year since I started this story -- thanks for sticking by me!
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15. Thanks for the Memories
Only minutes after landing at the Kent farm, outside of Smallville, Jason is playing in the clover with Shelby back of the homestead and Clark's silver-haired mother stands on the front veranda, hands on hips in a familiar superhero pose, facing down earth's greatest champion.
For the most part, earth's greatest champion looks terrified.
In her 'special' voice, reserved for scolding in fancy restaurants, Martha pokes a finger to his insignia and lights into her son. "Clark J'rome Kent – this is some way to inform me that ah'm a Grand-mother! Thank g'ness, he's too young to have his hearin' yet, or we'd never have this out."
Clark wants to smile despite Martha's tone, revelling in her warm Kansas twang. No matter the occasion, a poignant feeling of belonging stirs in Clark's heart at the sound of her voice. It almost makes up for the sharp sense of loss he's carried since dropping all evidence of a Kansas upbringing from his own vocal patterns, to avoid being identified by dialect experts.
"I know, Mom – but… Lois is sick, and she has no family to speak of. I'm –- we're all he has."
Martha's gentle eyes belie her harsh reaction, and Clark breathes a sigh of relief. "Oh, Sweetheart, a'll keep the boy chock full of milk and apple pie till you kin come get 'im and Shelby'll keep him entertayned, a'm sure."
"Mom, you're the best." Clark scoops her up in one deft motion and hugs her tight, planting a kiss on her weathered cheek and eliciting a giggle that melts away their years apart. He sets her down on the hardpan driveway and she smoothes a wayward strand of hair into place. At that moment, Jason appears – making Clark wonder about his so-called undeveloped super senses. He hunkers down to meet him, cape pooling in the dust, and his son leaps into his arms.
Close on Jason's heels is Clark's eighteen year old golden retriever, Shelby -- demonstrating the energy of a much younger dog -- a drool-drippy ball in his mouth, and a smile on his face.
"Gramma – why does Shelby have a girl's name?" Jason's piercing blue gaze demanding an explanation for any contradiction in this old-fashioned farm universe.
Both Martha and Clark freeze at the boy's innocent question. Neither one can bring themselves to tell him that, when the first Shelby died -- her last litter of pups barely weaned, teenage Clark was inconsolable. The one male pup that insisted on washing his face of tears became Shelby the second -- named for his mother.
Who died.
Martha ruffles the boy's hair and shrugs, "Well, honey, it seemed like a good ah-dea at the time. Comeon baby, Granny'll show you the chickens."
Clark waves goodbye, watches them move off towards the barn, and speeds cross-country to watch over Lois.
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Sitting on a worn plastic chair in the Metropolis General waiting room, Clark tries to look inconspicuous among the non spandex-togged. I could change –- no… she's already confused enough.
He notices his fellow occupants and observes that more than a few are expectant dads. Despite hoping for personal imminent miracles, they are staring at him. Clark coughs and looks down at his pristine boots. Darn aura – – I must look downright shiny.
You'd think they'd never seen an alien before.
Oh, right…
Of all the people packed into the over-air-conditioned space, only one fails to notice him -- the worried girlfriend of a motorcycle crash victim.
Clark wants to tell her that her boyfriend is now in a coma, from which he won't revive. However, Kal knows it isn't his place to shoulder that particular cross.
Lost in thought, Clark's eidetic memory conjures up his most recent images of Lois – before she passed out in his arms – and he loses himself in visions of her chestnut curls and hazel eyes. His own eyes glaze over in reflection, and, one by one, the onlookers shake their heads and go back to magazines or muted conversations, now convinced the shy-seeming boy in costume is not the real thing, but a refugee from a costume party -- or a movie extra.
An hour passes.
The ebb and flow of Metropolis's injured is steady, though unseen by our hero -- engrossed in the comforting realm of his perfect recall.
Someone once said that nothing lasts forever, and that perfection doesn't exist. As if to prove this, a gangly teen boy, with a mop of brown hair -- and huge eyes to match -- settles near the grubby TV monitor. With the level of boredom reserved for a generation weaned on Ipods and Gameboys, he scans the room for stimulation – the sports channel on mute insufficient to the task -- and settles on Clark as the weird-guy-with-maximum-potential-to-be-interesting.
With a last habitual glance at the TV screen, he plops himself down in an adjacent chair to Clark.
"Nice suit –- you an actor or something?"
"Excuse me?" Startled out of his trance by the child's unexpectedly deep voice, Clark frowns, and looks at the boy; he knows he's missing something important about the exchange.
"The Super-suit. You look just like him -- not so tall though." He squints at Clark, and peruses him as if he was a big blue bug. "You're older too…"
Clark raises his brows and the corner of his mouth quirks upward. "Uh, actually --"
At that moment, the nurse at Admissions stares straight at Clark, smiles with her full set of teeth and leans forward unnecessarily to press a button. Her microphone whines to life and, breathless, she says, "Superman – the Doctor will see you now…"
As Superman stands to his full height, the young boy blinks up at him with his mouth open; and, because the kid now looks about five years old, Kal ruffles his mop of hair in farewell. "It's okay, son – everyone looks smaller -- and older -- in real life… especially when they are worried sick about a loved one."
The boy closes his mouth in a sheepish smile, and his cheeks redden, but he is obviously thrilled that the man before him is the real deal. A small woman, with messy grey hair, rushes over and shakes his shoulder, "Benny, what were you thinking?" The boy rolls his eyes at her for spoiling his moment with the hero, but she is oblivious as, in a daze, her eyes slowly travel up the length of Clark's form to rest on his face. Snapping out of it, she blurts, "S-sorry for bothering you sir."
Superman looks down at the mother and her son, and his professional persona snaps into autopilot. "He was no bother, Ma'am, just curious – that's a healthy trait. Take care now."
Superman's mask crumbles as he turns from them, his x-ray vision reaching beyond the walls of the waiting room. As the entire ER watches, Clark steels himself to meet Lois's doctor. On shaky legs, Clark pushes open, then makes his way through, the windowless double doors leading into the CATscan and MRI section of the hospital.
A tiny, ancient man, with large, bright eyes in a long face -- and a grey wisp of beard –- stands waiting by the nurse's station. He hurries up to Clark, his eagerness to meet the hero restrained by his respect for the circumstances.
"Hello, Superman, I'm Doctor Schwartz, and I will be personally handling Lois Lane's case. I understand she is a… close friend?"
Finding it difficult to say anything, Clark manages, "Um… yes, she is."
"Normally we would contact next of kin, but there is only her father, who appears to be incommunicado."
Clark sighs, and wonders how ironic that Lois, whose father is alive and well, could, for all intents and purposes, be an orphan. "General Lane, yes. He can be… hard to reach."
Considering who you are… we bent the rules a bit."
"Thank you."
An uncomfortable moment ensues, nurses' heels echoing on the polished and sterilized floors, and muted sobs through closed doors the most pervasive sounds. Superman finally takes the initiative, and breaks the tension. "Doctor, what I… need to tell you, is very… personal." He manages to convey his concern, to the sharp-eyed physician, with a glance at the bustling flow of strangers within earshot.
"Son, why don't we go in here – this is a room reserved for grieving family members." His soft New York accent barely evident, the seasoned practitioner leads Clark by the elbow to a nearby door, but Clark's sharp intake of breath makes the older man regret his choice of words. An arthritic hand gestures to the sky, "God willing, no one has died on us yet today; we will be left alone in here."
Closing the door behind him, Superman x-rays the room for security devices, and finding it clear, relaxes a bit. Doctor Schwartz could swear the man before him shrinks a good four inches in height, and he is taken aback by the enigmatic look on the superhero's face.
"Doctor, before we start, there is one important thing you must do."
"Whatever is that, Superman?"
"Call me Kal."
"Is that your real name? Mr. Kal?"
Clark manages a ghost of a smile in spite of himself, "No, just… Kal. And, we should sit down. I don't know if I have the strength to tell you this at all, much less, stand up… at the same time."
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A half hour later, a nurse pokes her head in the door of the Family Palliative Care Room, and Doctor Schwartz raises his brows in question.
"You wanted to know if there was any change, Doctor?"
Yes, Nurse?
"None, but she seems stable now."
"Thank you; keep me informed –- on the hour."
His head heavy with worry and his hair falling forward over his furrowed brow, Clark peers up at the doctor through his bangs. The specialist watches him with undisguised compassion.
"Doctor Schwartz, what's wrong with her?"
"From what you've told me, Su – um, Kal, your… actions caused minor oxygen starvation in the hippocampus -- that resulted in a mild, retrograde amnesia."
Clark breaks eye contact with the doctor, and rises slowly to a standing position. He turns, still holding on to the back of his chair. The doctor unaware of how much effort Superman exerts not to crush it to powder in frustration.
"That… was my intent, yes – but I was assured that it would have virtually no side effects – and I was desperate to settle her mind." Kal drops his head in his hands and relinquishes his usual public composure -- the need to confess, burning a hole in his heart. "Doctor… uh, it was necessary for her to… forget certain events -- for her safety."
"Go on…"
"We were... intimate – and she… couldn't handle… sharing me."
The doctor frowns "Is this 'sharing' a Kryptonian thing – another mate, perhaps?"
Mortified by the doctor's misunderstanding, and his Midwestern morals offended, Clark blurts, "Of course not; sir… I'm a Methodist."
The doctor's eyes could not grow wider -- nor Clark's embarrassment deepen as, red-faced, he intones, "Uh, I meant sh-sharing me with… the w-world… as its protector."
Leaning towards Clark, Dr. Schwartz considers this love-struck young Methodist in the Superman uniform, and smiles his kindest smile, clasping Clark's hand in his own.
"…Kal, it may not be permanent, if the memories had become consolidated."
"Consolidated?"
"…Into her long-term memory – then stored in her neocortex."
His mind working, Kal leans in, focusing on the doctor's words, "Like… a computer."
"Yes."
Dr. Schwartz stands up, and turns to face the window.
"Superman, I would not recommend you pull this trick on anyone else, since you were obviously unaware of the possible after-effects of even slight damage to the human brain."
At the Doctor's words, Kal slides further down in his chair, his face a canvas of shock and disbelief.
"Damage?" he whispers to himself, then looks up to meet the doctor's time-worn green eyes.
"Well, yes, what did you think you did?"
"You don't know the pain she was in, doctor – depressed, miserable – I just wanted my old, carefree, Lois back…"
"I understand that."
His heart empty and aching, like a child caught bullying, he stammers his answer, "The AI in the Fortress assured me that she would not be harmed."
"This AI, obviously, is not familiar with human brains – I suspect we differ enough from your p -– uh, Kryptonians, to make this a risky procedure."
His hot tears now dropping to the tile, Kal doubles over as if in pain and rocks himself. "I would never have… NEVER hurt her – oh, G…"
The doctor approaches Clark and reaches a hand out to squeeze his shoulder, stopping the pained words. "I know, son, – and if you say you had… no choice, we all trust your judgement here."
My judgement…
Superman stands up to face the doctor, swallowing his fear, "W…will she be alright, Doctor?"
"In this type of case, there is often evidence of anterograde amnesia, but, due to the minimal damage, we are hoping that Lois has been spared this."
Kal's hearing searches out Lois's heartbeat, steady and slow. Dr. Schwartz misinterprets his silence and elaborates.
"In other words, Superman, we hope that she can still form new memories. She's sleeping now, and we just have to wait till she wakes up to see where we are."
Clark looks at his guide in this horrible journey, his own face still damp with his tears. He chews his inner lip to stem the flow, and swallows the urge to break down further in front of this man who could have been his father. The doctor's kindly eyes too much for Clark to bear, he dips his head and buries his face in his arm.
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Clark opens his eyes and, for a moment, wonders why the rising sun is slanting in the wrong direction through his bedroom window.
Still at the hospital –- they let me stay –- why not? I am Supe--
"Clark?"
The heavenly voice he feared he'd never hear again – saying his name – well, one of his names, anyway.
"Lois – honey are you…?"
Gazing at him with an unfathomable expression, Lois's eyebrows flutter together in confusion, "You're…"
Then Clark's heart skips a beat when a devilish grin appears and lights Lois's eyes with merriment. "So I'm HONEY now? Fresh. What'm I doing here anyways? Did you drop me?"
"Drop you?"
As Clark moves closer to the bed, smiling at her light manner, Lois heaves herself to a sitting position. She tucks a stray lock behind her ear and explains in an irritated fashion, "The helicopter –- I was falling." An eye roll and headshake, "You caught me."
Clark sits on the edge of the bed and takes her hand, "Lois, honey – I think you're a little mixed up."
Lois frowns, and looks at their joined hands. She slides her hand out from under his, and smoothes her covers over her lap, "No, I remember – you said I've got you, Miss."
Clark's breath hitches with apprehension.
This is familiar…
Lois's pretty forehead crinkles, and she looks at Superman with a singular lack of familiarity, "Wait a minute –- who got you?"
TBC
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