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“You’re dawdling.”
Conner gave Clark a nasty sideways glance. “I’m tired. I’m flying as fast as I can.”
It was half the truth; Conner was exhausted, and would have much rather been taking a power nap in his room at Titans Tower. Unfortunately, he and the other new Titans had blown their chance at hanging out together that weekend, and likely next week as well. Without asking for permission, they’d snuck out from under Victor and Kori’s watch to do some unsupervised vigilante work. When the four sidekicks returned to their home base, their mentors on the Justice League had been waiting to read them the riot act.
It wasn’t like Conner couldn’t justify the rule-breaking. He and Robin had been positive that someone had been tracking down the Teen Titans, and they had been right; they hadn’t been prepared for that someone to be Deathstroke, master assassin and arch-nemesis of the generation of Titans that were mentoring this new batch. And they definitely hadn’t expected him to bring an Amazo with him: those androids were specifically patterned off of the Justice League, using their powers so they could fight against them. Conner had never been punched in the jaw quite like that, and was thankful for the Kryptonian half of his DNA.
And after that humiliating thrashing at the hands of a robot, the last thing that Conner wanted to do was be lectured by the Man of Steel. Which was why he wasn’t flying even half as fast as he could - he wanted to put it off for as long as possible.
“Well, if you’re so tired, I think we’ll stop in Smallville instead of Metropolis,” Clark decided. “Flying across the continent might not be something you’re up for.”
“Oh come on! I don’t want to spend any more time in Dullsville than I absolutely have to! It’s bad enough you enrolled me in that stupid high school. You could at least let me spend my weekend somewhere interesting,” Conner huffed.
“You gave up your chance to get out of Smallville this weekend when you disobeyed the rules,” Clark said firmly, changing his trajectory. “Come along.”
Despite his protest, he followed Clark’s lead as they took a sudden turn south instead of continuing the flight east. He knew he couldn’t outrun or outfight the original model, so he wasn’t inclined to give Clark any reason to chase him down and force him to lay low in Smallville. At least he’d have Ma Kent’s cooking to look forward to in the morning.
“We had a good reason,” Conner argued. “Robin was right, you know. Somebody was following us. If we’d given Slade more time he would’ve attacked us when we were least expecting it. What would have happened then?”
“In all likelihood, you would have had Starfire, Cyborg and Changeling there as backup. They’ve all got first-hand experience fighting Deathstroke, which is something you children lack,” Clark admonished before lowering his altitude and beckoning Conner to follow.
Conner rolled his eyes, but did as he was told. Right now, he wanted to be close to Clark so he could continue making his case. “I’m not really a child, you know. What does that word even mean when you’re talking about a clone that’s only existed for about a year and a half?”
“Funny. Kara’s tried to tell me the same thing; how she’s technically older than me, and I was a baby when we were in Krypton. And I tell her that science and time doesn’t work that way; the wormhole sent me to Earth first, and I got to live thirty human years before she showed up. It doesn’t matter that she’s technically older than me; she’s physically and emotionally younger than I am.”
“What the hell does any of that have to do with me?” Conner interrupted.
Clark narrowed his eyes at Conner before continuing on. “My point is that your growth was accelerated until now, where you're physically, and emotionally, about seventeen. You’ve got an education beyond your years, but you have minimal life experience and your emotions are still in line with any other human teenager. I could treat you like you’re your real age, but I’m nice and choose to treat you like the young man I know you to be.”
“Yeah. Right,” Conner huffed. He was at least grateful that Clark didn’t act like Conner was an infant. That would have made him look into inventing and consuming a Kryptonite milkshake. “So you make me go to school even though I was educated by Star Labs and know way more than this third rate Bible Belt school system can teach me...”
“I’ve told you before that there’s more to learn at school than just the textbooks,” Clark drawled. “Like how to make friends. And how to show respect to your teachers.”
“Doubt.” Conner thought he was going to retch. “You set all these rules for me even though I’m a superbeing and there’s no reason for me to try to stay safe or follow social norms...”
“Conner.” Clark held up his hand, signaling for a halt. They had stopped just above the Kent homestead, about halfway between the old barn and the two-story house that Clark had grown up in. They both landed on the gravel road and started making their way to the house. “I don’t think I need to go over how being safe and following rules is even more important for someone with your powers again, but we can cover it if you need a reminder.”
“Sure don’t,” Conner snapped under his breath, though of course Clark heard it and gave him a disapproving look. “And by the way, I also think it’s stupid that you expect me to just listen to you and stay put here in Smallville when you say so. I can fly anywhere and you can’t stop me.”
Clark stopped short, waiting for Conner to pass by him before placing his hand between his shoulder blades and pushing him toward the house. Try as he might to shove Clark away, Conner couldn’t get that hand off of him.
“I expect you to know why you shouldn’t be allowed to do whatever you want when you almost got yourself killed doing just that,” Clark continued. “Sometimes life has consequences because you need to be taught a lesson. Don’t be so stubborn that you can’t learn from it.”
“Hah. Yeah right. When did life ever give you consequences, Superman?” He tried to swerve away from the house, but Clark pinched down on his neck and pointed him back in the right direction. “If I’d been there long enough, I would have taken out that stupid robot all by myself.”
“No, you would have gotten yourself and your new friends hurt. Or worse.” Clark sighed as he marched Conner up the dusty wooden steps that took them to the Kents’ front porch. He reached above the door frame to grab his spare key, unlocked the door and gestured for Conner to go inside.
“I would’ve kicked its ass.”
Clark scowled, and lifted his finger to his mouth to hush Conner. “It’s past midnight. Go up to your room. Quietly. If you wake Ma or Pa up, you and I are going to have a conversation that you won’t enjoy.”
“Like I’m enjoying this one,” Conner muttered. Even with the backtalk, he was careful not to make a sound as he made his way upstairs. The Kents had never been anything but kind to him, and he saw no reason to interrupt their sleep just because Clark had brought him here against his will.
Once they were on the second floor, it was a short walk to Conner’s room. Years ago, it had belonged to Clark, but he’d given it up when he insisted that Conner stay with the Kents and get some real life experience. Conner didn’t feel like he really belonged here even after a couple of months, but it was a lot cozier than any other place he’d tried to call home.
“Can I talk yet?”
“Only if you can stay civil.”
Conner rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Here I am, safe and sound in boring old Kansas where nothing bad can happen to me. Why don’t you fly off to Metropolis and get out of my life?”
“For one, I’m not leaving you here with my parents while your attitude is a mile thick.” Clark crossed his arms. “Second, until I’m convinced you’ll actually listen and stay put like you’re supposed to, I’ll be here to enforce the rules.”
“Oh come on man, that’s bullshit! I don’t care what I did, I don’t deserve to have you following me around watching me like a hawk! I... hey!”
Conner’s tirade was abruptly cut off. Clark had snagged him by the hand, and before Conner could utter another word, Clark fired off a volley of six sharp smacks to his rear. They stung, but Conner grit his teeth and refused to acknowledge the discomfort out loud.
“What the hell was that?”
“A reminder that you’re not invincible, and a preview of what’s to come if you keep pushing,” Clark answered without raising his voice. “I have had it up to here with your disrespectful tone, Kon-El.” He held his hand above his head to make it clear how fed up he was with Conner, and the use of his Kryptonian name was attention grabbing in its own right. “You are acting like a spoiled brat and if you don’t shape up this minute, I’m going to turn you over my knee, bare your bottom and give you a good hard spanking.”
Conner knew that Robin got spanked by Batman, but he hadn’t known what it meant when the Boy Wonder casually mentioned it. With the slaps on his buttocks to provide context, Conner now understood why Robin tried to avoid them.
“Fuck no you aren’t!” Conner dismissed. “You aren’t my father, Clark. You’re barely even my mentor. Don’t you put your damn hands on me again, got it?”
Clark crossed his arms. “You’re right. I’m not going to spank you. Not yet anyway. First, I’m going to wash your mouth out with soap.”
”Excuse me?” Conner balked.
“If you want to use that kind of language in my mother’s house, then you can be punished the same way I was when I thought it was okay to mouth off. It’s time you learned a little humility.”
Conner stood slack-jawed and silent, and Clark kept his eyes fixed on him as he grabbed a change of clothes from the closet. Then he turned his back and left the room, leaving his gobsmacked clone alone with his thoughts.
Conner almost ripped his hair out, but settled for pacing instead. Now that he knew that the human half of his DNA was Lex Luthor’s, he didn’t want to accelerate the inevitable hair loss. He wanted to punch something, but he knew that he couldn’t. Not without breaking things. He lived in a world of cardboard, where any outburst of anger would result in destruction. And he certainly wasn’t about to lash out at the Kents home. The old man had chosen wisely in bringing Conner here, knowing that he wouldn’t try to start a fight.
When he heard the faucet in the adjacent bathroom running, he felt sick to his stomach. He knew that Clark was running water over a bar of soap, and that his fate was more or less sealed. He entertained the idea of flying out the window, but he was tired and Clark could fly faster than him. And now that he knew what Clark’s palm felt like on his butt, he could imagine the inevitable spanking he’d receive when Clark finally caught up to him.
Out of options, Conner sighed and sat on his bed. His acute hearing picked up the creak of the bathroom door and the steady patter of Clark's footsteps on the wooden hallway floor. These everyday sounds were now ominous, twisting his tummy in knots. When Clark came back, he was all business. The Superman suit was gone, replaced with khakis and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The determined gaze remained, making Conner feel some sort of nasty, angry way that he didn’t know how to define yet.
And clearly visible in his right hand was a pink bar of soap with a bird emblem carved in the middle. The sight made Conner gulp reflexively.
“I don’t want my mouth washed out,” he mumbled.
“You should have considered that before you decided to run it.” Clark shut the door behind them, then closed the distance. His approach was steady, not fast enough to be aggressive but enough to make Conner feel ill at ease. “I didn’t want to pile on extra punishments, but your attitude is wildly out of control, young man. I don’t care if you don’t think of me as your father; my family has taken you in and given you a home, and treated you with nothing but kindness and understanding. The least you can do in return is show us some basic respect.”
“But I...”
Clark held up one menacing finger, stifling whatever argument Conner had been ready to throw at him. “I’m not finished. Here’s the thing, Con. I may not have volunteered to give my DNA to Cadmus for them to experiment on, but we still have the same Kryptonian blood in our veins. I’m a part of you, and you’re a part of me. I owe it to you, and to myself, to do the best I can to raise you to the same standard I hold myself. People with our kind of power... we can’t afford to be held to any other standard. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yeah. But... it’s not fair. I’m not you, I’m me. I don’t have thirty years of experience being perfect to fall back on, Clark.”
“I know.” Clark rested his free hand on Conner’s shoulder, and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not perfect, no matter what people tell you. I still make mistakes, and I have to hold myself accountable for those. And when I was a teenager, I made a lot more mistakes. It’s just the nature of being young. I extend you a lot more grace than I do myself, but when it comes to recklessly putting yourself and others in danger, or when you choose to fight and argue with me instead of listening when I’m trying to teach you? Yeah, I’m going to come down hard on you. You don’t have to like it, but you’re going to have to learn to live with it.”
Conner realized now how much Clark had been holding back this whole night. He’d mostly allowed Conner to vent his frustrations, with only gentle reminders to mind his manners. Now that he was really giving him an earful, it was impossible to feel like any of his whining and moaning had been justified. Clark had a remarkable gift for making him feel like he’d done the absolute worst thing imaginable, and that he was a big dumb lout for daring to think doing those things were ever okay.
“Open your mouth.”
Conner groaned, reeling all the way back so that his head rested on his pillow. He did not want to do this, but he didn’t want to fight it either. He also had to face the very real possibility that Clark might just force his jaw open and shove the soap down his mouth even without his cooperation. Not wanting to figure out if Superman had that kind of mean streak in him, Conner sat back up, rested his hands at his side, closed his eyes, and obeyed.
The first thing Conner felt was Clark’s enormous arm resting around his shoulders, engulfing him in a way that might have been cozy if it weren’t for the unpleasantness Conner knew was coming. Before he knew it, Clark set the soap directly on his tongue. The bitterness didn’t hit immediately, but rather crept up until it was impossible to ignore, especially with the lather swishing around and getting under his tongue and through his teeth. When Conner whined, Clark took it as a cue to start moving the bar around in circles, pressing against each cheek and then the roof of his mouth, scrubbing back and forth a few times in each spot before moving to the next. Conner started squirming and kicking on the bed, but Clark secured a grip just under his arm and kept him from wriggling away.
“Mmm thorreth,” Conner whimpered, unable to make the words “I’m sorry,” come out with the hunk of soap in his mouth. Trying to talk at all only made it worse; the chemicals had numbed his tongue and gums at first, but as they stayed in the sensation became more like burning. “Pleeth dahp!”
“Not yet, Conner,” Clark answered, a swell of pity present in his voice. He stayed the course, going back to the tongue before taking another agonizing lap around his clone’s mouth. “I know this isn’t fun; Ma used to soap my mouth just like this when I was out of line. All the super strength in the world couldn’t make it taste any better. I don’t care what rotten words you’ve picked up from your friends, but you will be polite and respectful when talking to me. Otherwise, you’ll be getting really familiar with this little family ritual.”
Clark had to squeeze Conner’s middle to keep him from escaping. Conner was anything but still; his kicking and fussing had gotten so animated that he’d sent one of his tennis shoes flying. He tried to spit out the soap, but Clark’s hand kept it lodged in place.
Conner had rarely felt so helpless. Amazo may have been kicking his ass, but he’d rather tangle with the robot than deal with Clark when he was determined to teach him a lesson. Ashamed of himself for being unable to do anything about the situation, Conner was flushing beet red. Worse still, he could feel his eyes starting to water.
Goddamn it, Kon-El. Don’t you cry!
He managed to hold his tears in long enough for Clark to pull the soap out and relinquish his grip. Conner leapt to his feet, coughing to try and get the taste out of his mouth. He tried to close his mouth, but the burning sensation intensified when his lips touched. Eventually, he found a Jayhawks Mug on his dresser drawer and used it to spit as much of the suds out as he could without making a mess.
“How are you going to avoid that consequence in the future, Conner?” Clark asked.
Conner turned to see Clark sitting on the edge of the bed, arms folded and bearing a firm, scolding expression. He didn’t look as fiercely agitated as he had before the mouthsoaping but he was clearly not ready to shower Conner with sympathy.
“By not swearing at you,” Conner answered, his voice raspy after the assault on his taste buds. “And trying to be a bit more respectful.”
“That’s better,” Clark acknowledged with a nod. He beckoned Conner over to him with a finger. “Come here.”
Conner wiped his nose with his arm, groaned, and approached Clark. His slouched posture conveyed how thrilled he was to return to the man who’d just punished him, but he dared to hope that maybe Clark would give him a sympathetic hug. Conner would protest of course, but he could use one right about now.
When he was close enough, Clark grabbed him and held him tight. But it wasn’t for a gentle embrace; one second Conner was looking at the posters of astronauts on his wall, and the next he was looking at the ring patterns on the wooden floorboards. He had no idea what was happening... at least, not until Clark yanked his jeans down in one forceful movement.
“Hey! What are you d-doing?” Conner asked, doing his best not to stammer. He felt his boxer briefs being tugged down to join the denim that was bunched up at his ankles. “Clark!”
“I told you I was going to bare your bottom and give you a good, hard spanking. I don’t make idle threats, Conner.” Clark’s hand walloped Conner’s behind right in the middle, striking both cheeks and immediately heating the skin. “You’re going to be a very sorry boy before I send you to bed.”
“What? No! Hey! Oww!” Clark brought his hand down again, this time focusing all of the impact on one of Conner’s cheeks before doing the same thing to the other side. “Ouch! Clark! I said I was going to behave!”
“You had your mouth soaped for your attitude and your language, Kon-El,” Clark stated matter of factly, continuing to deliver sharp wallops to his bare buttocks. “Neither of those things are what got you in trouble in the first place. This punishment is to address how you broke the very simple rules I gave you when I brought you to the Teen Titans. Do you remember what those rules are, young man?”
“Oww! Kal-El! Cut it out, man!” Conner figured that if Clark wanted to throw his Kryptonian name at him, then he could fight fire with fire. Nobody who actually knew and was close to Clark called him by this name, so it created an emotional barrier instead of bringing them together through a common bond. “That hurts!”
It truly did, which was novel. Conner’s half-Kryptonian DNA gave him incredible durability even when wasn’t using his tactile telekinesis to shield himself from blows... something he was sorely tempted to do right now, but it required concentration and energy and he had neither. But against Superman, all of that vaunted invulnerability was nothing. The Man of Steel left scorched skin in his wake every time his heavy hand crashed against Conner’s behind. Soap had left his smart mouth burning, and these slaps were doing much the same to his rear.
“It wouldn’t be a punishment if it didn’t hurt. But it’s temporary; you’ll be sore all night and you’ll wake up with a bit of pain, but it’ll fade by the time you go to bed tomorrow.” Conner wasn’t sure he believed this assessment; every spank lit up his skin and drove the burn further into the muscle, leaving him sizzling right up until the point Clark’s hand found that same patch of skin again. “Your actions today could have gotten you hurt a lot more than this. Even I’ve been left bruised and bloody from those damn androids, and I’m a lot stronger than you are.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to swear in Ma’s house,” Conner growled.
“I’m the adult in this situation, I don’t have to follow the same rules as you.” Clark smacked Conner’s thighs for the backtalk, introducing him to a new world of hurt that left him squirming over his knee. “Now. So that I know we’re crystal clear about this whole incident, tell me what rules you broke that earned you this spanking.”
“That’s not fair! Ouch! Oww!” Conner thought it was extremely hypocritical for Clark to wash his mouth out for swearing and then use one of those stupid four letter words himself. But he supposed even Superman wasn’t perfect all of the time. More importantly, he realized that dying on this hill was a very stupid tactic right now - Clark had him trapped under one arm and he wasn’t going anywhere. His poor butt was going to pay the price until he participated. “Okay, okay! I snuck out of Titans Tower without telling Victor and Kori, and they are supposed to know where we are at all times when we’re under their supervision.”
“That’s a good start. Keep going, son.”
Connor grumbled. He knew that “son” didn’t really mean “son” all the time, but that made it hurt worse. It wasn’t that he needed Clark to be his father, and he wasn’t sure that he even wanted it. But being reminded that he was only his clone still hurt.
“I... I got into a fight without knowing what I was up against. I could have gotten hurt. Ouch! The other Titans could have got hurt, and civilians could have gotten seriously hurt. Oww, oww!”
“And what’s the most important thing that we do, Connor? Why does the Daily Planet call us superheroes?” Clark demanded after a thunderous smack.
“Oww! We save people! We protect them from things they can’t handle on their own, and we don’t put anyone in unnecessary danger!” Now that he was saying it out loud himself instead of hearing Superman say it, the weight of his bad decisions was crushing him. Once again, he felt that nasty, angry feeling that had been nagging him just before Clark brought the soap to him. “I’m sorry for being so stupid! Oww! Oww!”
“You are not stupid, Con, and I won’t tolerate you calling yourself that either.” Clark smacked faster, changing his technique as if to make this a separate punishment before returning to his methodical, dogged pace. “You are young and impulsive and naughty. That’s normal. It doesn’t make you different from any of your other friends who went along with you on this stunt. I guarantee Robin’s gotten his bottom warmed for this, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Diana and Wally do the same with Cassie and Bart.”
“What does ‘naughty’ mean?” Conner asked, gritting his teeth. He had only ever heard this word thrown around by Ma Kent, but he’d been far too embarrassed to ask what she meant when she called him that. It certainly wasn’t a word that had been hurled at him by the Cadmus scientists or A.I. that provided most of his education.
“It means that you don’t make the best decisions, especially when it comes to following the rules,” Clark explained gently. “Like I said, that’s normal for kids, and you are a kid whether you like it or not. Your cerebral cortex is still forming, your morality is still being shaped, and you don’t know right from wrong every time. Someone like Lex Luthor, who’s old enough to know the difference between those and chooses to do bad things anyway? He’s evil. You’re still learning, so you aren’t evil. You’re just naughty.”
Hearing this outright condemnation of Lex Luthor felt like a punch to the stomach. Clark didn’t know it, but Conner had recently learned that Lex was the human part of his DNA - Lex had not only donated his biological material, but he had personally funded his cloning. Cadmus had followed his instructions, creating a Superboy that could replace Superman after Doomsday had seemingly killed him. Lex had willed him into existence. In all the ways that mattered, Lex was more of a father to Conner than Superman was.
And what the hell did that mean for him?
“What if I’m not just naughty? What if I’m rotten to my core?” Conner asked, unable to keep his thoughts to himself while Clark was smacking away and making him squirm and whine. “What if I’m destined to become just as evil as Lex Luthor is?”
To his surprise, Clark stopped in mid-swing. There was a long pause, and when Clark brought his hand down, it was gentle and soothing. He patted Conner’s bottom, reminding him of his presence and what he could do without actually doing it.
“Why do you think that would happen?”
A lump was caught in Conner’s throat, but he forced it out. “Lex is my human doner. I’m half-Kryptonian and half-human, and that human is the biggest sleazebag in Metropolis. He’s the one who funded my creation, who made sure I became who I am. So maybe I’m just as evil as he is, and that’s why I fuck up so much.”
Clark was quiet for a long while. Conner might have worried that he was agreeing with him and considering what to do with him now that he knew he was Luthor’s clone too. But the soft, gentle strokes on his back assuaged his worries and calmed down his breathing.
“I don’t think that’s how that works, kid. DNA is just cells. You’re no more Lex than you would be Lois if she was your mother, just like you aren’t me just because you’re made of my DNA as well. You’re you, and you get to make the choices about the kind of man you want to grow up to be.” Clark took a deep breath. “I may be Jor-El and Lara’s son by birth, but much of who I am as a person is because of Ma and Pa raising me and teaching me how to be kind and responsible and honest, and to stand up for what is right even when it isn’t popular. It took me a while to learn all of that, and I still don’t make the right choices every time. But I try my best, and that’s all I’ll ever ask of you, son.”
The words hit a chord that the smacks never could. Conner broke down, letting out the tears he’d been fighting ever since the soap had been shoved in his mouth. Honestly, he preferred when Clark was angry that he’d been cloned, when he was standoffish and even a bit rude. At least then, he knew where he stood with Clark. But the compassion and the kindness was a truly bitter pill to swallow.
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” he blubbered.
“Conner. Half of my DNA runs through my veins. You wear the symbol of my Kryptonian family on your chest and call yourself Superboy. You sleep in the bedroom I grew up in, where my parents help raise you, and your birth certificate says Conner Kent. And you are over my knee getting a serious spanking. How could you be anything but my son?”
Clark’s explanation did nothing to stop Conner’s tears, but did everything to change his outlook. He’d been struggling with his relationship to Clark for months, wanting to be his own person but being inextricably drawn to Clark for inspiration. He didn’t have parents, not in the traditional sense, but he still wanted one. Cassie had her Mom, Robin had his parents, and almost everyone in Smallville High had parents too. The closest thing Conner had were Ma and Pa, and while they loved him, they were more like doting grandparents.
But it seemed that Superman really wanted him after all.
“Do you mean that?” Conner sobbed. “Like, for real?”
“Yes, Conner. I mean it. I wouldn’t be here now, taking the time to teach you a lesson like this, if I didn’t know that you need to be my son. I may not have expected a teenage clone, but I didn’t expect Kara when she came to Earth either. You didn’t ask to be made, just like I didn’t ask to be sent to Earth on that rocket. You deserve the same chance that I got, and that includes getting all of the love and guidance I can impart. I understand if that’s too much for you to accept right now, but...”
“Shut up, Clark,” Conner insisted, laughing. “Of course it’s not too much. I’ve been wanting you to be my Dad ever since I knew what a Dad was.”
Clark chuckled, and then smacked Conner’s bottom. It wasn’t particularly hard, but it definitely got his attention.
“If you know what a Dad is, then you should know not to tell yours to shut up, Conner Kent,” he scolded firmly. “You had better start shaping up, because no son of mine is going to go around being a snot-nosed punk who breaks the rules. Not if he ever wants to sit again.”
“Okay, okay! I’m very sorry for breaking the rules, okay? I’ll behave, I promise!” Conner squirmed again, wishing he could be up and on his feet. Before, he’d have allowed Clark to smother him with a hug. Now he was going to demand it. “Don’t you believe me?”
“Yeah.” Clark pulled Conner’s boxers back into place. “I believe you.”
A few moments passed as Conner stood up and gathered his bearings. He considered pulling his jeans back up, but decided to wrangle them off instead. After all, Clark was putting him to bed anyway, and Conner was in no mood to argue with that. As soon as the jeans were off, he threw himself into a giant, crushing hug that Clark answered with an even stronger embrace. Several minutes passed as they shared the hug, making up for months of lost time.
“Welcome to the family, kiddo.”