FIC: "Reunion", Part 15 of ?? (PG-13)
Previous Parts
Part Fifteen
Clark counted to ten before opening his eyes. His heat vision calmed down and with it his anger. It wouldn’t do to set fire to his room because he was pissed at Lois.
And his birth parents.
And his adoptive parents.
And apparently the whole world.
Possibly two worlds.
And the entire universe.
He sighed. Universe doesn’t take it any easier on you just because you’re a teenage alien orphan, does it, Kent? he asked himself mockingly.
Well, not an orphan after all.
Lois was right on that point, at the very least. Anyone else in his position would be thrilled to see his birth parents suddenly alive after all this time. He knew how much his dad missed Grandma and Grandpa Kent - and then there was Lex and his mom, and Lana and her parents…
Well, I guess that’s why the universe sent both Chloe and Lois after me: one to knock me off my high horse and stop pitying myself, and the other to tell me to give them a chance and the benefit of the doubt.
Things are kind of a mess as it is, but just imagine how bad it would have been if they hadn’t kicked some sense into me? He shuddered at the thought. He had been so wrong about Jor-El. He had hit him - and Jor-El had forgiven him.
Jor-El had forgiven him.
He listened, a little guiltily, to Lois’s conversation with Lara. Stubborn? He supposed that was true. At least it seemed like he came by it naturally, like his height. Stubbornness as a super-power would have been pretty lame.
He admired Lois’s bed corners for a moment, silent admitting that they were kind of awesome in a neat-freak sort of way, and then, slowly, trudged back upstairs to the attic for the sleeping bags. He found them in due time, right where he expected them to be, and carefully, one in each hand, he carried them down the stairs. The last time he had rushed down these narrow stairs, he’d tripped and broken several steps, having lost control of his strength when he panicked in the fall. He had been thirteen. A repeat performance would not improve the situation.
He set one of the sleeping bags on the cot for Zor-El. He had more or less ignored Zor-El the entire time, though he had heard what Jor-El had told Chloe and Lois. It had never occurred to him that he might not be completely healthy - exposure to Kryptonite aside. The idea both intrigued and frightened him - as did the realization that as Jor-El’s brother, Zor-El was his uncle. He’d said it to Chloe, of course, in the barn, but it hadn’t quite sunk in. He had an uncle. He had a mother, and he had a father, and he had his mom and his dad. And he had an uncle - and who knew who else might have survived from Krypton? Lois was right: he was lucky.
The good - well, improved - mood followed him downstairs. He quickly surveyed the situation: Lois was in the kitchen - more tea, probably. Zor-El still sat on the couch, but he was the only one watching the TV, and not very closely. He was almost asleep on the couch. Jor-El and Lara were standing in front of the window, but they weren’t looking out.
They were kissing.
Maybe they’re not so different from Mom and Dad as I thought. They even manage to embarrass me at the first opportunity they get.
He cleared his throat - a completely learned behavior; he was never sick, unless it involved Kryptonite - and hoped that they knew what that meant on Earth. It seemed that they did because a moment later they parted and looked at him, smiling. He decided to interpreted that as being happy to see him. Anything else would fall under the standard parental TMI category.
“Clark,” Jor-El said slowly, carefully.
He’d heard that conversation with Chloe and his dad, too. “You, um, you can call me Kal, if that’s easier,” he said softly, a little hesitantly. He didn’t like thinking of himself as Kal, but if it made things easier, he was willing to try. It was the least he could do after his behavior these last few hours. And if he was honest about it, when Jor-El and Lara thought of Kal-El, it certainly wasn’t the asshole tearing it up at nightclubs and robbing banks in Metropolis, or the robotic crusader bent on conquering Earth one sacred crystal at a time. Until now, they’d only known the baby they’d sent to Earth all those years ago. His issues with his birth name were mostly of his own making - or had to do with this guy Zod, if he was understanding the situation correctly.
“You are sure?” Jor-El asked, equally hesitant. Clark remembered what he had said: ‘He lives on Earth, he has a name from Earth. No sorry for that, Jonathan Kent.’
You sure can be an idiot, Clark Kent, he told himself. Out loud he said, “Yeah, I’m sure.”
In the next moment, he was held tight in a bear hug to rival Jonathan Kent’s hugs. “Tal kaya, Kal-El,” Jor-El said, but though Clark didn’t understand the words themselves, he knew the tone: thank you. “Tal kaya, ran-moyo.”
Ran-moyo he recognized from the caves, from the voice that lived there, but never had he heard them spoken so kindly, so…reverently?
They meant ‘my son’.
Jor-El released him and he was only a little surprised to see tears in his birth father’s eyes. “We began very wrong,” Jor-El said firmly. “May we begin again?”
Clark nodded.
Jor-El smiled. He straightened his back and wiped an errant tear from his eye. “Then we begin again.” He paused, almost ceremoniously, and then spoke, resting his hands on Clark’s shoulders paternally. “Ran-moyo, Kal-El, my son. You do not remember me. I am Jor-El. I am your father. This is Lara Lor-Van Jor-El. She is your mother. Your name is Kal-El; you are our only child. Your name means ‘wished-for’, and we wished for you for a long time. It pained us to send you away, but we loved you so greatly that it was what we had to do, though we thought we would die ourselves. We have missed you all these years. We stand here now and have no expectations. We expect nothing from you. We love you still. We hope you will learn to love us as you learned to love the parents which raised you here on Earth. We will love you always, regardless.” With that final word, Jor-El raised one hand and brushed Clark’s hair off his forehead and drew his hand down his cheek, as he had done an hour before.
The speech was obviously prepared, well-rehearsed, but the emotion in Jor-El’s voice, and the tears in Lara’s eyes, had been real. Clark wanted to do what every teenage boy wanted to do with such a surfeit of emotion: he wanted to run away from it. It took every bit of him not to, but in the end he stayed. Not even the sound of an unfamiliar car out on the nearest road, speeding away, drew his attention long enough to justify leaving.
He thought it quite grown-up of him.
“I don’t remember you,” he told Jor-El truthfully.
His birth father patted him on the shoulder. “I know. You were very small.”
“But I remember Lara,” he continued, and his birth mother stared at him curiously but without understanding at the sound of her name. “I don’t remember much, but I do have one memory. And Mom says that my first word was ‘lara’. We only realized that it was my - my mother’s name last year.”
He waited, listening to Jor-El translating for Lara. He didn’t understand the words - though he did recognize that Jor-El had substituted ‘Martha-Kent’ for ‘Mom’ - but the sound of it was familiar - the rhythm of it. He could believe that this was the language he had heard before he came to Earth: it was too strangely familiar not to be.
But then his thoughts were interrupted by another embrace - this time from Lara. And from the feel of it, she didn’t want to ever let go.
He indulged her, even as he heard the familiar sound of Chloe’s car approaching, even as it arrived and he heard Chloe and his mom talking as they walked in the house, even as Lois greeted them and offered them more tea.
Even as he heard Chloe chuckle and say to his mom, “Well, if the war broke out, they’re definitely in peace talks now.”
His mom laughed at Chloe’s comment and he bristled a little at the idea that they had an inside joke he didn’t know about.
Not that he’d admit it bothered him.
Finally, Lara released him and, brushing his hair aside (What was up with that?), she kissed his forehead. Not knowing how to respond, he stepped away and walked toward the kitchen. His mom stopped him midway, whispering in his ear: “Whatever you did,” she said, “I’m proud of you,” and then ruffled his hair.
What is it with my parents and my hair today? he asked himself. But all he said was “Thanks” and continued into the kitchen, a smile on his face.
He was kind of proud of himself, too.
TBC
Part Fifteen
Clark counted to ten before opening his eyes. His heat vision calmed down and with it his anger. It wouldn’t do to set fire to his room because he was pissed at Lois.
And his birth parents.
And his adoptive parents.
And apparently the whole world.
Possibly two worlds.
And the entire universe.
He sighed. Universe doesn’t take it any easier on you just because you’re a teenage alien orphan, does it, Kent? he asked himself mockingly.
Well, not an orphan after all.
Lois was right on that point, at the very least. Anyone else in his position would be thrilled to see his birth parents suddenly alive after all this time. He knew how much his dad missed Grandma and Grandpa Kent - and then there was Lex and his mom, and Lana and her parents…
Well, I guess that’s why the universe sent both Chloe and Lois after me: one to knock me off my high horse and stop pitying myself, and the other to tell me to give them a chance and the benefit of the doubt.
Things are kind of a mess as it is, but just imagine how bad it would have been if they hadn’t kicked some sense into me? He shuddered at the thought. He had been so wrong about Jor-El. He had hit him - and Jor-El had forgiven him.
Jor-El had forgiven him.
He listened, a little guiltily, to Lois’s conversation with Lara. Stubborn? He supposed that was true. At least it seemed like he came by it naturally, like his height. Stubbornness as a super-power would have been pretty lame.
He admired Lois’s bed corners for a moment, silent admitting that they were kind of awesome in a neat-freak sort of way, and then, slowly, trudged back upstairs to the attic for the sleeping bags. He found them in due time, right where he expected them to be, and carefully, one in each hand, he carried them down the stairs. The last time he had rushed down these narrow stairs, he’d tripped and broken several steps, having lost control of his strength when he panicked in the fall. He had been thirteen. A repeat performance would not improve the situation.
He set one of the sleeping bags on the cot for Zor-El. He had more or less ignored Zor-El the entire time, though he had heard what Jor-El had told Chloe and Lois. It had never occurred to him that he might not be completely healthy - exposure to Kryptonite aside. The idea both intrigued and frightened him - as did the realization that as Jor-El’s brother, Zor-El was his uncle. He’d said it to Chloe, of course, in the barn, but it hadn’t quite sunk in. He had an uncle. He had a mother, and he had a father, and he had his mom and his dad. And he had an uncle - and who knew who else might have survived from Krypton? Lois was right: he was lucky.
The good - well, improved - mood followed him downstairs. He quickly surveyed the situation: Lois was in the kitchen - more tea, probably. Zor-El still sat on the couch, but he was the only one watching the TV, and not very closely. He was almost asleep on the couch. Jor-El and Lara were standing in front of the window, but they weren’t looking out.
They were kissing.
Maybe they’re not so different from Mom and Dad as I thought. They even manage to embarrass me at the first opportunity they get.
He cleared his throat - a completely learned behavior; he was never sick, unless it involved Kryptonite - and hoped that they knew what that meant on Earth. It seemed that they did because a moment later they parted and looked at him, smiling. He decided to interpreted that as being happy to see him. Anything else would fall under the standard parental TMI category.
“Clark,” Jor-El said slowly, carefully.
He’d heard that conversation with Chloe and his dad, too. “You, um, you can call me Kal, if that’s easier,” he said softly, a little hesitantly. He didn’t like thinking of himself as Kal, but if it made things easier, he was willing to try. It was the least he could do after his behavior these last few hours. And if he was honest about it, when Jor-El and Lara thought of Kal-El, it certainly wasn’t the asshole tearing it up at nightclubs and robbing banks in Metropolis, or the robotic crusader bent on conquering Earth one sacred crystal at a time. Until now, they’d only known the baby they’d sent to Earth all those years ago. His issues with his birth name were mostly of his own making - or had to do with this guy Zod, if he was understanding the situation correctly.
“You are sure?” Jor-El asked, equally hesitant. Clark remembered what he had said: ‘He lives on Earth, he has a name from Earth. No sorry for that, Jonathan Kent.’
You sure can be an idiot, Clark Kent, he told himself. Out loud he said, “Yeah, I’m sure.”
In the next moment, he was held tight in a bear hug to rival Jonathan Kent’s hugs. “Tal kaya, Kal-El,” Jor-El said, but though Clark didn’t understand the words themselves, he knew the tone: thank you. “Tal kaya, ran-moyo.”
Ran-moyo he recognized from the caves, from the voice that lived there, but never had he heard them spoken so kindly, so…reverently?
They meant ‘my son’.
Jor-El released him and he was only a little surprised to see tears in his birth father’s eyes. “We began very wrong,” Jor-El said firmly. “May we begin again?”
Clark nodded.
Jor-El smiled. He straightened his back and wiped an errant tear from his eye. “Then we begin again.” He paused, almost ceremoniously, and then spoke, resting his hands on Clark’s shoulders paternally. “Ran-moyo, Kal-El, my son. You do not remember me. I am Jor-El. I am your father. This is Lara Lor-Van Jor-El. She is your mother. Your name is Kal-El; you are our only child. Your name means ‘wished-for’, and we wished for you for a long time. It pained us to send you away, but we loved you so greatly that it was what we had to do, though we thought we would die ourselves. We have missed you all these years. We stand here now and have no expectations. We expect nothing from you. We love you still. We hope you will learn to love us as you learned to love the parents which raised you here on Earth. We will love you always, regardless.” With that final word, Jor-El raised one hand and brushed Clark’s hair off his forehead and drew his hand down his cheek, as he had done an hour before.
The speech was obviously prepared, well-rehearsed, but the emotion in Jor-El’s voice, and the tears in Lara’s eyes, had been real. Clark wanted to do what every teenage boy wanted to do with such a surfeit of emotion: he wanted to run away from it. It took every bit of him not to, but in the end he stayed. Not even the sound of an unfamiliar car out on the nearest road, speeding away, drew his attention long enough to justify leaving.
He thought it quite grown-up of him.
“I don’t remember you,” he told Jor-El truthfully.
His birth father patted him on the shoulder. “I know. You were very small.”
“But I remember Lara,” he continued, and his birth mother stared at him curiously but without understanding at the sound of her name. “I don’t remember much, but I do have one memory. And Mom says that my first word was ‘lara’. We only realized that it was my - my mother’s name last year.”
He waited, listening to Jor-El translating for Lara. He didn’t understand the words - though he did recognize that Jor-El had substituted ‘Martha-Kent’ for ‘Mom’ - but the sound of it was familiar - the rhythm of it. He could believe that this was the language he had heard before he came to Earth: it was too strangely familiar not to be.
But then his thoughts were interrupted by another embrace - this time from Lara. And from the feel of it, she didn’t want to ever let go.
He indulged her, even as he heard the familiar sound of Chloe’s car approaching, even as it arrived and he heard Chloe and his mom talking as they walked in the house, even as Lois greeted them and offered them more tea.
Even as he heard Chloe chuckle and say to his mom, “Well, if the war broke out, they’re definitely in peace talks now.”
His mom laughed at Chloe’s comment and he bristled a little at the idea that they had an inside joke he didn’t know about.
Not that he’d admit it bothered him.
Finally, Lara released him and, brushing his hair aside (What was up with that?), she kissed his forehead. Not knowing how to respond, he stepped away and walked toward the kitchen. His mom stopped him midway, whispering in his ear: “Whatever you did,” she said, “I’m proud of you,” and then ruffled his hair.
What is it with my parents and my hair today? he asked himself. But all he said was “Thanks” and continued into the kitchen, a smile on his face.
He was kind of proud of himself, too.
TBC