no ordinary world 8

8


*




Strong, dexterous hands stretched from underneath the chassis of a red tractor parked inside the Kent barn.

　

The late evening settled into night as Clark tinkered with wrenches and ratchets. Silver, shining instruments were scattered within the bits of hay that laid around his boots. It had been a long day; Perry White was charged with felony arson following his immediate confession to a crime that Clark believed, he did not commit. Clark had gone to the sheriff's office to see White, but was turned away. Perry would not see any one, not family, not friends and surely not the Press.

　

Clark returned to the crime scene but found no other clues. The trail had gone cold with the demolition of the school and Clark's previous leads with the diesel fuel had also run dry. It seemed that the connections Clark investigated had magically pointed the police towards an unfounded disposition; to a man who Clark could not point the same evidence to, but at the same time, could not clear by deductive theory alone.

　

The hope for Perry White seemed to fade within the twilight.

　

Outside the barn, the yellow farm house glowed from the productions of Martha Kent's cooking. It was dark now, crickets heard from the fields. A spotlight was strung between a post and tractor, Clark's legs the only visible parts of a preoccupied man. He had become a quite capable mechanic, learning nearly everything from his father.

　

Dissembling metal components painted grease and dirt on his forearms and sleeves. He enjoyed taking things apart, the sockets, bolts and shiny pieces collecting like puzzle parts. Much like investigating a story, you had to split the whole in pieces to really understand how it all worked and fit together.

　

His hand felt around for the right wrench, fingers bumbling around straw and hay. He heard footsteps near the barn door, and immediately sighed with relief. "Ah, Mom! Just who I needed. Can you hand me the 3/4th? I'm almost done, I just need to take this housing out and clean it then I'll eat. I promise."

　

He waited patiently as he heard Martha's footsteps pause at the door, then come around slowly to where Clark worked. He stretched out his hand expectantly, and frowned when the wrong wrench was placed in it. "No, the 3/4th..." Clark dropped it and squeezed his head to the side, "The one right over there, by your feet."

　

That's when Clark noticed that Martha's feet were not Martha's feet. They were small, and in sandals. He jumped when he saw who's face peeked down below.

　

"Ow!" Clark's head banged against the metal chassis and then hit the floor again. He blinked his eyes, unbelieving she was real.

　

"Are you... okay?" she said with a friendly curiosity.

　

She was exactly as he saw her last. Seven years melted into her sunny smile.

　

Clark shimmied out from under the tractor and stood up, the bulky tractor the only thing between them. "Chloe?"

　

She was still holding a wrench in one hand, fumbling with it nervously. She held it out to him as if it were an offering, "You know how uncultured I am about manual labor and all of its trappings... Is this the one?"

　

"You're here," his voice did not hide his wonder. Slowly, Clark walked around the tractor, a walk that lasted a lifetime.

　

As he approached, she couldn't look away. The smudges of grease on his face and arms matched the color of his hair. If hard work and sweat were ever agreeable with anyone, it would have been Clark Kent. His tanned skin absorbed all of the matter of life, and preserved it into its best possible form.

　

And then they were in front of one another, Clark taking the wrench from her hands and dropping it to the floor. It clanked against the other tools, but neither of them heard it. In a single, silent move, Clark grabbed her into his arms and picked her off the ground, small feet dangling above his clunky brown boots.

　

"You're really here!" He laughed into her golden hair.

　

Chloe smiled against his shoulder, her eyes moist and then tightly closed in a vain effort. But he noticed right away, using a smudged thumb to wipe her cheek. "Ah, I'm sorry. I'm just as clumsy as ever."

　

 She laughed, and then grabbed the work rag from his trousers. She wiped her face.

　

A twinkle of wonder tugged at his lips. "It's good to see you." He watched as their smiles united in luminosity. He found them still so close to one another, and consciously took a step back, although, he felt strange doing so.

　

Clark took the rag and wiped his hands. "So, what brings you here all the way from Metropolis? How long are you going to stay? Longer than a few days I hope, I have so much to tell you I don't even know where to start! Have you seen Pete?"

　

Chloe smiled again, deciphering through which question she wanted to answer first. "No, I haven't seen Pete yet. I came here after you weren't at your house. Martha said you'd be in here... what?"

　

Clark tilted his head down, smiling. "Nothing. It's just... I was thinking about you earlier and now here you are." He looked up at her and surrendered another boyish grin. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you."

　

She then, very openly, looked at him with the sincerest of words, "I do have an idea."

　

For some reason unknown to him, her happy expression did not exactly meet his. There was a hint of sadness, a silent, attentive way about how she watched his every move. Her hazel eyes were predetermined to sparkle when she smiled as he spoke, but they gradually fell towards a deep reflection after a few words.

　

"Wow, it's been what.. six? seven years and I feel like you never left." Clark said, leaning against the tractor again. "You're just as pretty as I remembered. Maybe even more so."

　

This candid remark struck her off her guard, and for once, her brilliance shone through in rose color. He remembered that she wasn't subject to comments of her beauty, and was more often the type to discount them all. But she humored him anyway, "You've grown up too, Clark."

　

"Me?" he laughed, walking her outside towards the house, "Nah. I've just rounded out around the shoulders. All that heavy paper lifting at the office, y'know." They laughed together.

　

There wasn't a pause between them while they walked to the porch, then to the kitchen and then to the dining room table. Clark catching Chloe up on all that had changed in Smallville, and there really hadn't been much. There was just so much to share with her around, the air crisp and clear in her company, her laughter inciting a familiar comfort to his soul. He seemed to keep talking just to see her reaction to his stories, to his jokes. He felt as if those looks had been reserved for him and him alone, fragments of the time they had spent apart.

　

"You know," Clark caught himself at the thought, "it's strange that you came at the time that you did. A couple of days ago, the old highschool burnt down--"

　

"Clark?" The sound of his Martha's voice finally broke him away from their conversation, "is Lois going to be joining us for dinner?"

　

"Oh, I forgot to call her." Clark smiled half-way and then excused himself from the table. "I'll be right back."

　

Martha smiled gently at Clark, and then to Chloe.

　

Chloe, quiet at the table, nodded towards the older woman.

　

"So glad to have you back, dear." Martha said, setting out the tableware.

　

*

"Oh, just tell the truth!" Hamilton challenged, his voice booming in Luthor's private observation room, "This is just another plot orchestrated by you to cover up the mess you made!"

　

"Careful, Dr. Hamilton." Lex responded coolly, "Your weaknesses are showing."

　

Emil took a moment, recollected himself, his clipboard and his headset from the floor, and then turned to leave the room. "This is dangerous, Lex. You know it is."

　

"And for the record," Lex said before Emil left, "You work for me, Hamilton. Not for anyone else, and certainly not for your own personal agenda. Every order I give to you and to the project is to be followed to the letter. I am not lenient towards insubordination, and I am not humored by defiance. "

　

Lex listened as the door opened and closed, a sliver of light both spilling and retreating at Emil's exit. The intercom beeped in on his desk. "Yes?"

　

"Orders are completed, Mr. Luthor.."

　

　

He collapsed his hands and grinned, "Good."

　

　

*

"Lois isn't answering at the house." Clark returned to the dinner table, a slight frown appearing on his face before he smiled at Chloe again. "I guess she might have worked late at the office tonight."

　

"Does she ever work late?" Martha inquired, half interested.

　

'Not usually." Clark replied, equally half as interested, "But she's been acting weird around me lately. She said we needed some time apart."

　

Chloe looked at him, the deep, pensive look reappearing. "I suppose that's married life."

　

Clark looked over to her and then to his wedding ring, the object her eyes rested on. Clark rubbed his thumb across the gold band and then folded his hands away . "Yeah, I suppose so."

　

"So, Chloe." Martha perked up, passing a bowl of rolls, "What brings you back home? I know we haven't heard any word of you in a long while..."

　

"Well," she smiled partly and shrugged.

　

Clark watched her very closely, anticipating her response. "Are you staying long? You know you're welcome at our house anytime, and for however long. Lois would be happy to see you." The last part he added, to sound less dependent on her answer.

　

"I'm not sure how long I'm staying." Chloe stirred her food around her plate with a spoon very absently, "You see, I quit my job in Metropolis."

　

Clark dropped his dinner knife and apologized. "You what? Why?"

　

She looked at him in the eye and very calmly said, "It wasn't what I wanted, Clark. I was unhappy being away from Smallville."

　

The table was quiet for a moment before Clark slowly nodded, taking in her words. "Well, I'm happy to have you back. Excited, really."

　

Chloe nodded and returned his smile, "From all your letters, you and Lois sound very happy here."

　

　

Martha looked across the table and then to Clark.

　

　

He paused before sipping his glass of water and then thoughtfully noted, "Lois seems to like it better here than the city."

　

"What do you like?"

　

Clark turned to her, weighing not only the question, but the manner in which she has asked it. She looked at him, very serenely, and open. It was difficult to explain how naked he felt in front of her, with just her frank, caring nature that stripped him of all his formalities.

　

He was about to answer before the eerie, resonating of sirens infiltrated the house.

　

"Clark?" Martha turned towards him, an expression of surprise.

　

He made his way to the window, peered out and saw the slight hint of amber glow. "I don't know what it is, but I gotta go."

　

Before either could get a word in, Chloe and Martha watched Clark bolt out the door and into the tiny passenger car, tail lights blurring down the dirt road and towards the echoes of sirens and screams.

　

　

*

"FIRE! ITS ON FIRE!" The screaming paperboy rushed towards Clark when he sprung out of car, ripping the door back and almost off its hinges. He could barely see past all the bodies and fire trucks as he pushed through the growing crowd. He felt the heat before he could actually see the structure that was burning, the trees camouflaging his greatest fear.

　

　

There, in the hot orange flow, was the The Daily Star, fully involved.

　

　

"Lois!" he barrelled through towards the front of the crowd and grabbed the first firefighter he saw. "Tell me, is everyone out?"

　

"No clue." the firefighter responded with a truly blank look, "But who would be inside there at this time of night?"

　

Clark looked back at him and then quickly took action, "Who all has done primary searches?"

　

The firefighter looked around, unable to give an answer without looking for help.

　

Clark removed him from his way and took a respirator and axe from the truck, and threw on the closest available fire suit. He marched to the entrance where smoke poured out like a dragon's mouth, several firefighters standing well enough away.

　

"Kent! It's done, man! Let it burn!"

　



　

.

The first obstacle had been the crushed doorways. The heat from the second floor caused debris to spill down to the first, the draft upwards feeding up to form a vicious food chain. Clark climbed the stairs in darkness, smoke so thick he could barely see his feet. He crawled the remaining steps to the landing and swung the axe through the glass paneling to break through.

　

It was there he found Lois, blind fold and gagged, tied to a chair.

　

He couldn't ask why, or think of how it had happened, all he could even think to do was pick her up and get her out.

　

Embers and debris fell around them as he worked to free her from the chair. Her head bobbed from side to side, a sign that she was no longer conscious, and possibly not breathing. He unstrapped his respirator and placed it over her face, picked her up over his shoulder and grabbed the ax.

　

The doorway collapsed behind them, the room erupting in red, explosive flames. Clark looked to Lois's face, black with ash and then to the windows.

　

.

　

Glass showered down in splinters and smoke. The shape of a man carrying a woman entering the window frame and then shouting down, "I need a ladder! I need a ladder!"

　

　

Several hands leaped to the ladder mounted to one of the fire engines and delivered it to Pete who climbed up and grabbed Lois' wilted body and carried her down.

　

Clark followed after them, but not without taking one last look at the burning newspaper office, and then diving out.

　

*

　

"Is she... injured?" Lex said in a detached manner. He was fanning through several sheets of paper on his desk, signing them in crisp black ink.

　

"Thankfully, no." Another, generic project assistant shook his head, looking very worrisome as he did. "The medical officers that responded with the cast said she would recover. Just minor smoke inhalation."

　

"Good. All is well then. See to it that the rest of this morning goes to plan."

　

The assistant hesitated when asking, "Mr. Luthor sir... This has shaken everyone within the project. They believe you've crossed the line, endangering the crew in this staged drama."

　

"Where is Dr. Hamilton?"

　

"Dr. Hamilton? Why, he... well, frankly, no one has seen him since last night. He left the premises soon after he left your office."

　

Lex closed his eyes, and smiled. "Fine." He stood from his desk and crossed the many monitors that collectively made a wall. "Congratulations, you've just been promoted to lead research for the remainder of this project. You'll be taking on all of Hamilton's old duties, including answering to me 24/7. That includes answering to my every order without question or hesitation. Is that clear?"

　

The assistant quickly nodded, and jotted down his notes.

　

Lex stood in front of the wall, luminous pixels of the newspaper inferno back lighting his tailored silhouette. "It's almost time for the main event."

go by 17/2

**

It was midday, Metropolis.

Clark sat on the entrance  steps of the Daily Planet while he observed the other occupants of the sidewalk. During Clark's daily residence outside, Lois observed him very closely.   She passed him every morning on her way to work, on her way out of work and in between. She noted how he appeared to be listless and angry all at once. He never moved. Never said a word. It was as if he were waiting for her. Not Lois of-course, but for Chloe. As if  her face would be one of the many crossing 5th and Concord Lane.

"Good morning." Lois paused infront of Clark as she ascended the stairs that morning.

He ignored her, eyes more angry than anything else. It wasn't that he couldn't hear her, he did. He heard everything, but it was never the same as before. Without his abilities, the world sounded empty in comparison. The only sounds reaching him were the ones limited by immediate proximity.  It was the first time that Clark had felt any limitation.

He was human now.

Clark listened as Lois' high heels continued up the concrete steps. She had been  busy, Clark noted, covering the recent updates from Queen Laboratories. Those scientists at Queen Lab, already accredited for the cure of the meteor infected, had discovered yet another break through for meteor vaccines,a preventative measure for contracting infection. There hadn't been a new infection in four years.The first to be cured, Clark would later  read that day, had been Alicia Baker.

To his left was the Metropolis Police Department Headquarters. Polished and proud like every other agency in the city, the Police had been quiet,  for once. The city, rested and calm. Police officers cornered the major intersections and traffic ways, as if guarding the recently acquired harmony. There were squad cars lined about and Clark caught eyes with one of the patrolman outside of them. The patrolman, young and proud, started towards him, "Hey! No loitering around here, buddy."

Clark shifted his eyes away, the gleam of the Lex Corp building to his right.

"Hey!" The irritated cop said again, "Did you hear me?"

After spending years unnoticed by blue uniforms, it was strange now that Clark's presence was so obvious. He waited until the cop stood above him, his black baton poking his shoulder.

"Y'know, I've been watching you. Some kind of bum, aren't you? Sit here all day..."

Clark tried to ignore him, staring past his blue uniform and into the crowd.

"This city doesn't have room for your type. Why don't you go and get a job, buddy--"

The young cop backed up once Clark sprouted upwards, towering over him like a giant sequoia.  This was where Clark felt strange, his feet not collaborating with his mind. In the past, he would have turned and sped away. A blur in the distance. Avoided the guy altogether. Instead, the cop's eyes opened wide, the fear in them so strong that it shook Clark awake. This man was afraid of him.

The cop called for backup on his shoulder radio. Several more officers jogged across the street.

"Let me see your ID."

"I don't have one."

A second patrolmen yelled behind him, "What's your name?"

Clark's lips twitched, the effort to conceal his teeth tearing at his patience. Didn't they have real emergencies?  Didn't they know who he once was? A legend, a blur, the midnight hero of Metropolis?

"His name is Clark Kent." Lois interrupted. She  walked in between the group, all legs leading into a snug dress suit and bouncing brown hair. She smiled infectiously. "And he is absolutely harmless."

The patrolment looked at one another and then admiringly at Lois. "This guy a friend of yours Ms. Lane?"

"Why yes." Lois smiled at Clark, "He's an old friend of the family."

The patrolmen nodded apologetically, a few stepping forward to ask for Lois' autograph. Clark watched as she pulled a stylish ink pen from out of thin air, as if this motion was rehearsed often.

"Gee.." One of the starstruck patrolmen grinned, "You're gorgeous in person, Ms. Lane."

Clark left at that, ignoring all the other drabble that followed. He pushed his way through the crowd gathering at the steps,  made his way across the street. A taxi screeched its tires and honked as he walked through oncoming traffic. Clark barely noticed, only stopping to look if the yellow haired woman next to him might be her.

But back across the street, near Metropolis PD, Chief Adams, newly elected Chief of Police turned towards the commotion.

"What is it, Chief?" A lieutenant turned with her.

Nancy Adams, the former Sheriff of Lowell County, squinted, lines deepening around her eyes. "I must be getting old." She turned towards the lieutenant and smiled, "Could've sworn I saw a ghost."

*

Clark returned home, to the farm.

The yellow house and the red barn. There was only one truck now, Martha selling the other at auction years ago. Clark stood at the loft window, peering outward to the dirt drive. He heard nothing but the creak of the stairs behind him.

"I'm glad you're home," said Martha, arms wrapped in a soft sweater. Her kind eyes moistened when Clark turned to her. His expression was similar to a young man suffering from amnesia, or from a long lost journey at sea. His face was still darkened by the strange sun burn, his eyes weary from exhaustion. Physical or purely psychological, Clark's mind had wandered and investigated every corner he turned those last weeks, desperately searching for a scrap of familiarity. Now, he felt the phantom pains of his travel.

 "I don't feel home."

She moved towards him, "You were gone a very long time." There was a scrape across his chin made earlier that evening. He had shaven his beard.  This, Martha noted, was the first real step he had taken to returning home.

"Was I?" Clark wrinkled his brow, eyes angry. "I can't even feel time anymore. Everything .. changed."

Martha moved back, concerned, "Clark, everything that had to do with your abilities is gone. Your powers.. the caves.. Even the meteor infected were cured, not too long after." Martha looked at him, pleading for him to understand, "I know you wanted to understand your heritage, your origins... You must be devastated to know now, that even less of its existence exists now."

"My books." Clark motioned to his desk and drawers. "Dr. Swann's journals that were given to me. Where are they?"

"Confiscated." Martha said apologetically, " The days after you disappeared. The police came here and stormed through all of your belongings. It took me by surprised, I--" Martha bent her head down, the guilt to heavy for her, "I'm sorry, Clark. I should have fought harder, I was just so worried you were hurt--"

"It's fine." Clark dismissed it. "They mean nothing now."

 She looked at him differently, her eyes veering from his face ever so often to study the remainder of scars found on his arms and neck. Those were the ones he didn't cover up.

"The place I went to..." Clark spoke to his mother, but remained facing the sunset. "There was nothing there. No warmth, no purpose. Just a void. Now that I'm home, I feel much of the same. Even without Kryptonian threat, the world will continue to find its own dangers. But without my abilities, I am just a man. "

"You are more than that." Martha touched his hand very lightly. "You are my son."

*

That night, like every night since he'd returned, Clark tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The darkness of his bedroom shifted liked black sand, swallowing him back to that hellish place. The  red eyes of J'onn Jonzz hovered over his conscious, taunting his plea for rest.  But there was no rest. The constant worry that he had overlooked the returned Phantoms, or the return of Brainiac kept Clark awake, or yet, concentrated his mind like a acidic fear that ate away all of his inner peace.


He had searched everywhere, revisited every place the Kryptonians had ever followed, but there was no trace. The caves, as Martha described, had been bulldozed over by order of the last will and testament of the long deceased Alexander Luthor.  Clark considered looking north, to the arctic where Brainiac had once led him, but without the cave portal, and without his powers, the search was futile.  Ghostly echoes of Kryptonian language cursed in his ears, the directives of Jor-El no longer heard. Every essence of his Kryptonian self had vanished, leaving a hollow shell that searched for its replenishment.

Clark would lay on his back, looking out the small window of his room to where the stars appeared. The small flecks of light blinked as he concentrated. So far away was everything he had hoped for, dreamed for. It had been ages since he could dream. But Clark searched within himself every night, hoping that sleep would drift inside, and that he could awaken from this nightmare.

The long quiet of the Kansas nights spoke loudly of her absence.