Jon sat with his father on the Moon and sighed. There was a low-level atmosphere from the remnants of the old JLA Watchtower nearby.
The day had gone…poorly. Any chance of a secret identity and a semblance of normality had been shot to pieces—along with "Finn Connors'" jacket.
Thankfully, his father hadn't been angry at the incident. Granted, he'd called in quite a few favors for "Finn Connors" to exist.
They made small talk, much like Clark must have had with Pa Kent. Granted, the scenery was a bit more spectacular than a Kansas cornfield, though Clark might have disagreed.
Jon had seen so many horrible things in his 7 years of separation from the family. He thought that Earth 3 was a terrible place, a pit only held together by mutual self-interest instead of actual morality. Coming back, he realized that his own Earth wasn't quite so squeaky clean anymore, even by comparison.
"Why don't you do more?" Jon asked. He gestured to the blue gem of Earth. That gem's luster was fading by the day with pollution, civil unrest, and other examples of human shortsightedness.
Clark nodded. "You know, that's a fair question. It's something I think about every day," he admitted.
"You do?" Jon asked. His father was always so sure of himself, so confident.
"I do," Clark confirmed. "I may be Superman, but I'm still just one man. At heart, I'm still a kid from Kansas—by way of Krypton," he added. "Krypton birthed me, but Earth made me."
"So…why don't you do more for Earth?" Jon persisted. "You can't do anything for Krypton, but…" He shrugged helplessly.
"Ah," Clark sighed. He looked at Earth for a few moments. "Well, I could give you the easy answer, that Earth isn't my world. I could tell you that the duty of doing more is up to you because you were born on Earth."
Jon sensed an undercurrent of…something in his father's voice. "That…doesn't sound right."
"That's because it isn't the real answer," Clark confirmed. "That's the easy, superficial answer. That's the quick and dirty soundbite that `news' outlets that have top 10 lists use instead of real reporting."
Jon grimaced. He remembered when his mother caught him browsing sites where people argued about how "X would beat Y." Lois had methodically banned those sites from his phone and made him write on what real reporting was like.
"It isn't?"
Clark shook his head. "That kind of argument is like saying that a naturalized American citizen shouldn't vote to make a difference; that only their children who were born in the US should be the ones to determine the future. Does that sound right to you?"
"No, that's idiotic!" Jon declared. "I mean, the right to vote is for any US citizen, not just natural-born ones."
Clark nodded in approval. Then he pointed to the symbol on his chest. "Do you know what this means?"
"Yeah," Jon said. "It means `hope.'"
"It's the symbol for `hope' in Kryptonese," Clark corrected him. "But when you think about it, a symbol can mean anything you want it to."
Jon tilted his head. "Not sure I'm following you, Dad."
"If you showed this symbol to someone on Earth 200 years ago, they'd say that it looks like an `S'. It's an odd shape and it's distinctive, but they see no meaning behind it."
"Okay…" Jon sounded a little uneasy.
"People associate this symbol," he pointed again to his chest, "with good things because I help where I can. In another time and place, another version of me, it might stand for something totally different."
"So…if everyone knows that you're here to help, they wouldn't mind you doing more, right?" Jon persisted. "They know your reputation. People trust you."
Clark looked thoughtfully at Earth for a moment. Then he faced Jon.
"I could do more," he admitted. "I could destroy all the weapons, clean up the environment, unify the world governments, and make sure everyone gets eight hours of sleep. I could do all that and more." He paused. "I probably wouldn't have much time for you and your mother, what with keeping an eye on the world, though."
Jon blinked. "Wait, what was that about sleep?"
"I read somewhere that sleep deprivation causes problems with memory and increases the risk of certain cancers," Clark told him. "Forcing everyone to sleep eight hours a day would decrease those risks."
"`Forcing?'" Jon asked. "Dad, that sounds awfully like a dictatorship."
Clark arched his right eyebrow. "It does, doesn't it? But if it's for everyone's health and well-being—"
Jon held up his index finger. "Dad, we are NOT forcing everyone to sleep…" He trailed off as he caught a little glint in his father's eyes. "Oh. OH."
"Mm hm," Clark nodded.
"Wow," Jon said. "I'm an idiot."
"No, it was a fair question," Clark reassured him. "It's just that…it's a fine balance for everything I do. I help people, but I don't do everything for them. No matter how many times I may be tempted to think otherwise, I truly believe that humanity can overcome any obstacle. I'm just here for the things that they can't handle on their own."
"But you could—I mean, everybody trusts you," Jon insisted. "You could tell them what's best—okay, that sounds creepy, too."
"If people do something that's beneficial, I'd hope that they would do it because they know it's the right thing to do. If people did it just because I said so, that could be overstepping some lines, Jon-o," Clark pointed out.
Jon grunted thoughtfully. For a few moments, all was silent.
"Jon?"
"Yeah, Dad?"
"You do know that your Mom and I love you unconditionally, right? By that, I mean no strings attached. You can tell us anything."
"Like…?"
"Anything," Clark emphasized. "We signed up to be parents no matter what the challenge. If anything's on your mind, you can tell us—when you feel it's time, of course."
"I'm…still sorting some things out," Jon said. "When I've got a clearer picture, we'll talk. Promise."
Clark nodded. "OK." He stood up and brushed off moon dust. "We should go. Your Mom's starting to pace."
Jon stood up. He eyed the Kord jeep that he'd deposited nearby and smiled.
"Hey, Dad?"
"Yes, Jon?"
Jon sat in the jeep. "Can you give me a push? I mean, until just before we hit the atmosphere. It'll be like when I finally got off training wheels."
Clark smiled. "I think I can do that. I'll grab hold when you hit the exosphere." He paused. "Are you going to make motor noises?"
The first genuine smirk of the conversation appeared on Jon's face. For a moment, he looked carefree.
"Maybe," Jon admitted. "Not like anyone else can hear me."
Clark chuckled softly. Then, he hefted the jeep with Jon inside. After a quick calculation, he shoved the jeep in a clear path where it wouldn't hit any satellites.
Jon crowed in excitement as the jeep sailed much, much faster than it had been designed for. For a moment, he was a kid again, with his father watching carefully from behind.
The End
