Smallville X

Title: Smallville X

Author: Vickie Moseley

Summary: Mulder and Scully are sent to Smallville to

investigate the strange happenings surround a teen-

aged boy.

Category: X, Crossover (Smallville), MSR

Timeline: X Files: Virtual Season 11, Smallville:

Season 3

Rating: PG

Archives: Exclusive with VS 11 for two weeks, then

anywhere

Author’s note: My apologies to avid Smallville fans.

I watch the show occasionally, so I might not have the

voices down. But it’s a great show, and the David

Nutter connection could not be ignored. Forgive me if

I screwed it up too much.

Special Thanks to Theresa for character knowledge.

Feedback: vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

Smallville X

by Vickie Moseley

Metropolis International Airport

January 23, 2004

“You can’t be serious.” Scully was standing next to

the baggage corral at the Metropolis International

Airport, arms crossed, ready to do battle.

“Scully, I’m not making this up. The kid is freaky!”

Mulder said, smiling around a sunflower seed stuck

between his front teeth.

“And you think this ‘freaky kid’ had something to do

with an explosion, power surge, what have you, that

leveled a farm and caused damage in the neighborhood

of millions of dollars? How, Mulder? Is this

‘Nuclear Boy’? What are we talking here?” She

spotted her two-suiter and lunged for it, dragging it

to safety before the tall Marine next to her tackled

his seabag, which was also hurrying around the corner

of the carousal.

“Actually, Scully, someone has dubbed the kid ‘Super

Boy’ but I’m not falling for it. And there is a

possible explanation,” he added as he pulled his well-

worn suitcase off the carousal and hoisted the strap

onto his shoulder.

“And that would be — ?” asked Scully, leading the way

through the crowded airport concourse and up to the

Lariat Rental Agency window where she pulled her

identification and gave their registration

information.

“A meteor shower hit the area about a dozen years ago.

Some strange things resulted.”

“Strange? Mulder, after all these years, you have to

get a little more specific. What kind of strange?”

“A kid with gills, for one. A telepathic kid. A kid

that survived leukemia, a fatal car crash and a fatal

plane crash, for another. Some rather, well,

dangerous teenagers, and I’m not talking gang bangers

here, Scully. Dangerous in the mutant variety way.”

“A whole town of mutants? Mulder, how have you

managed to keep this garden spot off the tour?” she

asked, signing the rental agreement and picking up the

key with a nod to the attendant.

“I just found out about it, Scully. Smallville is,

well, rather small.”

“I’m trying to figure out why Skinner signed off on

this 302,” she said, pointing him in the direction of

the short term parking shuttle that would take them to

their rental car.

“A gentleman by the name of Lionel Luthor, head of

Luthorcorp and a major contributor to both political

parties, by the way, has convinced Director Tenet that

the FBI might want to look into this kid. He tossed

out words like ‘possible terrorist connections’ and

‘threat to national security’.”

“The buzz words of the day, these days,” Scully said

with a sigh.

“Exactly,” Mulder replied.

“But we don’t do terrorism, Mulder,” she pointed out

as they settled on the bus.

“I know. I’m not buying the terrorist line, anyway.

But the other stuff, the mutants, the meteor — that

has me intrigued. And this kid, Clark Kent, he seems

to show up just in the nick of time. He keeps saving

people.”

“Sounds like a town hero, not the town terrorist.”

“From what I can get on him, he’s the All-American

Boy, Scully. Darling son of Martha and Jonathan Kent,

straight A student, on the high school newspaper.

He’s every mother’s dream.”

“And the Director of the FBI thinks he might be a

terrorist. Well, at least we have a wonderful

Midwestern winter storm to look forward to,” Scully

mused as she nodded toward dark clouds on the western

horizon. “Five will get you ten we’re snowed in by

morning.”

By the time they found the Sheriff’s office, it was

getting dark. The Sheriff, an overworked woman with a

dour expression, was less than helpful.

“The Kents are good people. I don’t think you should

be botherin’ ’em,” she said flatly. She then gave

them sketchy directions on where to locate the Kent

farm and let them out the door.

“I thought small towns were supposed to be ‘friendly’,

Scully,” Mulder quipped as they made their way back to

the rental. True to Scully’s earlier prediction, it

had started to snow.

Scully looked up at the sky. “What will it be,

Mulder? The Kents, who arguably won’t be going

anywhere and in all likelihood will be there tomorrow,

or a nice warm motel, preferably one with a claw

footed bath tub that’s big enough for two?”

He winced. “Don’t be a tease to me, Scully,” he

whined.

She shook her head and sighed. “I was expecting as

much, Mulder. To the Kents, but you are driving!”

They arrived at Jonathan and Martha Kent’s house just

after sunset. The lights in the window made for a

cheery and welcome sight in the howling wind and

blowing snow. As they approached the front door,

Mulder could smell something . . . pork chops, maybe,

cooking inside. His stomach rumbled loud enough to be

heard over the wind.

“Muzzle that thing, G-Man,” Scully scolded as she

looked for and found the doorbell.

In the interest of time, both agents had their

identification wallets in their hands when someone

answered the door. Mulder got his wish — it was the

teenager, Clark.

“Can I help you folks? You lost or something?” Clark

asked warily as he looked from one agent to the other.

“I’m Special Agent Mulder and this is Special Agent

Scully. We’re with the FBI. We were wondering if you

could answer some questions. You are Clark Kent,

aren’t you?” Mulder asked with an ingratiating smile.

That name, Mulder. Where had he seen it? Clark

searched his memory and finally came up with the

answer. Chloe’s Wall of Weird. Agent Fox Mulder, aka

M. F. Luder, FBI agent with a penchant for the weird

and unusual. Believed his sister was abducted by

aliens. What a thought. And his partner, Dana

Scully. She had been missing for three months, if

Chloe’s research was correct. They were coming to

investigate him.

Which brought up another set of questions. How much

could he reveal to these people? Hiding the truth, if

the WOW was right, would only cause them to dig

deeper. He might not be happy with the results.

The two agents were standing in the doorway, smiling

at him. He saw the woman, Agent Scully, shiver. He

couldn’t turn them away.

“Uh, yeah, I’m Clark. Just a minute,” Clark said and

turned away from the door. “Uh, Mom, Dad, there’re

some special agents here from the FBI!” he yelled

toward the back of the house.

“I have all the paperwork for that fertilizer right

here in my desk, Agents. Clark, where are your

manners? Let the folks in out of that weather!”

Jonathan Kent chided as he walked into the room,

drying his hands on a dishtowel. Martha Kent followed

in behind him, a wooden spoon in her hand.

“Clark, get these folks some coffee, it’s freezing out

there,” Martha commanded. “Or would you prefer tea?”

she asked lightly.

“No, thank you, coffee does sound good, Mrs. Kent.

But we’d like Clark to stay and answer some questions,

if you don’t mind,” Scully said politely as she

followed Jonathan into the living room and took a seat

next to her partner.

“Clark? He doesn’t buy the fertilizer. I do,”

Jonathan objected.

“They aren’t here about fertilizer, Dad,” Clark said

uneasily, exchanging a look with both his parents.

“Mom, could you get that coffee, please?”

“What’s this about, Agent, uh, Mulder, did you say?”

asked Jonathan, not looking at all pleased.

“Yes, sir, Mulder. Well, to be perfectly honest, sir,

we’re here to find out what we can about some

occurrences during the past few years. An explosion

that leveled this farm, for one.”

Martha was back with the coffee and the tray in her

hand slipped when she heard Mulder’s comment. The

coffee cups, four steaming ones, started the long

descent to the floor. Faster than anyone could see,

Clark was standing beside his mother, holding the

tray, cups intact.

“OK, and I think that would be something else we’re

interested in,” Mulder added dryly, nodding toward

Clark and Martha and the undisturbed tray.

“He’s tried out for the track team,” Martha said

weakly.

“Mom, we better sit down,” Clark said sadly. There

was no way they’d walk quietly away now, he had to

tell them the truth. At least Agent Mulder looked

like the honest sort.

Half an hour later, Clark was finished with his tale.

“So when you’re exposed to this, what is it again?”

Mulder asked, jotting furiously in his notebook.

“Kryptonite. It’s found in small deposits around

here. It was in that meteor shower,” Clark responded.

“When you’re exposed to this kryptonite, it makes you

sick or weak or . . . evil?” Mulder continued.

“Just the red stuff makes me evil. I couldn’t control

my impulses. The green stuff, well that just makes me

sick.”

“It’s almost killed him, a couple of times,” Martha

interjected. By now the poor woman was pale as a

ghost, twisting a tea towel in her hands. “You aren’t

going to . . . take him away, are you? Please, he’s

just a boy,” she pleaded.

Scully looked over at Mulder and shrugged. “I’m hard

pressed to find where Clark has any terrorist

leanings,” she said softly.

“Terrorist? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever

heard of!” Jonathan howled.

“I can assure you, my allegiance is to this country,

Agent Scully,” Clark said solemnly. “To my family, to

this town, to this country.” He reached over and

squeezed his mother’s hand. “I would fight anyone who

tried to harm them.”

Scully smiled at the young man. Mulder had already

closed his notebook and was putting it in his jacket

pocket. “I think we’ve kept these nice people from

their supper too long, Scully. We have enough to file

our report.”

“But wait, if you put all that in a report, won’t

there be others like you, others who come and want to

find out more about Clark? They’ll want to turn him

into some science experiment!” Martha objected.

“Mrs. Kent, I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, we

see any number of odd or unusual phenomenon in our

cases and not all of them receive scrutiny or follow

up investigations,” Scully tried to reassure the

woman. It had little positive effect. The woman

looked almost petrified.

“Well, the least we can do is offer you some supper,”

Martha said, squaring her shoulders as she stood.

“It’s just pork chops and mashed potatoes. Clark . .

. Clark is really good with mashing,” she said,

holding back tears.

“No, but thank you for the very generous offer,”

Mulder refused for them both. “We really need to get

back to town.”

“That north-south road tends to drift in snowstorms.

You might want to watch that curve just before the

bridge,” Jonathan said stiffly.

“I’ll do that, sir. Thank you. And thank you, Clark.

You’ve given us a lot to think about.”

Clark nodded. “I hope I explained it to your

satisfaction, Agent Mulder. Please let the people

back in Washington know I’m not a terrorist?” he asked

politely.

“That will definitely be in our report,” Scully chimed

in. “Try not to worry, Clark. Or you, Mr. and Mrs.

Kent.”

Scully slipped on the ice as they walked out to the

car, Mulder catching her just before she landed

ungracefully on her rear. When he righted her, she

looked around at the quickly mounting piles of snow.

There was at least half a foot already on the ground.

“We better hurry, Mulder. Remember what Mr. Kent said

about the north-south roads drifting.”

“Believe it or not, Scully, I do know how to drive in

snow. And for the record, north-south roads _always_

drift. Winds tend to blow west to east. I thought

you’d know that,” he teased.

She gave him a look and got into the car, shivering

while she waited for him to start the engine.

Clark was on the phone to his buddy Pete Ross almost

as soon as the dinner dishes were finished.

“It’s bad, Pete. Real bad,” he said with a heavy

sigh.

“Why in the world did you talk, Clark? Why couldn’t

you just deny it all and show them the door?”

“Mom was about to drop a tray of coffee,” Clark

explained meekly.

“And you just couldn’t let that happen,” Pete replied

sarcastically. “They think you’re a terrorist? Who

would put them on to you like that?” Pete asked.

“I don’t know. But I think I got them past that.

Even so, they know more about me than I want anyone to

know. I just couldn’t lie to them after what they’d

seen. Besides, I think Chloe knows about them. And

they are from the government.”

“Clark, the Sheriff is from the government and we end

up lying to her all the time,” Pete pointed out.

“This was different. These people are from the

Federal government,” Clark said emphatically.

“Besides, I couldn’t explain why I wasn’t a terrorist

without explaining what I am.”

“I can’t believe they bought that, Clark. I mean the

whole ‘boy with super powers from another planet

living in rural America’. Who would believe that but

a nutcase.”

“Present company included, of course,” Clark teased.

“Agent Mulder said they look into a bunch of strange

stuff.”

“Well, old buddy, you qualify there,” Pete joked,

trying to lighten the mood. “Hey, maybe we can figure

out a way to get that report.”

“The one Agent Scully will no doubt file by her

computer tonight at the motel? I don’t think that’s

possible,” Clark said morosely.

“Hey, something’s bound to turn up. Maybe their boss

will think they’re nutcases.”

“Not much to hope for,” Clark conceded. “I gotta go.

I have some history I gotta do.”

“Good luck, Clark.”

“Thanks, Pete.”

Hanging up the phone, the young man lay back on his

bed and stared at the ceiling. There had to be some

way out of this situation. If only he could think of

a way.

“I think this is the curve, Mulder,” Scully was saying

as she peered out the frost-riddled windshield. “What

a time to have the wipers go out!”

“Could have been worse, Scully. Could have been the

defroster or the heater,” Mulder quipped.

“We should turn back. I’m sure the Kents have a four-

wheel drive vehicle, living out in the middle of

nowhere like they do.”

“Why would they? Clark probably shovels their way in

to town,” Mulder shot back.

“You aren’t really buying this ‘super powers’ story,

are you, Mulder? I mean, look at him. He looked

fairly normal to me.”

“Just because he didn’t have gray shiny skin and big

black eyes doesn’t mean he’s not from another planet,

Scully. Gosh, talk about racial sterotypes!” He

grinned at her huff of breath. “And yes, I do think

there is something to his story. Even Mr. and Mrs.

Kent substantiated the fact that they found him in a

crashed space craft.”

Scully rolled her eyes again. “Oh, yeah. Well, if

all _three_ of them are giving us the same story, then

of course, I believe it,” she said sarcastically.

“Why would they lie?” Mulder shot back. He was having

trouble seeing the road and it was making him testy.

“The publicity. Mulder, do you know how quick one of

those tabloids you read would pick up on a ‘Super

Boy’? Instant fame and fortune!”

“Then why have they waited this long, Scully? The kid

is 16 years old. Why not shove him in the spotlight

years ago? Besides, they seem to have shunned

publicity. I think they only reason they told us the

story was because we came to their door sporting

badges.”

Scully opened her mouth to speak when the car suddenly

slipped out of control. Mulder fought the wheel and

for a split second, it appeared they would be all

right. But then the wheels hit another icy patch and

the momentum of the car hurtled them toward the side

of the road. A split second before they crashed,

Scully realized that the side of the road was actually

the guardrail of the bridge over a small river. Her

screams were lost to the sound of metal ripping and

the car plunging fifteen feet into the icy waters

below.

Clark’s head jerked up from his history book. What

was that sound? Like metal, tearing. It was loud and

unnatural. On the edges, he thought he’d heard a

woman scream. It had to be the wind, he decided and

tried to go back to his book. But then he heard

another sound, ice breaking, water rushing.

The bridge. Someone had gone over the side of the

bridge!

In the blink of an eye he was on the road and running

so fast, the snow melted a path behind him. He got to

the bridge before a human being could take a breath.

When he got there, he saw what had happened. The

guardrail for the bridge was broken at least the width

of a car. Below, the ice on the river was broken into

chunks. But the car was no where in sight.

Looking hard at the icy water, Clark could see the car

below the surface of the water, completely submerged.

The two agents were still inside, trapped, and

unmoving. Clark had to move fast.

Acting without thought, Clark dove into the water. He

tugged at the driver’s side door, but with the

pressure of the rushing water, it wouldn’t budge.

There was no time as the interior of the car was

almost entirely flooded. Clark reached under the

chassis and hefted the car up. With a mighty heave,

he threw the car out of the water and onto the bank.

Clark followed the car out of the water. This time

when he pulled on the driver’s side door, the metal

groaned and separated easily. Water rushed out of the

opening, exposing the two agents, neither of whom

appeared to be breathing.

Grabbing Agent Scully first, Clark performed his own

brand of CPR. The agent coughed and choked, but

started breathing on her own. Turning to the other

agent, he performed the same action. Mulder coughed,

vomited a great deal of water, but his bluish gray

color faded to a more normal pale tan.

“I can’t leave you out here, you’ll freeze to death,”

Clark told the unconscious agents. “But if I take you

into town, it might raise some more questions.”

Considering his options carefully, Clark picked up

both agents and ran at full speed into the city of

Metropolis. The emergency department of the

University Medical Center was bustling. No one

noticed the two people laying on gurneys in the

hallway until one of the nurses heard the woman cough.

Scully’s apartment

One week later

Scully was sitting at her computer, finishing up her

report. Mulder came in from the kitchen, carrying two

steaming mugs.

“That better not be coffee. The doctor said no

caffeine for another week, Mulder.”

“We were hypothermic with mild concussions, Scully.

They always restrict caffeine for any bump on the head

and it’s usually unnecessary. But if it makes you

stop busting my chops, this is cocoa, extra

marshmallows for the G-Woman.”

“You know what I like,” Scully smiled and accepted the

mug.

“So, what are you putting in the report?” he asked,

settling down on the sofa near her desk.

Scully turned to look at him. “Just that we went to

Smallville, interviewed the Sheriff who told us there

was no indication that young Mr. Clark Kent was a

terrorist, and that we were in a car accident that

prevented us from interviewing the suspect, but a

subsequent visit by the suspect in question to our

hospital rooms provided enough evidence to support the

Sheriff’s assessment.”

“Still can’t remember how we got to the hospital in

Metropolis?” Mulder asked, sipping his cocoa.

“No. Can you?”

He shook his head. “Since all the notes I might have

taken were in my notebook, which was ruined by the

snow, I have nothing. But I’m not sure I buy the idea

that we slid off the road and were rescued by a

passing grain truck, Scully. I can’t remember

anything after we left the Sheriff.”

“Mulder, that’s not uncommon. You had a concussion,

so did I. That, coupled with the hypothermia could

very possibly result in amnesia, maybe even permanent

amnesia, of the events immediately preceding the

trauma.”

Mulder pulled at his lip. “So, I guess we just close

the book on Clark Kent of Smallville?”

Scully looked back at her report, saved it to the hard

drive and closed down the computer. “I don’t know,

Mulder. I don’t think we’ve heard the last of Clark

Kent. But for now, I think it’s time we both went to

bed.” At his hopeful wiggle of eyebrows, she laughed.

“And got some sleep.”

He feigned disappointment, but helped her to her feet.

“Fine. I’ll just attack you in the morning.”

the end

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