"Over my dead body!" Jonathan yelled, spouting yet another time-worn cliché with his usual braggadocio and flannel swagger.

"Well, it just might be that way if I don't go!" Clark's eyes blazed with his temper - something not to be taken lightly with Clark. He had drawn himself up to his full height to stare Jonathan down, and father and son now stood glaring at each other with the sofa serving as a demure boundary between them, from which Martha Kent launched herself into parental high-gear.

"Clark Kent, you do not talk to your father that way!" She planted her feet and her resolve firmly on the floor. "Now you apologize this minute! What a thing to say, after we almost lost him!" Martha's eyes welled with tears as she put a hand over her mouth and sank back o the forgiving sofa.

Clark's expression softened, but not before throwing one sharp glance at Jonathan to remind him that the matter was not settled. "I'm sorry, Mom, I didn't mean - " he sat gingerly on the couch next to Martha, just as she bit off his words.

"That was just callous, Clark, and uncalled for." She didn't take any guff lately, not from anyone. She'd had her fill of passivity and patience, playing the docile wife and mother while she was always screaming inside. Clark's return after three months' absence somewhere beyond the walls of the Kawatchee cave had triggered something in her - a strength she didn't know she had, something that would drive her to defend those she loved at all costs, no matter how much they drove her crazy. It also meant she didn't feel the need to keep quiet and let the boys duke it out anymore while she interjected with news from the constantly ringing phone.

Clark pulled back his hand, which had been reaching for his mother's shoulder, and let himself fall back against the couch. He winced and bit his lip guiltily when he heard something splinter under the upholstery. Martha turned slowly, eyed Clark's apologetic expression and the now-sagging sofa - an innocent bystander wounded by family drama.

Martha turned away again and pressed the heels of her hands against her forehead. "I think he should go, Jonathan."

Clark jumped up and stood awkwardly, trying not to bump into anything. "I'm sorry about the couch, Mom. And I'm sorry about what I said, it's just that Dad can't handle the farm alone, and if I can just get all these questions taken care of then I can spend more time helping around here. I don't just want to go for myself. Don't you guys want all this stuff over with?"

"Don't worry about the couch, Clark." Martha couldn't respond to the rest of Clark's plea, because the truth was she already knew much more than she wanted to. She had always been curious about her son's origins, but the old adage "curiosity killed the cat" was proving true - at least for her. Only it wasn't killing the cat, it was killing her spirit. She pleaded with herself every day to stop asking questions - to stop wanting answers, because every time she got what she thought she wanted, she felt like she lost Clark a little more. The day that Clark told her about his first memory - of Lara, his biological mother - a small piece of her hope crumbled away. She knew that as long as Clark remained, a bit of her would stay with him, even if only in some small, almost forgotten way. It was her own personal passage to immortality. But the question was, would Clark remain?

"First of all, Son," Jonathan began, famously obtuse. "It's not your responsibility to worry about how this farm gets by, it's mine."

What does that even mean? Clark rolled his eyes. "What are you talking about? Of course it's my responsibility. This farm has been in your family for generations - when did your dad ever say 'Son, the work on this farm isn't your responsibility, it's mine.' That's just crap, Dad! Why are you always saying stuff like that?"

Jonathan was speechless - a rarity - and stared agape at his son. Some deep part of him was proud of Clark's sense of duty and family loyalty, but a bigger part of him - a part that dwelled much nearer the surface of his so-called thick skin and therefore was always at-the-ready, burned with what he felt at the time was righteous indignation. "Sounds like none of us are mincing words tonight."

Clark resisted the urge to hit a wall in frustration. "Well, some of us aren't."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Jonathan spat, rolling up his flannel sleeves in true bar-room brawl fashion.

"That's the point, Dad, it meant something - it wasn't just talking for the sake of having something to say. Lately it's like you're never really talking to me, you're trying to sum things up in a neat little package of words that - well, first of all, is impossible to respond to, and secondly, has no meaning whatsoever. Half the time I stand there feeling stupid because I have no idea what the hell you just said, or why you said. You just… you say these things that I get the impression are supposed to make everything clear, or easy to understand, or whatever, but they just feel… empty. Like you're talking through me or something." Clark let the last few words tumble along with the tone if his voice and dropped his eyes to the floor.

So rarely did he really speak out against Jonathan, and when he did he always felt treacherous, as if on some level Jonathan was keeping score between himself and Jor-El as to which father had let Clark down more.

Jonathan was keeping score, and was beginning to feel as if he'd pulled into the lead and was seriously over par. He tried so hard - too hard, he knew - to guide Clark and advise him, and his intended pearls of wisdom often felt more like balls of wet dough. He would grin and chuckle and try to toss off the awkwardness left in the wake of his platitudes, but he couldn't curb the impulse.

"I don't have time for this," Jonathan huffed and grabbed his coat as he headed out the door, although it was too hot for even the flannel he was wearing.

"Of course you don't have time, this whole farm is your responsibility alone, right? You have a lot of work to do, and those cows aren't going to feed themselves. It's nobody's job to help you, especially mine." Clark almost regretted the words, but he too was tired of hiding under surfaces. The summer had changed a lot of things, and hollow pleasantries were the least of them.

Jonathan threw his coat on the floor and stomped his boots as he lumbered up to Clark. "You want to say that again, Son?"

Funny how terms of endearment can sound like acid when their use changes. Clark shrugged and looked away from his father's piercing stare. "I just… I wanted you to say something real."

Jonathan nodded and wordlessly turned his back to Clark. "Something real, huh?" He paused and nodded again, apparently agreeing with the direction his subconscious was taking. "How's this for real? I have no idea what the hell to say to you. Happy? You come at me with these insane issues and I'm supposed to know how to deal with them? Things nobody on this planet knows anything about? I'm a damn farmer - I know working for a living, earning and saving and paying your dues. I haven't had a lot practice with fatherhood on even a normal scale, so forgive me, Son, for not knowing exactly how to play this game. This is no 'boogeyman in my closet' or 'monster under my bed' parenting, Clark. This is just one simple guy trying to do something that frankly, scares the hell out of him and he has no clue how to do it."

Clark swallowed to try and clear the lump in his throat, and Martha dabbed at a tear clinging to her chin with a tissue.

"I didn't know you felt like that," Clark whispered.

"Well, no, you wouldn't, because the one thing I do know how to do is put on a brave face, so I did." Jonathan shrugged and picked up his coat again. "Now I have work to do. The cows really aren't going to feed themselves."

Clark absent-mindedly packed a small week-ender with the essentials as he mulled over what Jonathan had said. In the five-hour interval between now and then, neither had spoken to the other, which frustrated Clark because it was just more of the same non-communication. It wasn't quite as bad as the usual stream of well-intended nothings that were usually shoveled around the Kent farm as often as fertilizer, but it still left him uneasy.

"I don't know where you're going, but wherever that is - do you really think you're going to need Third Grade Penmanship, Second Edition?" Lois was leaning idly in the frame of his bedroom door, looking like she herself was ready to go somewhere.

Clark glanced sheepishly at the books in his hand, one of which was indeed his old handwriting workbook. "Yeah, I guess my mind was wandering." He gave Lois a once-over as subtly as an eighteen-year-old small-town boy could. Now it's wandering in a different direction… He eyed the suitcase at her feet. "Are you leaving?"

She nodded and tried to appear nonchalant as she peered into the bag Clark was packing. "Yeah, now that Chloe and I have had a chance to catch up, and - well, she's not dead anymore, so I guess I'm not investigating her murder…" Lois trailed off. Since when does a Kansas farm boy make me trip over my words? "Well, I have to get back to Metropolis, so… yeah." Oh, shut up, it's getting worse!

Clark smiled. "Maybe I'll see you there sometime." Smooth, Kent. You're slick as cracked cement.

Lois nodded again. "Yeah, of course, and I'm sure I'll be here to visit, since my cousin's… not dead… yeah." If I don't trip over another sentence and die of a head wound, that is. "So where are you going?"

"Metropolis, actually," Clark replied honestly before thinking better of it. He bit his lip and placed the penmanship book back on his bottom shelf. "This is what happens when you never throw anything away," he said, trying to change the subject and gesturing to the tattered book. What happens, exactly? You pack strangely? Get up and practice cursive in the middle of the night? Accidentally set it on fire? What the hell am I talking about?

Lois, either fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your perspective, missed the pack-rat comment altogether and zeroed in on Clark's destination. "Metropolis? What for? Are you leaving now?" Need a place to stay?

"Just visiting some old friends," Clark offered as vaguely as possible. "I'm leaving in about ten minutes. Are you leaving now too?" Please say no… or yes… no, you better say no.

"Ah, well, I am taking my leave of the Kent farm, but I'm having dinner with Chloe before I head back. Are you taking the bus? If you want to wait a little while you can go with me."

Clark grimaced. "Well, thanks, really, but I do have to go now. I'm already getting kind of a late start." Why do I even want to go with her? Well, okay, there's the obvious, but then there's Lana… but why? "So yeah, sorry, but I'll have to pass."

Lois nodded yet again with a wry smile, sensing some inner dialog that precipitated the slightly guilty expression on Clark's face. She guessed it wasn't quite as chaste as his actions usually were. "Well, look me up while you're there, if you have time." She tore a piece of paper from a conveniently placed notepad and scrawled her phone number on it before handing it to Clark. "You know, if you want to, and you're not busy."

If I want to? "Thanks," Clark managed, looking over Lois' head and stuffing the paper in his jeans pocket. Awkward silence ensued, with another nod from Lois. "Well, I should go - "

"Yeah!" Lois agreed, a little too brightly. "Yeah, me too." She picked up her suitcase and started out the door.

"Hey, let me get that," Clark offered and lunged for the suitcase, but Lois pulled it back.

"Very chivalrous, Clark, but I got it. I manage to get by in Metropolis with no hay-balin' muscle to carry my suitcases."

Clark held up his hands in submission. "Sorry - didn't mean to tread on your sense of feminism."

Lois raised her left eyebrow quizzically. "Well, zinger from the farmer's son. You're just full of surprises, aren't you Clark?"

Clark shifted uncomfortably and slung his own bag over his shoulder. "Not really," he shrugged.

Lois' quizzical expression narrowed into a shrewd visual assessment. "Now, you don't expect me to believe that, do you? Everybody has their secrets." She was halfway down the stairs, calling back over her shoulder, when she wheeled around to face Clark again. "So what's yours, Clark?"

Clark shrugged again and was struggling for an answer while he shifted the bag to his other shoulder.

Lois stepped closer, her face only inches away, her expression accusatory. "You use synthetic nutrients on the organic produce, don't you?"

Clark laughed, simultaneously relieved and amused. "No, of course not, it's all-natural." He slipped past her and let out the breath he'd been holding when his first foot hit the landing. "Have a nice dinner with Chloe," he called, and disappeared through the front door.

Lois took one more step before her heavy suitcase got the better of her and crashed to the bottom of the stairs, its latch broken and its contents splayed across the Kents' entryway. "Well, crap."

In truth, the way he was traveling Clark had more than enough time to get to Metropolis, but there was something he needed to do first. Jonathan was mending yet another fence post when Clark approached him.

"Dad?" Clark was tentative.

"You leaving now?" The absence of the usual "Son" that followed most of Jonathan's addresses to Clark carried its intended sting.

"Yes."

"Good."

"Dad, I -"

"I meant good, so you can get some answers. Sorry, I just learned I don't communicate very well.

Clark ran his hand through his hair and scratched his head. "Dad, that's not what I meant. I just… could you stop that for a minute and listen to me?"

Jonathan exhaled heavily and set his tools aside, peeling off his work gloves. He and Clark stood silently for a moment, until Jonathan raised his hands in an expectant gesture. "Whenever you're ready," he said, and crossed his arms over his chest.

Clark nodded and rooted his gaze to the patches of brown earth that showed through the grass. "I never meant to make you feel like I didn't - like I don't - appreciate what you do and the advice you give. I know this isn't easy, and that there's nobody you can turn to for help in raising a kid like me."

Jonathan remained stony and silent.

"It's just that, this is where I belong," Clark continued, "no matter what Jor-El says. I've decided to believe that, I've decided to be Clark Kent, and I wouldn't have done that if I hadn't been raised by somebody who taught me what the value of life is. I don't understand what Jor-El is trying to teach me and I'm not sure that I want to, but I do understand what you try to tell me - I just get frustrated because you hardly ever really say it. I know you want to say things so that they stick, and you think it means more if you can phrase it like a proverb or something, but all I really need is to hear it like you mean it. "

Jonathan shook his head. "I know that, and I suppose I always have, I just don't know how to do it I guess. I don't know why, it's just - it's easier to keep talking like I have all the answers than it is to admit that I really don't have any. Not for you."

Clark smiled wanly. "That's okay, Dad, really. I just need you to be real, because to be honest…" Clark trailed off, hesitant to continue.

"What?"

Clark shook his head. "No, it's… it's no big deal."

Now it was Jonathan's turn to get frustrated. "What, after all this talk about how important it is to be straightforward and say what we mean, you're not going to even say what this is really all about?"

Clark's features contorted in a blend of remorse and indignation. "It's because you're fading, Dad!" Jor-El, if nothing else, is pretty straight with me - he's never hiding behind what he thinks I want to hear. And you - well, you talk in circles so much lately that the real you feels lost, and I honestly can't hold on to my dad when he's creating all this distance. I know it's not on purpose, but Dad… Okay, the bottom line is, Jor-El is trying to pull me closer and you're pushing me away. That's the last thing I want, but - it's really hard to fight."

It wasn't often that Clark really looked defeated, and when he did it was wrenching to see. Jonathan was at a loss for words, an increasingly frequent condition. It was so easy to forget that, despite all the things he could do, he was fundamentally just a kid who was trying to figure himself out, on a purely human level. Jonathan had been so focused on his inadequacy in understanding Clark's extra-terrestrial beginnings, he often took for granted Clark's undeniable humanity.

"I'm sorry, Son," Jonathan whispered, embracing him and clapping him on the shoulder. "I really don't know what else to say right now, but I am sorry."

Clark hugged his father back. "That's enough."

Jonathan stepped back and regarded his son. "You're sure about this? These tests?"

Clark smiled. Honest feelings evidently lead to faster recovery as far as Jonathan Kent was concerned. "Yeah, well, I think Dr. Swann is right. If something really does happen to me, what can I do? You remember what happened with Helen Bryce. I can't really risk seeing a conventional doctor. I know you're not crazy about his whole team knowing my secret, but since they already know I may as well find out if they can help me."

Jonathan tugged his gloves back over his calloused hands and resumed his work on the wire fence. "They know because Swann told them, after he swore that he'd keep your secret."

"Yeah, I'm not thrilled about that either, but he only shared it with trusted members of his medical team who he thought could help me."

"He should have asked first."

"Yeah, I agree, but we can't change that now."

"I just don't like the idea that someone you trusted has had a team secretly studying you for months."

Clark paused for a moment before continuing. "I just need to do this, Dad. You can understand that, right?"

Jonathan looked up again. "Yes, I suppose I can, but I still don't have to like it."

Clark smiled. "See, honesty's not so bad."

Jonathan chuckled. "Yeah, we'll see if you still feel that way the next time I get a call about you skipping class."

Clark looked incredulous. "I thought you said you didn't mind because of - well, it's usually an emergency."

"For the sake of others, I don't mind, but as a father - eh, I lied."