UNNECESSARY A/N How did I update so fast, you ask? I split a massive writing spurt into 2 chapters -- to allow for the cliff-hanger. I will try to update more frequently, now that I have a more comfortable writing space.

I recommend a getaway writing space to anyone who wants to work seriously on the craft. This is much better than writing on my laptop -- on the sofa -- with chatting and TV in the vicinity to distract from the Muse's musings.

Disclaimer :Superman is REAL, and is all mine, BWAHAHAHAH, but I'm out of touch with reality most of the time, so I may be wrong.

In case I am wrong, Superman may, very well, NOT BE REAL, and that NOT REAL PERSON may be the property of DC comics -- and sundry large corporations -- the ways of our modern world being what they are.

Anyway, I'm sure they don't know he spends his spare time hanging out with me at home.

NOTE: Despite the flippancy of my disclaimer, this story is serious in tone.

19 Only Human

The wind whistles over the cornfields, encouraging tiny dust-devil premonitions of thunder and tornados to mither the corners of the barn and the laneway. The late-afternoon warblers begin their dinner concert, and the homespun curtains at the Kent kitchen window flap, as if a winged one lives in its gingham folds.

The birdsong, usually relaxing to Clark, now simply irritates him with its ineffectual chatter. He looks down at his sweet, silver-haired mother, and her dove-like frailty breaks his heart. He searches her eyes, but something is missing, "Ma, was Lex Luthor here? Did he take Jason?"

Martha's eyes flash, and Clark's heart skips a beat, "That awful man. Land sakes, son… you know he's in jail. I was just saying to Jonathon this morning -- first time out, and Clark nearly gets himself killed, just to put some animal in a cage. Stay home a spell longer -- Lana was askin' after you."

This time, Clark wraps his large hands around Martha's tan, work-solid arms, and his expression sobers her. He watches her eyes clear, and her gaze sharpen. The transformation is startling, and he dreads its meaning. "Clark? Are you taking Jason back already? We were just making pie -- can you stay and have some?"

Oh, Ma, where were you? "Mom – I promise I'll be right back -– don't move, ok?" I have to look for Jason; please, don't leave us again.

Clark speeds away, and is thirty feet in the air before the screen door slams shut. Clark hovers, slowing his own heart to focus and find the soft thrum of his son's heartbeat. He follows it to Ben Hubbard's barn -- kitty-corner to their far north field. Scanning for anyone who may spot the large farmhand hovering above the hay, Clark satisfies himself that, as usual, the cows will keep his secret. He maneuvers near the barn, landing behind the open door. Before the dust settles, Jason wraps himself around his father's legs – holding on, as if he fears the ground may swallow him whole any moment. Humph, I guess his hearing is improving… or did he SEE me --

"Daddadimsogladyoureheregramawas… acting… funny, so I --"

"Slow down, son," I know super speed panic when I hear it. "It's okay, Jason. Where's Mr. Hubbard?"

Clark knows exactly where Ben is, as he hears the scuff of his old neighbour's work boots and a worrying wheeze to his breath. Even in his anxious state, Jason knows the question is for Ben's benefit, to keep up the pretence of ordinary old Clark. He muses for a second at how automatic his subterfuge is – and how sad that his little boy had to learn this lesson so early.

On cue, the old farmer rushes out of the barn to meet him. "Clark, Clark -- thank the heavens you're here. Jason had a bit of a scare." He stops, wheezing, and bends over -- hands on knees, to catch his breath.

"Slow down Ben, you're all flushed…" A chilling dèja-vu memory freezes Clark's hands, as he helps his elderly friend to find a seat on a nearby milk bench. The older man's unhealthy demeanour reminds him of his dad at the end, and he blurts, "B-Ben, we need to get you to a hospital now."

"Calm down, son, its just a little asthma -- I'm a bit sensitive in haying season." As he says this, he digs his work worn hands deep into an inner pocket of his ancient jeans jacket. Pulling out a new-looking inhaler, he winks at Jason in conspiratorial rapport. "Two puffs, and I'm good for the rest of the day."

Clark slumps, mental exhaustion from the past two days consuming him, and he sweeps Jason up in his powerful arms and soothes him -- breathing in his familial scent.

Like my mom – Lara --

-- Mom…

Cradling his baby boy, Clark crouches down, faces his old friend, and places a hand on his shoulder, locking their gaze. "Ben, what's wrong with my mother?"

"Son, I've been worried about Martha for some time -- I wish you'd seen fit to come to me first."

Jason snuggles into Clark's neck, and yawns. Ben smiles, and says, "Let's bring him into the house, and you both can get something to settle your nerves. Someone looks like he might even sleep."

"Probably still jet lag, considering the difference between eastern and central time – I got him here pretty fast."

Walking into the house, Clark realizes that what he just divulged may be damning, if Ben has any suspicions. He swats away the idea, but it flits back to nag him like a deer fly looking for lunch –- tiny, but insistent -- and bent on drawing blood.

Settling Jason down on a worn plaid sofa, Clark follows Mr. Hubbard into his kitchen, and a rush of childhood memories wash over him. Jonathan and Ben laughing over steaming mugs of coffee -- his mother swatting them both with a dishtowel while she helps Mrs. Hubbard dry the apple pie plates -- his own mouth tingling from the lemon and cinnamon flavour of the prize-winning pie.

"Your wife made the second-best pie in Lowell County, Ben."

Chuckling, the older farmer reaches into the fridge, and hefts a frosty pitcher of lemonade to the counter. Without looking, Clark pulls three glasses out of the cupboard, and Ben fills each one -- plopping an ice cube in each from an ancient metal tray. "That she did, Clark… that she did."

The two men sip at the lemonade, each in their own thoughts. Jason's sleeping heart rate and soft breathing tickles Clark's senses, and he watches his son's untouched lemonade collect condensation, following the drips down to puddle around the glass on the granite counter.

…seawater streaming over my body, while the kryptonite-poisoned crystal grows toward -- then into -- my hands…

Ben's gravely voice rumbles, "Earth to Clark."

Clark blinks, and takes a swig of the icy drink, "Sorry, Ben – I was miles away…"

"I'm used to it, Clark –- no need to apologise. Well, about your mother… you know how she loves her Scrabble… I could never beat her -- tarnation, that woman has a vocabulary. I first noticed a difference… when she began to lose."

Afraid of where this is going, Clark knits his eyebrows together and smiles –- an altogether disconcerting combination. "She… likes to read. I'm sure her love of the written word had a hand in my becoming a journalist."

"Anyway, Ben whispered, she, she…"

Clark steels himself for what he fears Ben may have to say. "Go on, Ben -- I need to know."

"Son… you know I love your mother -- forgive me, I'm in love with her -- I know her -- she never loses that damn game. Sometimes she lets me win -- I've always known that…."

Clark senses a foreboding cloud passing across his Smallville sun, and Ben nods. "My older brother has Alzheimer's, Clark -- I'm afraid…"

Ben's kindly eyes rest on Clark, as his head bows to his chest. "Ben… I… so much has happened… and so fast."

"I know, son --"

Jumping up with intensity, that he barely contains within his white-knuckled fists, Clark hisses, "—No, you don't -- you couldn't – know." Jason whimpers in sleep, and Clark throws his head back, willing his emotions to still, and his blood pressure to lower.

Ben rises, and clasps Clark by the shoulder, his soul burning into the young Kryptonian's awareness, through the human disguise, to the man-alien beneath.

"Clark -- you were gone a long time -- five years -- it was very hard on your mother."

Like a punch to his still-tender scar, Ben's words bring back Clark's regret for lost time with all his loved ones, and he removes his glasses to rub his eyes. The spectacles, the weight of the Secret, sit in hands capable of lifting islands to the heavens, and yet, are almost too heavy for him to bear.

Lifting his naked face to his old friend, Clark says, "Ben, you've known me all my life."

"I have, and proud of it, son – you've turned into a fine man."

Fiddling with his glasses, unwilling to hang the useless prop back on his face, Clark folds them up and stashes them in his breast pocket. "I… don't feel much like that… I feel… I could use your help." I wish my dad were here.

Guiding Clark to sit at the table, Ben studies his face with understanding, "Your mother was very worried about you when you returned, and, right off, ended up in hospital."

Clark bows his head to the table, and mumbles past clasped hands, "Not my fault, Ben -– Lex Luthor hurt a lot of people that day, not only me."

Inexplicably, Ben does not respond to Clark's excuse,

"Y'know, I was with Martha that day -- too bad we couldn't get in to see you."

"A lot of people couldn't, what with the fuss over Superman. I was pretty much out of it anyway."

"I gathered that – I understand you fell – quite a distance."

Clark whips his head up to face his mother's best friend, his mind scrabbling for the lie, but says nothing.

"Yet, here you stand – good Midwestern stock."

Clark blinks, and the words come, unbidden, "A-actually, my birth parents weren't from around here."

"I know, Clark. I've known… for some time now."

TBC

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I wouldn't mind a review -- or two :)