Kidnapped Chapter 1, a smallville fanfic

Day 1 – Sometime around 6:00 PM

Lana Lang smelled wonderful. Clark shut his eyes and breathed her in, the sweet scent of jasmine that was her favorite – and his – and silently thanked Mrs. Harpshore for pairing them for their 3rd quarter Biology report. Lana was busy scribbling notes in her binder when she noticed Clark had stopped.

"Clark? You okay?"

Oops. Clark blinked. Busted.

"Yeah. Sorry, it's just…uh…a little difficult to concentrate."

The words came out before he realized what he had said. Face burning, he smiled sheepishly at her. To his relief, Lana smiled back.

He could lose himself completely in that smile – the one that wrinkled her perfect little nose and made her eyes shine even brighter. "We can stop if you want," Lana said with a sly grin. "We're almost done. I'm sure we can finish this tomorrow."

"No, no," he quipped. "We've just about finished section four and I am not asking Mrs. Harpshore for another extension."

"Amen to that."

Clark tipped his chair back, more relaxed than he had been in…well…a long time. Lana just had that effect on him. "What I am going to do, though, is get a glass of lemonade before Biology fries my brain. You want some?"

Lana shot him a mock glare. "You know you could fall doing that."

"Okay mom." He ignored her and stood. "Ice or no ice?"

He was rewarded with a giggle. "Ice, please."

Clark crossed into the kitchen, his keen ears picking up everything along the way, from the lowing of the cattle in the field across from the barn to the faint rumble of his parent's old Chevy. The latter was probably still a mile or so away, but it told him they would be home soon.

The thought of his parents made Clark smile. He wondered if every son or daughter thought they had the best parents in the world.

It didn't matter; he really did have the best parents in the world. Not just anyone would willingly take in a strange boy who, quite literally, "fell from the sky." The Kents possessed a kindness and integrity that far surpassed Clark's understanding. Anyone else would have called the authorities or left the alien child stranded.

Clark smiled over his lemonade when his father opened the screen door with a booted foot and carefully inched his way inside, balancing two baskets of tomatoes, one on each hip. His mother was right behind him, carrying several grocery bags and her purse.

Jonathan Kent was in his early forties, the picture of how an honest, decent man carried himself. He was a second-generation Kent; his father, Hiram Kent, had built their farm from the ground up, instilling in his son a belief in hard work for idle hands, making do or doing without. Jonathan's weather-beaten skin and tousled blond hair only served to show that he still lived life by the lessons his father left behind. Hiram Kent had been a hard man, and a difficult father, but for all of that, Jonathan remained a generous and warm-hearted individual, intent on having the kind of relationship with his son that he had never had with his own father.

It had been difficult at times, Clark knew. Not every father struggled with counseling a child whose growing pains consisted of incredible strength and heat vision, as well as peer pressure and grades. In the end, though, the trust and respect between the two Kents had grounded deep. There wasn't anything Clark couldn't tell his father and there wasn't anything Jonathan wouldn't do for his son.

And then there was his mother. With her fine sense of integrity, volatile good nature, and independent attitude, Martha Kent was a perfect match for his father. A gracious, energetic, and capable woman, Martha had bright, intelligent eyes set in a broad-cheeked face and shoulder-length red hair. She was the kind of woman who was quick to smile, but equally as quick to frown if the need arose, and when she spoke her mind no one was left in doubt as to where they stood in her graces.

Clark couldn't have asked for better.

"Hey guys," Martha greeted cheerfully.

Lana waved. "Hey Mrs. Kent."

"How's the biology final coming?"

"Almost finished," Clark answered for her.

"Well, I imagine we'd get more done if Clark could just concentrate," Lana teased. She threw him another playful look, one Clark countered by throwing up his hands.

"Hey. I can't help it if I find homework mentally challenging."

"Well, why don't you two take a break and Clark can go feed the chickens," Martha suggested. "The feed bag is in the back of the truck."

Clark made a face. "Now?"

She grimaced apologetically. "They'd appreciate it. They're starving."

He nodded. Although his parents hated talking about their financial situation in front of him, Clark knew that money had been short this month and they had run out of chicken feed days ago. He gave Lana a lopsided grin. "I guess I'll be back in a few minutes. You mind hanging out for a while?"

"No, no, I'll come with you," she replied, standing and grabbing her pink jacket. "I could use the air."

Jonathan and Martha exchanged knowing smiles, not lost to Clark. With one look from his son, Jonathan raised his eyebrows and began whistling to himself, turning back to his work in a very bad attempt to not attract any more attention. Martha laughed and began unloading the grocery bags.

Grabbing his own jacket from the chair, Clark led Lana toward the front door. "Chloe and Pete are gonna stop by when they're done with their report. Just let them know we're outside if they show up."

"Okay, honey."

Clark tore open the chicken feed and, stealing another glance in Lana's direction, began filling a small bucket with it. She looked so out of place on a farm. Not as much as Chloe, he mused, but still.

The fact of the matter was, as far as Clark was concerned, Lana Lang was the most beautiful creature on earth. Her black hair was pulled back into two braids, hanging loosely about her shoulders, stray strands of hair framing her face. She wore a beaded white shirt and hip-hugger blue jeans that showed off the soft curves of her hips. A pink jacket covered her slender arms, further accented by her pink boots.

Boots. Clark shook his head. That's how you can tell she's a country girl.

Lana saw Clark glance her way again and couldn't help but smile to herself. Although it was no big secret that he liked her, for some reason, Clark had always held back. She had never pushed him, choosing instead to keep an emotionally fair distance away in order to try to figure out the mystery that was Clark Kent.

One thing she knew for sure was that he took the whole innocent farm-boy persona to a new level. Clark was the picture of chivalry, always insisting on opening doors for both Lana and Chloe, always looking out for them, always willing to help. He was honest, genuine and loyal, and Lana had no doubt that he would take a bullet for any one of his friends.

She admired Clark's muscular build, not to mention his dark hair and vivid blue eyes. It was refreshing really, to be attracted to someone so different. At the beginning of Freshmen year she had found herself lost in the stereotypical high school life of the popular – the cheerleader dating the jock, captain of the cheerleading squad and the star quarterback of the football team. Everybody's favorite couple. Whitney had been good to her, but she had always hated that image. It hadn't been his fault, it just wasn't who she was, or who she wanted to be.

Clark wasn't any of those things. He had never seemed to care about the clothes he wore or what people thought of him. Clark was Clark…simple as that. In his plain white T-shirt and jeans, which suited him far more than a football jersey, brown farm boots, looking a little worse-for-the-wear, as did his jacket, these things were all a part of Clark Kent. She wouldn't change him for the world…

Well, maybe there's one thing I'd change, she thought bitterly, thinking of all the times she had tried to get him to open up to her, only to have him clam up. Intimate conversations did not seem to be part of the all strong-and-silent.

The chickens squawked happily as Clark threw them their first meal in days.

"So, how's life on the farm?" Lana asked conversationally, pushing a strand of sleek black hair behind her ear.

Clark's face darkened, just like it always did when a situation came up that he didn't want to discuss and, for a moment, Lana thought he would change the subject. To her surprise, however, he answered. "It's been a little rough," he said slowly. "Money's been a little hard to come by. It's not affecting our lifestyle but I know it's been stressing out my parents. Ever since the tornado and all the repairs we've had to do to the farm, things around here just haven't been the same."

"I think that day messed up a lot of things," Lana said sadly.

Clark frowned. "It wouldn't be so bad, really, but then mom and I got sick and with all the hospital bills…" he cut off, setting down the bucket and leaning against the wooden fence that he and his dad had built together. The sun was just starting to set on the horizon, painting the sky in rich purples and oranges. "I feel bad sometimes. I mean, there's nothing I can do but I hate to see them worry."

Lana leaned against the fence next to him and covered his hand with hers. "I know it's hard, but you've got to believe that your parents will pull through it. Your family is strong. You'll get past this."

Clark nodded, still looking out over the horizon, before covering her hand with his. Her hand was so much smaller and it fit perfectly in his own. "Thank you, Lana."

She laughed. "For what?"

"For being you," he answered simply, lifting his head to gaze at her.

For an endless moment their eyes met. Lana swallowed, a lump suddenly present in her throat. His eyes, clear as crystal and just as piercing, drew her in and she found herself wondering how Clark would react if she leaned forward and…

...to her disappointment, and somewhat relief, Clark looked away, smiling sheepishly and turning back to the Kansas sunset.

The sun had almost disappeared, the clouds taking on a luminous orange glow against the purple sky. A light breeze had picked up, giving the cornfield a life of its own in the fading light.

"It's beautiful," Lana said, finding her voice.

"The most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he replied, and Lana turned to see he was looking straight at her. She blushed, knowing there had been hidden meaning in his declaration, and looked back at the sunset.

Martha heard the car pull into the drive but didn't bother looking up from putting away her groceries. Clark had said Pete and Chloe would be stopping by. Even Lex Luthor was known to drop in unexpected from time to time, so she wasn't concerned when the screen door opened without a knock.

"Pete, Chloe, is that you?" she asked, opening the fridge and sliding a jug of milk inside. There was an empty one on the shelf below. She grabbed it and made a mental note to inform Clark that he'd been busted again.

She turned…

…and screamed.

Clark and Lana heard Martha's scream. They exchanged one quick, terrified look before breaking into a run towards the house.

Jonathan met them midway. "What's going on?" Clark shouted to him.

"I don't know," his dad called back, "But that scream came from your mother!"

Using his special vision, Clark looked past the screen door of the house and through the wall. He saw clearly two people in the kitchen. With a swallow of alarm, he realized one of them was lying sprawled on the floor. Mom!

They reached the back door in seconds and Jonathan barreled inside. Clark turned to Lana, his eyes wide with fear. "Stay out here," he said hurriedly. "Find someplace to hide and no matter what happens, don't come out until you know it's safe."

Lana nodded, too frightened to object. Clark raced inside as sounds of a struggle began to pour through the screen door. Panicked, she looked for a place to hide.

There! A bush next to the window. She scrambled beneath it, the brambles scraping at her face and arms. She ignored them, too terrified to care. Clark had looked truly frightened.

Clark never looked frightened.

Crawling, she made her way toward the window, trying desperately not to move the bushes and give her hiding place away, but she had to see what was going on.

Clark didn't have time to make sure Lana found a hiding spot. He hoped desperately she was okay. He tore through the back door, only half-heartedly trying not to rip the screen door off at its hinges, and zipped through the living room and dining room at super-speed. All at once, like it always was, the world around him went into slow motion. In less than a second he surveyed the room – his mom was crumpled on the floor, a pile of groceries and broken glass scattered the linoleum around her. His dad was pressed against a wall, the stranger in front of him holding him by the neck. Jonathan Kent was red-faced as the intruder worked to cut off his air supply.

"Dad!" Clark shouted. The distraction was just enough for Jonathan to make his move. He thrust out his knee, kicking the stranger in the gut. While the man was still vulnerable, Clark meant to zip up to him, knock him out with his super-strength, and be done with it - but suddenly, he found, he couldn't use his speed. In fact, he was starting to feel very weak.

A familiar chill raced up his spine. No, not now!

Jonathan, in the meantime, had pulled himself to his feet and lunged at his attacker. The stranger slammed into the table, groping blindly for something to use as a weapon. He found it in the form of a wooden chair.

Clark moved to intercept, but he was too slow. His father crumpled to the ground.

The man immediately turned on Clark, swinging high. Clark caught his fist right before it could connect with his jaw and delivered a punch with his other hand. The punch, however, was not what it should have been. He should have been able to knock his opponent clear across the house and through the wall. Instead, the man hit the screen door and bounced back. He swung several more times, Clark managing to either dodge or block all but the last. Finally, the stranger's fist connected. He stumbled, unconsciously turning his back on the stranger.

A strong hand took hold of his shoulder and spun him around. Clark, expecting another punch to have been thrown, was surprised when instead something was sprayed into his face; something that made his skin tingle and his eyes sting. He choked, his breath suddenly leaving him.

The world spun, Clark's vision spinning with it. He doubled over in pain, vertigo hitting him like a mack truck. In the instant before he collapsed he saw Lana's tiny face, unseen outside the living room window, her big brown eyes shining with tears and a look of horror etched across her features. His last coherent thought before the agony overwhelmed him was that he hoped she stayed hidden long enough to escape his same fate.