Clark flew to the rendezvous location with trepidation. He was relieved to see Linda was there as promised, looking small and vulnerable, bruised and battered, but alive. He landed softly on the grass in front of the park bench on which she was sitting and shivering in the chilly evening air.

She startled when he appeared so suddenly in front of her. Instead of jumping up and rushing to him as he had been expecting and hoping she would, she cringed in fear. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes as she curled up in a ball, hiding her face in her hands and trembling uncontrollably.

What the fuck had Luthor and his goons done to her to make her afraid of him!

Clark knelt down on one knee and gently started to pry one of her hands away from her face. She flinched. Clark grimaced when he noticed fresh bruising to her fingers, consistent with them just having been crushed in a car door. Apparently, Luthor's thugs couldn't resist committing one last insult to her.

"No," Linda moaned in protest.

"It's OK, Linda. It's me." Protecting her injured fingers, he gently brought her hand to his face and placed her palm on his cheek.

Passersby stopped to watch the scene unfold. Everyone knew Luthor had just received his pardon. This must be Linda, the Kryptonian girl he had promised to release to Superman.

Clark didn't even notice the onlookers. He concentrated hard on increasing the strength and clarity of his crystalprint. Even though he knew Linda wouldn't be able to recall memories of his print, he hoped his signal might resonate with its likeness embedded somewhere in her neural network and trigger some sort of reflexive recognition on her part. This was not something he had ever tried before. It felt awkward and unwieldy, but he had the advantage that everything about him was supercharged, even this long-disregarded ability.

Linda didn't respond for what seemed like an eternity. Clark wondered if he should just give up on this approach, take her home, and try something else tomorrow.

When he was almost ready to give up, Clark thought he detected what felt akin to a very faint echo of his own print, as if it bounced off Linda back at him. He wondered if Linda, in her current Earthling-like state, would be able to detect it. He waited and hoped. She continued to tremble, but after about a minute, she moved her other hand that was still covering her eyes slightly to peek at him.

"It's me," Clark repeated.

After about another minute, Linda slowly uncurled a little bit and leaned toward him. She put her arms around him and hugged him, placing her cheek on his, breathing a jagged sigh of relief. Clark picked her up, enveloped her in a pocket of warmth, and flew with her off into the night.

Martha started up the stairs for the 14th time that morning. She made it almost halfway this time before turning back around and descending back to the main floor. Her fingers tapped absentmindedly on the bottom of the handrail as she looked around, debating what to do.

"She's got to be starving by now," Martha whispered to herself as she headed to kitchen. Maybe the aroma of fresh coffee and French toast would entice Linda to come downstairs. As far as the kind silver-haired lady could tell, Linda hadn't even visited the bathroom since Clark brought her home the night before.

Poor thing. After arriving at the Kent farmhouse, Linda had cried uncontrollably, inconsolably, non stop on Clark's shoulder for 2 straight hours before exhaustion finally, blessedly, overtook her and she fell asleep. Clark brought her upstairs. He laid her gently on his bed and quietly left the room. As he turned and carefully closed the door behind him, his gaze rose slowly until his eyes met with his mother's. The look on his face broke Martha's heart.

He was so loved and adored by so many. But there were a not insignificant few that hated and reviled him and wanted nothing more than to hurt him. They couldn't hurt him physically, directly. So they tried to hurt people he cared about.

He had put a target on Lois's back the night he granted her Superman's first interview – something he regretted every day since. If he had to do it all over again, he would have interviewed himself. He should have interviewed himself. He was a journalist, after all. But if his secret identity became known, not just Lois, but everyone he cared about from his childhood friends to his current coworkers would be in danger. He wouldn't be able to protect them all.

Not a day went by when he didn't wonder if he should give up on Clark Kent, kill him off and close the curtain on that part of his life. Maybe it would be the most responsible thing to do, but he worried what would become of his own well-being if he had no refuge from his Superman identity. Truth be told, he didn't even like the Superman persona he had created all that much. Superman was too stiff, too serious, and spoke with too deep a voice. And as hard as he tried to put people at ease, most felt nervous and self-conscious around Superman. Clark much preferred just being… Clark. That's who he really was… awkward, goofy, lighthearted. And around Clark, other people could be who they really were too.

Martha finished preparing breakfast as she mused. She finally accepted the fact Linda wasn't going to come downstairs on her own. She started up the stairs again and this time made it to the top and halfway down the hallway to Clark's room. She tapped on the door and spoke quietly.

"Linda?"

Silence.

"Linda? Good morning. Can I come in?"

Silence.

"Sweetheart? Are you alright?" That was a stupid question, Martha chided herself. She tapped again a little louder this time. "Can I come in?"

Silence.

Martha let out a sigh and quietly, slowly, opened the door just a crack. "Can I come in?"

"Yes," came Linda's soft, shaky reply.

Martha opened the door just enough so she could peek in. Linda was sitting up in the middle of the bed. Even though she was fully clothed, she held the sheet up in front of her as if to shield herself. She was visibly shaking and her face was streaked with both dried tears from last night as well as with fresh wet tears.

"Good morning," Martha began. I've made you some breakfast. I'm sure you must be hungry. Clark brought you some new clothes." She pushed the door open wider and held up a small pile of clothing and a pair of sneakers so Linda could see. "Apparently, he doesn't have the best taste in girls' clothing. Who knew? But there's more than one outfit here. Just pick out your favorite…."

Linda let out a little sob.

"What's is it sweetheart?"

Linda bit her lip and looked away.

Martha took a step into the room. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"Mmm," Linda whimpered. "I'm sorry. I… I made the bed wet." She was so embarrassed and horrified.

Martha let out a loud sigh. "Oh goodness, of course you did… after all you've been through…" She stepped fully into the room and placed the clothes on the dresser and the shoes on top of the clothes. "It's alright, Linda. I'm sure it's unpleasant, but there's nothing to be sorry about… or embarrassed about. And there's no harm done. I have a washing machine. Everything will be clean and fresh by tonight. I promise."

Linda knit her brow and bit her lip again. "Tonight?"

"Uh huh." Martha walked over to the window and pulled the shades open.

"But… I… I thought."

"What, dear?"

"I thought I was going back to school."

Martha didn't say anything for a few moments. How should she respond to that? "We'll talk about that later. Are you hungry?"

Linda nodded.

"Well, breakfast is ready, but you might enjoy it more after you get yourself washed up and into some clean clothes. It's up to you. The bathroom is just down the hall. There's fresh towels and a washcloth I put on the counter in there for you… OK?"

Linda didn't answer. She just stared blankly at the kindly lady.

Martha leaned over and smoothed down a wisp of Linda's hair. "Everything's going to be alright. We're going to take care of you. OK?"

"K," came Linda's barely audible whisper.

Martha left. Linda shifted her gaze to take in her surroundings. She had never been in a private bedroom before, but this is what she imagined a boy's room would look like. The most striking thing in the room that drew her attention first, was a full size poster on the wall of a football player. In full green and gold gear, football tucked into his elbow, he was charging toward the camera but a little off to the side. "Metropolis Marauders" was emblazoned at the top of the poster. She stared at the poster for a moment before turning her gaze to the dresser. Next to the pile of clothes was a picture frame with a photo of a young couple – teenagers. They were posing for the camera with big smiles and fancy clothes. The boy was in a classic tuxedo and the girl was wearing a beautiful mauve evening gown. They were standing under a sign that read "Out of This World Smallville High '88" and decorated with drawings of alien-looking creatures, UFO's, planets and stars. Someone had written with a purple marker on the photo "Our love is out of this world and forever! Love, Lana." The girl, whose name Linda assumed was 'Lana,' was absolutely stunning. The boy… Linda couldn't help but let out a little exclamation when she recognized the boy was Superman. Well, it was Superman probably before he was …. Superman. Superboy? Linda continued looking around a little bit longer. There were lots of knick knacks, books, miscellaneous items, and lots more photos on the dresser, the desk, the nightstand, and on the walls. Linda tried to take it all in. Superman was in most of the photos, at various ages, with lots of different people Linda had no idea who they were. There was one picture where he was just a toddler. At least Linda assumed it was him. A cute little boy with dark curly hair and a big smile was flanked by a man and a woman. They were also smiling from ear to ear. Linda recognized the woman as the same that had just left the room. Last night Superman had called her "Ma." Was she his mother? She didn't seem Kryptonian. Not that Linda knew how to recognize a Kryptonian.

Linda slid off the sticky wet sheets and stood on the floor, unsteady. She sifted through the clothes and picked out an outfit. In the hallway outside the bedroom there were more photos adorning the walls. Happy smiling faces stared back at her as she walked slowly toward the bathroom. Everything seemed so weird to her. She had only ever been in one other private home before, and it was nothing like this. Everything felt so …alien. On some level, she knew it wasn't. The home, the pictures, the sweet elderly lady… they all belonged here. She was the one that was out of place. She was the alien.

"Ma" had been so right. Linda felt so much better after her long hot bath. She had never taken a bath before. It felt so good to soak her sore body in the hot water. She could have stayed in there longer, but her hunger pains were growing stronger. The clothes were just her size. They fit her perfectly. But they, too, felt… alien. Linda hadn't had well-fitting clothes since she first arrived at Midvale Girls' School and received her one and only uniform. She had quickly outgrown it and Dr. Luthor could not be persuaded to buy her another one. The situation distressed Mr. Danvers to the point that he bought her a new uniform with his own money. That uniform mysteriously disappeared within a week, so he bought her another, only to have that one disappear as well. Of course everyone knew that Nasty was the culprit, but there was nothing to do about it. Mr. Danvers had already tried to move Linda into better living arrangements, but the school board intervened on behalf of Nasty's father. Dr. Luthor was the largest donor to the school, and he insisted on Linda and Nasty being roommates.

Clean and dressed in her new clothes, Linda supposed it was time to go downstairs. "Ma" seemed like a very nice woman, but Linda had always been nervous around strangers, and the events of the last few weeks had intensified her fears. But she was ravenous by now, and the aroma wafting up to her from downstairs she figured was the most delicious she had ever smelled.

"I'll be brave," Linda muttered to herself.

Slowly and cautiously, she descended the stairs, letting her gaze shift left and right, up and down, taking everything in. At the bottom of the stairs, she found herself in the room she remembered from the night before. There was the couch where she had cried in Superman's arms. There was an armchair a few feet from the couch where "Ma" had sat and had dabbed her eyes for two hours as she repeated over and over "poor thing… poor thing…."

Linda could see the sweet lady in the kitchen through the doorway opposite the stairs. Gathering up her courage, she walked around the couch toward the doorway when her leg brushed up against something. Linda jumped backward and let out a surprised yelp.

Superman was sprawled out on the couch with one leg dangling off the end. His other leg was off to the side of the couch with his foot on the floor. The arm on that same side hung down with his fingertips barely touching the carpet, and his other arm was flung across his eyes. He wasn't wearing his Superman clothes. It was a little weird to see him in a plain white undershirt and grey pajama pants. He somehow looked even bigger in such ordinary clothes, and he absolutely dwarfed the puny little couch.

Linda was sure he must be awake. After all, she had just bumped into his foot. But he lay motionless and quiet. She stood, also still and silent, for a few moments, wondering if she should say "hi" or something.

She felt completely at ease around him. Maybe he didn't seem a stranger because he was the world's famous and beloved superhero, or maybe there was something deeper.

Her thoughts drifted back to the night before when he had approached her. She was scared—scared that this was another cruel trick, another one of Lex Luthor's thugs pretending to be Superman, approaching her in the dark telling her they had come to rescue her, and then… Linda grimaced, willing her mind not to wander in that direction.

But then he had taken her hand and placed it on his cheek. The moment her fingers made contact, she had felt it—something akin to a hum or a vibration that pulsed through her, terrifying at first, but fascinating and inexplicably familiar. It wasn't just a sound or a feeling; it was something deeper, something she couldn't fully understand. For a long minute, she had felt that hum, unsure of what it meant, until it finally clicked into place, resonating correctly within her.

It was a sensation that was both strange and familiar, something she couldn't quite place but that felt right, like a forgotten melody coming back to her. The fear had slowly ebbed away, replaced by a deep, instinctual recognition. She didn't know how or why, but she had known then that this was really Superman, and that they were connected in some profound way that went beyond mere acquaintance.

After Linda had been standing there several moments wondering what to do, Superman moved his arm just enough to uncover one eye, smiled at her and mumbled "Good morning,"

Martha just then spotted Linda through the doorway and walked over to her. She took her gently by the arm and led her to the kitchen. "Oh, don't mind him," she muttered, motioning to Superman. "He hasn't slept at all these past few weeks. True he doesn't need much sleep, but he needs some. Come, breakfast is ready. I'm sure you must be starving."

Martha ushered Linda into the kitchen and motioned to the table. Linda slid into one of the chairs and marveled at the feast laid out before her. French toast, pancakes, waffles, eggs made three different ways, bacon, sausage, steak, a big crock of oatmeal flanked by over a dozen containers and packages with different nuts and dried fruits, several different kinds of fresh hot muffins and pastries, a large variety of fresh fruit, coffee, juice, milk…

"I didn't know what you'd like, so I prepared a little bit of everything."

"I'm not so picky, really" Linda admitted, feeling at ease just knowing Superman was nearby. "Everything looks good. But I don't eat this much."

"But he does," Martha motioned toward the doorway.

Linda turned around to see Superman walking into the kitchen, his tousled hair making him look quite boyish. He braced himself in the doorway and stretched for a big yawn.

"Good morning, Linda" he said quietly, grinning at her.

She stared back at him and quietly responded, "Good morning. I'm sorry I woke you up."

"Nah, I was already awake. Just feeling lazy." Really, he needed some quiet time to unwind after the tense last several weeks as Luthor had painfully drawn out the negotiations and arrangements, continually taunting him and frustrating the attorneys. But Linda didn't need to know about any of that. He walked over to Martha, bent down, and gently placed a kiss on her cheek. "Good morning, Ma. Breakfast smells wonderful."

"Good morning, my sweet boy" Martha replied, her face breaking out in a tender, loving smile. She gently cupped his chin in her hand and he grinned at her. Superman chuckled as Martha reached up and tried to smooth down his hair. He stood up to his full height, ran his hand once through his hair and gave his head a quick shake. Every hair fell perfectly into place.

He sat down and turned his attention to the food on the table and started filling his plate. "Ma makes the best French toast you have ever, or will ever … experience. And it is an experience. Believe me." He pushed the platter with the steaming slices toward Linda.

Linda put one on her plate and picked up her fork and shrugged. "I've never had French toast before," she admitted.

A troubled expression appeared on Superman's face. "Well, you're in for a real treat then." He pushed the syrup toward her.

He seemed upset that she had never had French toast, so Linda thought it best not to divulge she had never had syrup before either. She assumed it was meant for eating with the French toast, but she wasn't sure how much to pour or if she should pour it onto or next to it, so she opted to pour a little bit in both places.

"What did you eat for breakfast at school," Martha asked, instantly regretting the question.

"Usually cereal and milk. When am I going back to school?"

Superman froze with a forkful of French toast poised in mid air. He turned and looked intently at Linda, shaking his head slowly. "You're not going back there."

Linda almost choked as she swallowed what was in her mouth without chewing. She darted her eyes back and forth pleadingly between Superman and Martha. "But I want. What do you mean I can't go back? I wanna go back."

"You wouldn't be safe there. Luthor could kidnap you again."

"He said you had an agreement."

Superman resumed eating. "Yeah well, I don't trust Luthor. But anyway, there are others … Luthor's been talking to the press. Everyone knows about you."

"They know what about me?"

"That you're from Krypton." He searched her face to gauge her reaction to that information. She didn't seem surprised, just thoughtful.

"Mr. Luthor told me that."

Superman reflexively scrunched up his nose. Linda didn't know what to make of that. He quickly recovered and smiled at Linda.

"But did he tell you… I don't think he knows… so probably not… To me, you're not just anyone from Krypton. You're my cousin." He gestured back and forth between them with his finger. "We're cousins."

"Really?" Now Linda looked surprised and intrigued.

"Uh huh. My father and your father were brothers."

"You know my father?" Linda asked excitedly.

"Sort of."

"You know my parents?"

"I met them… once … but I was only a baby…"

"Where are they? Why am I here? What am I doing here? Why aren't they here with…?"

Superman held up his hand and shook his head.

"I don't know. I don't know. I don't know how you got here. I don't know where they are."

Linda shrunk back in her chair, disappointed.

"I'm sorry, I wish I had answers for you," he continued. "But we're going to try to figure everything out, OK? Together."

Linda wasn't placated, but she stopped asking questions. Superman and Martha resumed eating, but Linda ignored her food, and just sat there looking around nervously.

"Well, since you two are cousins, and Clark is my son, I guess that makes you my niece… sort of… right? In that case you can call me 'Aunt Martha.' I did always want to be an aunt… and …well… Martha's my name." Martha chuckled weakly at herself.

A confused expression came over Linda's face. Her lips tugged down into a frown.

"But you don't have to… if you don't want to… you can call me… whatever you're comfortable with."

"I thought Superman was going to bring me back to school."

"I understand you want to go back," he told her. "Midvale is familiar. It's probably the only place you've felt safe. And you probably miss your friends."

Linda nodded.

"But really, you were never safe there," Superman pointed out. "Were you?"

"No," Linda admitted.

"But you will be safe here, and you'll make new friends."

"I'm staying here?"

"Yes. I'm sorry if we haven't been clear about that. Ma will take care of you. Aunt Martha."

Linda glanced at Martha, who gave her a reassuring smile. She didn't smile back, but just stared at her, uncertain.

"The world is bigger than just Midvale and Luthor's… hideout," he assured her, and continued in as gentle and reassuring tone as he could, "Smallville's as nice place as any. In fact, it's nicer than most. I think so, anyway. You'll like it here. I know you will. And if you don't, we'll find someplace you do like. But you can't go back to Midvale. Will you give Smallville a chance?"

Linda still looked unhappy, but she nodded her head. She toyed a bit with her food. "Superman, can I just go back to visit my friends, and Mr. Danvers?"

He thought for a moment before answering her. "You never did get to say 'good-bye.' I could bring you there for a short visit, but you should know… you should realize how it's going to be. Your friends are very nice girls, but they're not going to know how to relate to you anymore. You're an alien from another planet. That's not something they're used to dealing with. Maybe over time some of them could adjust to it, but you can't spend that kind of time in Midvale. I'll bring you back there so you can say 'good-bye.' But this is your new home now. You'll make new friends here."

Linda still looked unhappy, but she nodded her head.

"His name is 'Clark,' by the way."

"Huh?"

Martha stood up, reached over the table and poked Clark in the chest. "This is Clark. Just Clark. We don't do any of that," she twirled a hand up in the air, "Superman … ish … stuff around here."

"Ma…" Clark chuckled. He stood up and offered his hand to Linda. "Come, I'll show you around."