Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Smallville.

Author's Note: I've started working on a story about Clark's super speed. Get ready to read "The Adventures of Little Clark, Part II." Coming soon (I hope.)


Two weeks later, Jonathan Kent lie on his living room sofa, sipping a bowl of soup. He had tried to go about his farm routine as usual—ignoring his doctors, of course, but then again, Jonathan always was pretty stubborn—but had only gotten as far as milking a couple of cows before he had collapsed on the barn floor from fatigue. It hurt every time he breathed, his ribs still hadn't healed, and he was still coughing up blood.

Martha had begged him to follow his doctors' orders and lie down, and for once, Jonathan had agreed. Lying on the sofa really did help him feel better.

"Don't worry, honey. I've been running the farm for two weeks. I'll be happy to help out until you're completely better," Martha soothed him as she refilled his mug of hot tea.

Jonathan coughed again. It still hurt so much whenever he coughed. "Honey, where's Clark?"

"Don't worry, he's fine. As long as we milk the cows together, no one gets hurt."

Right on cue, Clark toddled into the room, holding a picture book. He held it up to his mother. "Maamaa?"

"Do you want to read, Clark, honey? Maamaa would love to read with you, but she can't. She still has a lot of work to do."

"Daadaa will read with you, Clark. Come on over, son." He gestured for his son to come over to the sofa.

Clark toddled over to his father. Jonathan set his lunch tray on the coffee table, picked Clark up, and sat him on his lap. "My little boy," Jonathan murmured softly, giving his son a hug. "Can you come here for a minute, Martha?" he asked his wife.

Martha walked over to the sofa, and the three of them exchanged a family hug. Martha knelt down beside her husband, and ran a hand through her son's hair. "Clark, sweetie," she said gently to her son. "Your father and I are so proud of you!"

"You saved my life, son," Jonathan said, a tear running down his cheek. "You're turning into the son your mother and I want you to become: a strong, compassionate individual."

Clark's head was cocked to the side, but he was listening carefully. Martha and Jonathan suspected he understood a little of what was going on.

"You have some special abilities, Clark, but we need to keep them a secret, okay?" Martha asked gently. "Nobody else around here can do things like that. It might cause us some problems if anyone else found out about you."

"But even with your abilities, son, your mother and I love you," Jonathan added softly. "You're our little boy. Our little Clark."

"Our little miracle," Martha wept, taking her son's hand and squeezing it.

"Clark love Maamaa," Clark said quietly, wrapping his arms around his mother's neck. "Clark love Daadaa."

"Hear that, Jonathan?" Martha smiled. "He finally got his name right."

Jonathan kissed his son's cheek. "That's a good boy. Let's read." He took the book from his son's hands and opened it. "Are you sure you don't want to read with us, Martha?"

Martha smiled. "Well, I guess I could spare a few minutes."

His son still held tightly on his lap, Jonathan turned to the first page. The Kent family listened as Jonathan began to read, his voice still weakened by his injuries. "Once upon a time, there lived a little boy in a land far away…"