Caged
Written by: Arian
Author's notes: many thanks to svmaria for her wonderful beta when my eyes started to go wonky from staring at this for too many hours. Any remaining errors are mine and mine alone. See the Chloe/Clark hug in the bullpen as drawn by the_rejection right here.
Disclaimer: they aren't mine; I just like to take them out to play from time to time.
***
The thick-gauged, steel mesh of the four-foot square cage cut into his naked flesh as he struggled to back into space that simply wasn’t there. Wild-eyed and knowing better than to cry out, Clark fought vainly against the hands reaching for him. He was pulled bodily from the confines of the cage that had been his prison for, though he had no specific knowledge of the time passing, 6 months and hauled to his feet by two well-built men in navy scrubs.
They forced him into a small, white-tiled room with a shower head protruding from the far wall. His captors let go long enough for one to turn the water on, while the other moved to hold Clark beneath the icy spray. Goosebumps broke out over his body as they scrubbed dried blood from his skin. Clark shuddered every time the kryptonite wrist bands they wore came in contact with his flesh.
The water shut off with a thump as the pipes rattled in the walls. Clark was dragged back to his cage and tossed unceremoniously inside. The shorter man crossed the room. Clark had taken to thinking of him as Boomer and his companion as Rang, because - and he always forced a silent laugh when he thought this - they always came back. Boomer stopped and turned with a wicked grin.
"Doc'll be back for you in," he paused to glance at his watch. "Exactly 32 minutes," As he left, Boomer pressed a button near the door that activated a red L.E.D. readout of the minutes counting down. The lights flickered off and the door slammed shut. Clark was left in darkness, the only light coming from the red seconds and minutes sliding steadily closer to zero.
***
“Happy twenty-fifth birthday, Clark,” Lex stroked the younger man’s cheek and leaned in for a kiss.
“Happy seventh anniversary, Lex.”
“Technically it isn’t our anniversary for three more days.”
Clark chuckled. “If you really wanna to get technical, today is the anniversary of the first time you kissed me. So, happy anniversary, Lex.”
Smirking, Lex guided him back against the desk in their shared office, mouth claiming mouth, hip sliding against groin, hands skimming defined muscles hidden under to many layers of clothing.
“You’re going to kill me,” Clark mumbled as his lover’s lips moved to his neck, laying kisses along his jugular before winding downward to nip across Clark’s collar bone, still hidden beneath the soft blue shirt he’d worn to work that day.
The knock at the front door was enough to make Lex threaten under his breath to fire his entire security staff for allowing someone up the elevator without consulting him first. Clark just laughed and slid past him to see who was there.
He could hear the sounds of their family and friends trying to be keep quiet even without super hearing. Opening the door, Clark grinned as the people he loved most in the world flooded into the room in a cacophony of greetings and happy birthday’s thrown in his direction.
***
It was well after midnight by the time Chloe, Lois, Pete, Lana, and Clark's parents left. Lex had offered guest rooms in the penthouse, but a blushing Martha had declined, saying they already had accommodations for the night. Flushing bright red, Clark had kissed his mother good night and slumped against the door once they were gone.
"I told you they heard us that time!"
Lex shrugged. "You're the one who wanted to have sex. I was willing to wait until they were gone."
"I wasn't the one who insisted on parading around half naked all day."
"Half naked? Clark, I was wearing a t-shirt and pajama bottoms. That's *hardly* half naked."
"You had bare feet. And you were wearing short sleeves."
Lex just quirked an eyebrow and shook his head. "So were you. As a matter of fact, so was your dad. And your mom."
"Thanks for putting that association in my head, Lex. I'll be sure to try and *not* visualize it tonight when you're fucking me senseless."
"May I point out that if I am fucking you senseless, the likelihood of you remembering your parents in pajamas is significantly reduced?"
"I'm going to bed," The sound of laughter followed Clark down the hall.
***
In the darkness of the room, Clark watched as the numbers dwindled down to 42 seconds. He no longer tried to figure out what they might do to him each time they came. In the beginning, it had been a way to try and mentally prepare for the pain, but soon it became a cruel practice he tried not to inflict on himself.
The red glow disappeared as the counter hit zero, and the room flooded with bright, florescent lighting that Clark had to squint against. In stepped Dr. Callum; in his mid-fifties, he had salt and pepper hair, bright blue eyes and a scar that ran from eyebrow to earlobe, Cyril Callum had began his career as a surgeon before moving to the research field and on to working for the wrong sort of people for the right sort of money.
Boomer and Rang followed him, still clad in their customary navy scrubs. Clark had little doubt that they were anything close to actual nurses, but watching the Boomerang twins (*the first sign of insanity*, he thought, *is making up stupid names for your captors*) advance as a wall of blue did offer a certain level amusement.
A third scrub-clad person entered the room, a woman this time, pushing a gurney up beside his cage. Clark was once again pulled physically from the mesh prison. He may have learned that the penalty for speaking wasn't worth it, but he continued to struggle in order to feel like he was at least doing *something*.
When the kryptonite-laced straps slid across his body, Clark stilled and tried not to throw up the vegetable broth that had been his only meal that day. It wasn't easy. When they turned left into the hall, Clark knew that he was being taken to the Observation room. He was wheeled around another turn to the left and through a set of swinging, soundproof doors.
Clark was brought into a room with walls spanning 20 feet across each side. For the first month Clark had been held here, they had done what Dr. Callum called baseline tests. They exposed Clark to varying levels of kryptonite at different distances, recording his reactions with a clinical coldness that had frightened Clark almost as much as the pain.
"Your baseline readings have been off as of late, Clark. We need to conduct the trials again to determine what the new levels are. From there we can begin work on finding out *why* they have changed."
This time the broth did come up. Clark lay shuddering and gasping for breath as someone rushed into the room with a mop to clean up. *Like they were expecting it*, he thought bitterly. He remembered the pain from before. He wasn't sure he had it in him to go through it again. Closing his eyes, Clark let his mind focus on the image of Lex's face, the texture of his skin, the scent of expensive cologne and hiding beneath that, the scent of Lex's skin.
***
Still laughing, Lex followed Clark to their bedroom.
"If you plan on getting laid tonight, you should stop laughing at me," Clark mock-glared at him. Undoing his belt and pulling it loose, he started unbuttoning his shirt.
"You know you won't pass up birthday sex just as much as *I* know you won't pass up birthday sex. So shut up and get naked."
It was Clarks turn to laugh as he obliged. Quickly shedding his shirt and dropping his dress pants to the floor - *no boxers*, Lex noted with a smirk - Clark walked backwards until he was seated naked on the edge of the bed. Spreading his legs wide and leaning back on his arms, Clark raised an eyebrow at Lex, as if asking why he was still fully clothed. It didn't take long for the other man to strip and situate himself across his lover's hips.
"Do you want to fuck or be fucked?" Clark's cock jumped appreciatively at the question.
"Fuck me," he whispered, moving his hand between their bodies to stroke Lex's semi-erect cock until he was hard and dripping.
"Get on your knees."
"No, Lex. On your back."
Clark's grin could only be described as feral as Lex stretched onto his back, one hand reaching for the lube in the bedside table drawer. Lex slick himself as Clark crawled toward him and leaned up over his body. Grabbing his cock with one hand, he sank down and Lex's brain lost all capacity for cognitive thought. Tight, clasping heat surround him and Lex arched upwards, slamming in to the hilt as Clark bore down on him. Clark began a frantic pace as his hands gripped the sheets on either side of Lex's head and their mouths met in a bruising kiss.
"Lex," it was a moan, bitten off with a gasp as Clark pushed himself down on Lex's cock harder and faster. He could feel the heat pooling in his stomach and his skin tingled at every touch of the other man's hands.
Neither heard the click of the bedroom door opening, or the pad of feet crossing the room. They did, however, hear the cold, metallic noise of the safety being slipped off a gun. Clark began to pull off of Lex and maneuver his body between him and the gun. When the sound of the shot filled the room, Lex expected it to bounce off Clark's skin and actually had a second to start thinking he would kill his security team with his bare hands for the fuck up. Then the glowing, green bullet tore through the flesh of Clark's shoulder and wedged itself against Lex's collar bone.
Lex did not scream, not right away. He watched as Clark's eyes widened at the shock of pain. At the sound of the second shot and the stiffening of the younger man's body above his as the bullet lodged itself in the vertebrae at the base of Clark's neck, he found his voice. Screaming. Clark was not moving, his eyes staring blankly ahead. He was still screaming as the gunman advanced and the butt of the weapon connected with his temple, sending his world into a dark, silent nothingness.
***
Lex did not register the passage of time. He slept. He dreamt. He begged for Clark to find him, to save him. When Clark did not come, Lex let himself slip further into the darkness shrouding him. He almost let go. Then a voice reached out to him, like a rope dangling before his fingertips. Martha's voice. Whispered pleas for him to wake up, to come back because she needed him; Clark needed him. Lex clung to the sound. He couldn't always make out the words, but he knew she was there. Now and then her voice would fade away and he would call to her. She always came back, and every time she did he clawed his way closer to the surface.
***
The room was dark. The clock was not lit. Clark had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. He couldn't recall how long it had taken him to pass out. All he could remember was the puzzled expression in Dr. Callum's eyes as the exposure that should have left Clark writhing in agony instead left him shifting in discomfort. Clark didn't know what it meant. Perhaps he was becoming used to the rock? *Or maybe*, the voice in the back of his mind whispered viciously, *your abilities are fading*, *and you are dying*. He almost hoped that was true.
***
When Clark had first awoken in this new place, it was to the sensation of a kryptonite bullet being dug out of his neck. It was the only thing he *could* feel, his body a seeming dead weight beneath the fire in his neck. The bullet popped free with a slick slide and he felt a wave of relief wash over him as someone moved it just far enough away to let his body begin to heal itself.
"Remarkable," a voice near his head said almost reverently.
Clark could feel the rest of his limbs now. He shifted his head gingerly, testing to see if the injury was gone. Moaned softly at the residual ache and curled into a ball when the pain from exposure to a large chunk of kryptonite took hold of him.
"Now, Clark, you'd be better served to stay still. We wouldn't want a repeat of this evening's events in order to restrain you."
Clark grunted softly as the word 'restrain' filtered through the haze and hit home. Restrain meant captive. His pulse sped up and he tried to raise his head again when he felt himself being lifted from the table on which he'd been lying and onto a gurney. Straps were fitted across his legs, waist, and chest, then locked into buckles that glittered green with flecks of meteor rock. Clark was taken to a room housing the cage that would become his prison.
Dr. Callum waited until a dazed Clark was secured inside the cage before squatting in front of him to speak. "We'll start with tests to determine your tolerance level to the kryptonite, Clark. From there, we will move on to the blood tests and then physical and biological tests. Results from those will determine our next course of action. For now, I suggest you try to rest. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."
Turning to go, Dr. Callum paused and faced Clark. "The sooner you accept that you will not be leaving here, Clark, the better you and I will get along."
Before he left, Callum activated digital clock counting down the 6 hours and 17 minutes left until they came back for him.
***
Two months and six days had passed. Martha sat by Lex's side every day, sometimes talking to him, sometimes reading out load and other times crying softly. Lex was still in a coma, Clark was still missing, and Lionel's team had yet to find any trace of her son. Clark's face had been all over the media after Lex had been found comatose and Lionel had teams scouring the globe. There was no sign of Clark's whereabouts.
Today she had chosen to read to him. She was just beginning book eight of Homer's 'The Odyssey' when she glanced up to find pale blue eyes staring back at her.
"Lex?" The book slipped from her fingers as she leaned forward to clasp his hand.
"'The Odyssey?'" he replied, his voice hoarse, a smile tugging at his lips.
She smiled softly at him. "I've already read you two biographies about Alexander the Great. I thought it might be time for a change," Reaching out, she brushed a soft, warm hand across his scalp. Lex leaned into the touch.
"How long have I been here?" A frown flitted across her face and he noticed she seemed draw, older than she had at Clark's birthday dinner. Clark. "Clark. Where is he?"
"Lex-"
"No, where is he?" Hazy, broken images were making their way to the front of his mind; Clark's wide eyes, the shock of the bullet ripping into him. His hand flew up to feel for bandages, for some indication that he'd been wounded. If the bandages were still there, he reasoned, he couldn't have been here long. Nothing but the softness of a cotton t-shirt and smooth skin beneath that; his body had already healed the scar that should have been under his fingertips.
"Lex, sweetheart, take a deep breath," He hadn’t realized he'd been holding it. "You've been here for a little over two months. You were found unconscious in your bedroom with a bullet in your shoulder. A kryptonite bullet."
"Clark," it was a whisper this time.
"We don't know where he is. Lex, I'm going to find Jonathan and your father, okay? I'll be right back, I promise."
Lex's fingers clutched at her hand. "Don't go."
She settled back into her seat and pressed the call button. "I won't."
***
In the months leading up to the second set of baseline tests, Clark learned many things. He learned that speaking unless invited to do so was rewarded with a stun gun to the groin, and that a sliver of kryptonite half the size of a dime was enough to put him on the same level as a human without making him to ill to move, and a chunk the size of a baseball was enough to render him unconscious. Clark also learned that, with the exception of his eyes, his body looked the same as a human's both inside and out. That lesson had come the hard way. They had strapped him down and cut him open, leaving him wide awake to watch and feel as they poked around his internal organs. His blood and organs had regenerative properties; and on the subject of his blood, he learned that with proper exposure to kryptonite, it could reach temperatures of over 3000 Kelvin, which Dr. Callum took the time to explain was about 1000°C or 1800°F. Clark had then promptly learnt what it felt like to have the blood in his veins surpass the point of boiling tenfold.
If you had asked him, Clark would be able to tell you that when they cut his pinky almost completely off and then distanced any sources of meteor rock, the finger would knit itself back together with no indication that any damage had been done. It wasn't long after that discovery that he could tell you the same thing would happen with his hand or foot, but that reattaching an entire leg took a bit more effort and a couple blood transfusions thrown in for fun.
The second set of baseline tests took only three weeks, and after they were done, Clark stopped learning things. He had been returned unconscious to his cage and left alone for nearly a week before the twins came for him. This time, Clark did not have the energy to try and fight them. With a hand on each arm, he was led down an unfamiliar hallway. He'd never been allowed to walk on his own before. His legs faltered now and then as they were forced into long-forgotten movement.
Three turns and four doors later, Clark was yanked to a halt. Boomer knocked twice and pushed the door open at the sound of Dr. Callum's voice. Clark was led inside and forced into a chair that had obviously been made for him. The twins locked his hands into cuffs that housed small pieces of meteor rock and then left the room.
Dr. Callum studied him, taking in his pale skin, dull eyes, and malnourished frame. "Your powers are fading, Clark," he began. "At the rate this is progressing, I suspect you'll be just like the rest of us within a month. Six weeks at the outside. Of course, this is all just conjecture and extrapolation. It could happen sooner, or you could reach a plateau. What it means for the immediate future is an increase in intensity of our work together."
Clark's eyes narrowed at this. *Our work together*, he thought. *You fucking bastard*. He shifted slightly in his chair, trying to ease the cramping in his stomach.
"Your DNA is similar to ours, though it is still quite different. Your organs and bodily functions are the same as a human, Clark. What we need to do, before the opportunity is lost to us, is find out why. If we can determine what portion of your DNA holds the clue to your regenerative abilities, we can take steps to restore your powers and continue our work."
Clark's stomach heaved at that thought. He closed his eyes and saw Lex's face in his mind. Blue eyes, wide smile, scarred lip, the vein that ran along the side of his head. He didn't fight the tears that began to slide down his cheeks. The only thing he wanted was death. Death meant leaving Lex behind and no matter how sorry he was and no matter how deeply he knew that Lex and his family would still be looking for him, he couldn't live through this any more.
"I'm sorry, Clark, did you say something?"
Dr. Callum's voice broke through his thoughts and his eyes flew open. He shook his head mutely.
"Tell me what you're thinking, Clark. Your cognitive abilities, unfortunately, are something we have not had the time to experiment with. I know you're very intelligent and that your memory is close to photographic. I would have liked to explore that further. It's a shame, really," Callum looked at him, waiting.
"You're sick!" Clark hissed softly as another tear tracked its way down his face.
"I'm a scientist, Clark."
"No, you're a sick fuck. You want to know what I'm thinking?" his voice was rough from lack of use. "I'm thinking there are only two things left in this world that I want; death and the chance to say goodbye."
"Who would you say goodbye to?"
"Lex. My parents, my friends."
"And if you had the chance to speak to them one last time, you would be happy to go to your grave?"
Clark paused to study the man before him. "I wouldn't say happy, but it would be a relief."
"It would stand to reason that if you were in the company of your loved ones in order to say goodbye, you might find yourself free. You would still wish for death?"
"Yes."
"No hesitation."
"Nothing would ever be the same."
"Just because something has changed, doesn't mean that it can no longer be good."
Taking a moment to organize his thoughts, Clark shifted again and winced at the wave of pain that washed over him. Dr. Callum was on his feet and reaching for the key to his cuffs before Clark was able to really register that the man had even stood up. Weathered hands pulled him up, steadied him, and pushed the kryptonite-laced chair to the far side of the room. He was then guided into another seat, and Callum moved back to his side of the desk.
"Why did you do that?"
"Your strength is too far gone to do me any harm even if you were foolish enough attempt it. And we're talking. It's poor etiquette to leave you wallowing in pain and expect you to have a coherent conversation with me."
"I thought I was being pretty coherent."
"You were speaking clearly enough, but the thought processes behind the words seemed lacking. For instance, you are the great humanitarian, Clark. You write about those who spend their time helping others, who have committed an act of heroism. You even partake of these activities yourself and write grand stories about the "Good Samaritan" who stopped an attempted rape or recovered a stolen purse or wallet. Yet you seem willing to exchange all of the good you *could* do for the release of death."
"One of the first things you told me, Dr. Callum, was that the sooner I realized I was never leaving here, the better you and I would get along. You've demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt that I will neither be rescued nor released. Why hold onto hope, when hope will only drive me insane?"
"Touche, Clark."
***
At the same time Clark and Dr. Callum were talking in the lab, hidden ten stories beneath the ground in the heart of suicide slums, Lex was seated at a table in the back corner of the newest Metropolis hot spot with the Kent's, his father, and Lois and Chloe. They were waiting for Pete and Lana to arrive.
Clark had been gone for seven months to the day. Lex had arranged the meeting to discuss the efforts to find him. He chose this particular location because he knew the press would be out in full force, as would the cities most well-known gossips. Clark's face had started to fade from the media two months after Lex woke up. In the weeks since, the tip hotline arranged by the police department, and later taken over by Lionel's own staff, had dwindled to a couple hundred calls a week from the thousand or more a day it had once generated. Lex wanted Clark's name back in the news.
"Lex, son, if he's out of the news the people who have him will start to relax. They'll make a mistake that will lead us right to him," Lionel's voice was low and urgent in his ear.
"The other side to that argument being that if the world forgets about him, they won't think twice if they see something that might bring him back to us," Jonathan responded.
Lex's face remained expressionless. "We'll discuss this once we're all here."
It was only a few minutes later when Pete and Lana arrived, citing difficulties getting in the door. Lex's expression darkened and they all knew someone would be fired by the end of the night. Since waking up, Lex had been fiercely unforgiving of anything and everything. The only person who had not been on the receiving end of one of his attacks was Martha.
It wasn't until they were all seated and their orders taken that Lex addressed them again. "There hasn't been more than a passing mention of Clark in the news for over a month now," he began, his tone business-like, as if he weren't discussing the man he loved more than anything in his life. "There's been nothing to indicate that Clark has been taken out of the country. For that matter, there's no indication he's even left the state, let alone the city or its surrounding area. I'm pulling all the teams located more than 300 miles outside of Metropolis and focusing the search here. There are magazine, radio, television and billboard ads in production as we speak. The reward has been upped to ten million dollars, and I will keep raising it by ten every week until he's home again."
"Son, I still think it's best to wait. They *will* grow careless if given time."
Lex continued as if his father hadn't spoken. "Metropolis General has a set of rooms on standby in the event that Clark needs medical attention. The staff is discreet and will attend to his needs with the understanding that if the media receives word of his condition," and here he shot a hard look toward Chloe and Lois. "The millions of dollars donated yearly by the Luthor family will cease."
"Lex-" his father tried to interject.
"Shut up, dad, I'm not done," To those who knew what to look for, Lionel Luthor appeared as if he had been backhanded. Lex turned his attention back to Chloe and Lois. "He may be your co-worker and your friend, and you might be prone to thinking that connection entitles you to the exclusive, but I'd be quick to dispel that thought if I were you. Should either of you abuse your relationship with Clark or with me for a story, have no doubt I will ruin you."
Lois cocked an eyebrow at him. "Look, Luthor, I'll do a lot of things for a story, but I *will not* sell out my friends. Got it?"
"I'll hold you to that."
***
Dr. Callum had been right. Five weeks after their conversation, Clark awoke to find that he *wasn*'*t* nauseous. Lifting his head from the arm he had been using as a pillow, Clark glanced at the clock on the wall to find it read just under two minutes and counting. He struggled to sit up as a wave of dizziness washed over him, forcing him to lean against the side of his cage until it passed.
The door opened and light flooded the room. The twins were there along with Callum and the woman who always brought the gurney. Today Clark crawled from the cage as soon as the door opened. When they lifted him to the gurney and moved to strap him down, he shook his head.
"Yes, Clark?" Dr. Callum asked.
"You don’t need those anymore," he whispered.
Something dark flitted across Callum's expression. "Take him to the observation room and then come see me in my office."
Clark had never been left alone anywhere that wasn't his cage. His heart was hammering and his breathing grew strained. He knew what was going to happen. He knew the second he realized the rock wasn't hurting him. Today was the last day of his life.
***
Boomer and Rang, who were actually named James Finch and Robert Calhone respectively, entered Cyril Callum's office without knocking. Their boss was pacing across the room, one hand in his pocket, the other twitching nervously at his side.
"When I'm done with today's session, kill him."
"Sure, whatever you want, doc," James grinned, his voice deep and gravely from years of smoking.
***
Four hours passed before Callum was satisfied with his data. Clark's abilities were indeed gone. He hadn't counted on the wealth of information that Clark's new blood work would provide though; it was as if the young man had never been different. What he thought would take an hour at most, had stretched far beyond without his notice.
Finally, he looked up from his papers. Clark lay on the table with his head turned to face the opposite wall. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths and his body was listless and unmoving. Callum approached his side and Clark turned his head to watch him.
"We're finished now, Clark. It's been a pleasure. I almost wish I could give you the goodbye you wanted. We don't get everything we wish for, though, now do we? Goodbye Clark."
He wasn't gone more than two minutes before James and Robert entered the room, this time dressed in what Clark assumed were their usual attire; jeans, dark shirts, boots and leather jackets. Shedding their jackets by the door, the two approached Clark. Robert reached his side first and flung him bodily from the table, knocking him across the room.
Clark landed with a gasp. and he was struggling to push himself up when a booted foot connected with his stomach and knocked him flat on his back.
"This is how it's going to be?" Clark rasped, trying to get his breath back. "You're going to beat me to death?"
"Doc said to kill you. He never said it had to be painless," Robert grinned.
Robert dragged Clark to his feet and held him in place while James threw three quick punches to his face, cracking his jaw in the process.
***
"We're moving on a tip, Lex. Suicide slums. We received a report of medical equipment being hauled out of what should be an abandoned warehouse. The helicopter is coming for you now. I'll call if there's any news before you get here."
***
Clark's face was starting to look like something out of a horror movie. His jaw was cracked in two places, his nose broken and gushing blood. One eye was filled with the blood of a burst vessel and the other was swiftly swelling shut. A gash on his forehead was deep enough to show the white bone of his skull underneath and he had lost a tooth on the last blow to his mouth.
Robert dropped him and Clark immediately curled into the fetal position, trying to protect his chest and stomach from attack. James landed a kick to the small of his back and when Clark screamed and unfurled, Robert took the opportunity to break his ribs and puncture his left lung. A foot landed on his shoulder and snapped his collarbone clean through. His ankle came next followed by the fingers of his right hand. White-hot pain exploded in his right arm as one of the men stepped on his forearm and yanked up on his wrist, snapping the bones of his forearm in half.
***
Callum was cleaning out his file cabinet when the door to his office was thrown open. "What took you two so long?" he asked without looking up.
"My apologies, Dr. Callum, but I fear you have me mistaken for someone else," The cold, hard voice of Lionel Luthor froze Callum in his tracks. "You'd do best to slowly turn around, keeping your hands where I can see them, and tell me where Clark Kent is."
Cyril turned, taking in the gun in Lionel's hand and only now noticing that the noise of people packing up and emptying the labs had ceased. "Mr. Luthor, I'm sure that between a man with your appetite for information and myself, we can come to an amicable arrangement."
Lionel's face remained still, only his eyes moving as they followed the shift of his gun downwards. The report was enormous in the small room, drowned out only by Callum's scream as the bullet tore through his knee.
"The only arrangement we'll be coming to is whether or not I kill you quickly once you've told me where to find Clark."
"Observation room. Go back down the hall and make a right, follow the hallway through the double doors and you'll see it."
"Thank you," Lionel turned and left but was quickly replaced with two armed men in full combat gear who lifted Callum from the floor and dragged him from the building.
***
Had the room not been soundproof, Robert and James might have been able to make a run for it. Instead they were in the process of breaking Clark's leg into as many pieces as they could manage when the bullets took them down. Clark screamed as their weight landed on him. His eyes were closed, he was covered in blood, and his mind was screaming at him to just let go. It took four tries for Lionel's voice to penetrate the fog of pain and disorientation.
"Clark! Clark, open your eyes. Open your eyes and look at me, Clark!"
Green eyes in a sea of red fluttered open. "Dreaming," Clark whispered, the word distorted around the blood and swelling but understandable nonetheless.
"You're not dreaming, Clark. Hold on, we’re going to take you away from here."
***
"Hello?" Lex shouted into his cell phone over the whirring of the helicopter blades. He'd been in Smallville at the time of his father's call and now he and the Kent's were ten minutes outside the city centre.
"Lex, I have him."
"Dad? Say that again, I can't hear you."
"I have him, I have Clark."
"You-you what?"
"Meet us at Metropolis General. We'll be there in fifteen minutes."
"Dad, say that again. Please, say that again." The Kent's were looking at him, fear and hope clear in their expressions.
"Son, I have Clark. He's hurt, but he's still alive. We're fifteen minutes outside of Metropolis General. Meet us there."
"Okay, Dad," Lex all but whispered. *Alive*, he thought, *hurt*, *but still alive*. His father had said *still*, which meant… something bad.
"He has him. He has Clark, he-" Lex broke off, a sob threatening to overtake control of his vocal cords. To the pilot he shouted instructions to land at the hospital. To the Kent's he simply said, "Clark's alive."
"Mr. Luthor, sir, I can't get clearance to land at the hospital. The next nearest helipad is Luthorcorp."
"Then land on the fucking lawn!" Lex all but screamed.
The pilot jumped slightly in his seat. "Yes, sir."
Martha was crying, Jonathan was shaking as he held her. Lex felt like he was two seconds away from falling to pieces as the helicopter finally set down at the edge of the now dark patient courtyard.
He was out of the machine and racing around to the emergency entrance, the Kent's close behind, before the skids even touched the ground. A medical transport vehicle belonging to one of Luthorcorp's labs was pulling up to the entrance just as the three rounded the corner. Lionel stepped out of the back first and ran to meet them.
"Wait," he begged. Lex nearly plowed through him, but something in his father's tone told him to hold on. "He's hurt badly, but he's conscious right now," he closed his eyes for a brief moment. "He's… he is hardly recognizable. Be prepared for that. He's scared; you don’t need to scare him further."
Lex's heart was loudly hammering in his chest as he pushed past his father and ran toward the stretcher being unloaded carefully from the back. Already Lex's medical team was flooding out into the night to meet them. Lex pushed his way to Clark's side just as they passed under the bright outdoor floodlights. His stomach clenched as he took in the damage to his face. A familiar green eye blinked up at him. Lex leaned closer and over the noise of the doctors shouting he heard Clark choke his name out.
"I'm here Clark, I'm here." And then Clark was gone, being whisked into an elevator and up to the rooms that had been prepared weeks ago in anticipation of his return.
Martha had her arms around Jonathan and was sobbing against his chest. Lionel placed a hand on his son's shoulder, feeling the tense and trembling form beneath his hand jump at the unexpected contact.
"Come, there's a private waiting room prepared for us."
***
It was seven hours before they heard anything besides the words, 'there's no news yet.' Lana, Pete, Chloe, and Lois had arrived within half-an-hour of Lex calling them. The eight of them sat in clumps on soft sofa's and squashy chairs, or paced the length of the room in a fit of nerves and of excess energy as the night wore on. Every time the nurse popped into the room to tell them there was still no news, one of them would go on a coffee run.
It was nearing five o'clock in the morning and each of them was glancing at the door every few seconds. Like clockwork, the nurse appeared precisely on the hour. This time, however, she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.
"The immediate danger is over. The plastic surgeon and orthopedist have just scrubbed in. Clark's surgeon will be down within the hour to speak with you."
"Thank you," Martha said softly as the woman nodded and left. She move to sit back down beside her husband, but instead crossed to where Lex was seated. Dropping onto the arm of his chair, she wrapped her arms around him and whispered in his ear. "Everything's going to be alright, Lex. Have faith in Clark's strength."
He looked up at her, the unspoken in his eyes. If Clark had been this badly injured and had not started to heal after being removed from the sources of kryptonite his father had said the place was filled with, it meant something had happened to his powers, it meant that Clark was vulnerable; it meant that he could die. She shook her head minutely and held him tightly until the surgeon appeared forty minutes later. Lex was on his feet in an instant.
"How is he?"
The doctor gestured for them to take a seat as he dropped down wearily in the chair across from Lex. "We inflated his left lung, it'll heal nicely. The damage to his face and skull is extensive. Clark's jaw is cracked in two spots and his skull is fractured in four. His nose was shattered along with both cheekbones. Further testing will be necessary, but there is the possibility of slightly diminished sight in his left eye. It is swollen shut at the moment, but the damage to the surrounding tissue indicates a blow was delivered directly to it. When the swelling goes down, we'll be able to treat any damage.
"As for broken bones, there are several. Five ribs and the fingers of his right hand are broken - with the exception of his thumb - as well as his middle, ring, and pinky finger on the left hand. Clark's left ankle is broken, but it's a clean break and should heal quickly. Most of the damage seems to be centered on the right side of his body. The clavicle is broken, and the ulna and radius bones in his forearm are, to be perfectly blunt with you, Mr. Luthor, each lying in two pieces. His wrist is also broken.
"His right leg is shattered in several places. The damage is extensive and he'll need physical therapy before he'll be able to walk on it without assistance. We have the best orthopedist in the state working on his leg.
"Finally, there are two small, and let me stress non-threatening, cracks in his spine; one in the C3 vertebrae and one at L5."
"Non-threatening?" Martha scoffed. "Non-threatening!"
"In as much as a spinal injury can be, yes."
Lex spoke. "How much longer will he be in surgery?"
"Three hours or so, though I can't say for sure."
"How long after that until we can see him?"
"Tomorrow."
"Unacceptable."
"Mr. Luthor, Clark has undergone a serious trauma followed by intense and invasive surgery. He will be kept in an induced coma until such a time as the swelling goes down and we can properly address injuries we currently can not assess. We need to monitor him closely for the next twenty-four hours"
"No, I want to see him once he's been moved to his room."
"Mr. Luthor, if it were my wife in his place, I'd be making the same demands you are and praying that her physician would take pity and let me see her, but-"
"Then take pity, Dr. Welling."
The man heaved a sigh and ran a hand back through his short blonde hair. "Fine, two minutes each. Family members only."
"All of us," Lex demanded over the instant chorus of protests.
"Mr. Luthor-"
"I said *all* of us."
Dr. Welling stood and turned to leave. "Fine. You have time until he's out of surgery. I suggest," he said, nodding at the scattering of take-out cups. "You all get something else into your systems other than coffee."
***
Lex went last. He watched as each person, his father included, re-entered the waiting room with a solemn expression or tear tracks on their cheeks. Lex stood, and Martha stroked a hand across his arm briefly as he made his way into the hallway that would lead him to Clark's room.
He paused outside the door, trying to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to see. No amount of preparation could have readied him for the sight of Clark. His face was a mass of swelling, stitches, and bandages. There was a plastic brace around his neck and across his collarbone. His chest was bare and covered in bruises and more bandages. Lex made a small noise in the back of his throat and stumbled into the room.
Approaching Clark's bedside, Lex took in the rest of his body. A brace around his lower back, splints on his fingers, his right arm encased in a cast from knuckle to bicep and his right leg was wrapped in an open brace, thin steel rods forced through his flesh to hold the bones in place. Lex closed his eyes for a moment then opened them for a closer look.
Clark was too thin. There were tubes and wires all over the place. An IV in the back of his left hand was delivering much needed nutrients to his body, a respirator fitted over his mouth and a machine that measured the slow but steady beat of his heart.
Lex ghosted his hand over the two fingers of Clark's left hand that were not broken. He fell to his knees beside the bed, silent tears streaming down his face. Dr. Welling appeared to inform Lex that he would have to leave, but the sight of the younger man held him in place. Finally, he reached into the room and pulled the door closed.
***
A week passed before Clark finally opened his eyes. Lex was sitting at his left, staring blankly at the magazine in his hand, when Clark's groan brought his head snapping up.
"Clark!" Lackluster green eyes moved sluggishly toward the sound of his voice. Lex felt his throat constrict, but he forced a smile to his lips regardless. "You're safe, Clark, you're in Metropolis General, you've been here for a week."
"Lex, it hurts," he had to strain to hear Clark's voice. He pressed the call button lying near Clark's left hand and a nurse appeared almost instantly.
"He's awake, find Dr. Welling," Clark tensed at the word doctor and cried out at the shock of pain that resulted from the movement. Lex stroked the exposed skin of his hand softly. "Take it easy, love. I trust Dr. Welling; you don't need to be frightened. I'll be here the whole time.
***
Lionel and Mr. and Mrs. Kent conducted a press conference announcing his return on the day Clark finally woke up. After a candy striper had wandered into Clark's room by mistake, the news had promptly found its way into that morning's tabloids and the headlines screamed things like 'Luthor Lover Listed Critical' and 'Kent on Death's Door.' They confirmed that Clark was listed in critical condition, and while his injuries were extensive, he was stable and expected to make a full recovery in time.
When reporters questioned the location of Clark's captors, Lionel stepped forward to state that the culprits had escaped but that both the Metropolis PD and Luthorcorp's own security team were actively searching for them.
Clark watched the press conference with Lex. Reporters had been staked outside the hospital since the previous night, but the local police were doing an excellent job of keeping them back. When Chloe and Lois passed through the doors, though, they raised hell until Chloe stormed back out of the building and read them the riot act on how Clark had been her best friend since they were in eighth grade and if they didn't grow up and move back so that hospital employees, patients and legitimate visitors could do what they needed to do, they'd be lucky if they'd be allowed within five miles of the building. When the two arrived at the room, Lex actually had a smile on his lips.
"What?" Chloe looked at him blankly from the doorway, which was as far as the nurse holding fort in the chair outside would let them go.
"We were just watching your television debut. You look amazing on camera, Chloe. Have you ever considered a career on the screen?" Lex was full out smirking now and beneath the bruising, Clark's lips had twitched slightly upward.
Lois ignored the protests of the nurse and stepped into the room, walking around to Clark's right side to get a look at the TV screen. "Well, Chloe, he's right. The camera loves you."
"Oh god," Chloe moaned, rushing into the room to take in the rerun of her drama queen moment.
The nurse appeared in her wake. "Mr. Luthor, I must insist-"
Lex spoke softly. "Please close the door on your way out," With Clark was awake and on the path to recovery, Lex was willing to overlook the sigh his instructions elicited from the nurse.
"Hey, Smallville," Lois greeted quietly as she turned to face him.
"Hi, Clark," Chloe chimed in, shutting off the television.
"Hey," was the nearly inaudible reply. "Don't," he whispered as Chloe's eyes started to well up. She nodded fervently and instead reached out to pull two chairs over.
"Your parents are on their way here," she announced, throwing her purse over the back of her seat and sitting. Clark made a small noise of acknowledgement.
"It's hard for him to talk with the swelling and such," Lex fidgeted with the sleeve of his long-sleeved t-shirt. Clark's thumb brushed against his knuckles and Lex looked at him and smiled.
***
For Clark, time seemed to pass in slow motion. The first three weeks after waking up were a blur of pain, drugs, and worried faces. Once he'd been there a month, though, it was like everyone clicked into happy mode. The overwhelming sensation of constant pain slowly became the bearable sensation of intense discomfort, which meant he was awake more. This seemed to mean that nearly everyone around him had to perk up almost to the point of annoyance.
At the six week mark the neck and back brace came off, along with the cast on his ankle and the splints on his fingers. The sight in his left eye was growing stronger daily, and it looked like the damage would not be permanent. After eight weeks the brace on his collarbone was removed. His cheekbones and nose had healed beautifully. You couldn't tell that they had ever been broken, which prompted Lex to send the plastic surgeon an obscene monetary bonus. As his recovery progressed, all the doctors who had assisted Clark received gifts ranging from cheques, to charitable donations made in their names, and even a swimming pool for the anesthesiologist's daughters.
While physically he felt better each day, he'd been locked away for eight months and restricted to a hospital bed for another two. Clark felt like he was going stir crazy. Shortly after the orthopedic surgeon had declared that the cast on his arm would need to stay on another week and the leg brace would have to remain for at least three before a cast could be put on, Clark became surly and withdrawn. His temperament had been volatile to begin with, as was expected, but this was a whole new level of what Lois dubbed as 'Cranky Clark.' Upon hearing the newly appointed nickname, Clark had shouted at her to get out and stay out. When Lana tried to reason with him, she had met with a similar banishment.
"Wow, Clark, you're lucky your mom wasn't in the room to hear that!" Chloe said. When Clark glared at her, she simply rolled her eyes and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I know, I know, 'get out and stay out.'"
Clark had clutched her hand in a panic, pulling her back down. "Don't go, please," he whispered. "I'm sorry."
"You don't need to be sorry, Clark. You're my best friend and I love you. It'll take a lot more than a patented 'Kent Glare' to get me to walk away. I was going to go find us some coffee and real food. What are your thoughts on an all-day breakfast now that they've finally taken you off that horrible 'restricted diet' crap?"
"Scrambled eggs with lots of ketchup, home fries, bacon *and* sausage, orange juice and the biggest coffee you can find. Please," Lex and Chloe just stared at him, mouths gaping. "What? I'm hungry."
At twelve weeks, Clark's leg was encased in a plaster cast and he was sent home with a wheelchair and strict instructions to not only stay in it, but to let someone push it for him as his arm wasn't strong enough to handle the stress yet.
***
Lex maneuvered Clark's wheelchair through the front door of the penthouse and paused to shut and lock the door and then set the alarm. "I'll show you how the alarm system works later. You'll need to pick a code. I didn't want to choose one for you, in case..."
"That's okay, Lex," he interrupted. "I'm surprised there isn't a room full of people with balloons and banners shouting 'welcome home' at me."
"Believe me, it was a long, hard battle to get them to agree to wait until you were settled first," Clark laughed. "It’s good to hear you laugh again."
He twisted to pull Lex around in front of him. Taking his hands, Clark placed a small kiss to each palm. "It's good to feel like laughing again."
"I still wish you'd talk to someone. I-I've seen the files and notes, I know what happened to you," Clark went impossibly still at those words. "No, don't freeze me out. Please, please, don't freeze me out on this, Clark. I couldn't live through it!" Lex froze.
"Do you-"
"Bad choice of words, love, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
"It's okay. I was going to ask if you thought you could handle it if, when I'm ready, I talked to you. If you think it would be too hard-" he was interrupted by Lex pressing a gentle kiss against his lips.
"I will *always* be here for you, no matter what it is you need from me."
"What if all I need right now is to be able to sleep next to you in our own bed?"
"That, I can do."
Clark looked almost sheepish. "What if I also need you to switch sides of the bed with me?" Lex cocked his head, looking slightly puzzled. "Dr. Welling said to keep my leg still. And you kick in your sleep."
"I do not!"
"You’re lucky that I don’t bruise…" his voice trailed off. "Didn't bruise," he corrected.
Lex leaned down to kiss him again. "C'mon. We’re both exhausted, so let's go take a nap. I'll happily give up my side of the bed for you," Clark smiled wanly as Lex wheeled him to their bedroom.
It wasn't until Clark had been asleep for nearly two hours that Lex found out he'd been having what sounded like horrific nightmares. Lex had simply watched him for the first hour or so before finally allowing himself to drift off. He wasn't sure what had woken him until the hand clutching his jerked upward before falling back down to the bed. Clark's head whipped back and forth and he was muttering under his breath. Ears straining and barely breathing for fear of drowning him out further, Lex was finally able to make out the words, 'no, please don't, please stop, it hurts' before Clark bolted upright, screaming.
"Clark!"
He screamed again, jerking away from Lex's touch before recognition lit up his eyes and he slumped forward against Lex's shoulder.
"I'm sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry about," Lex rubbed his back soothingly, his other hand rose to smooth a sweaty lock of hair off his forehead. "How long have you been having them?"
"Since I was taken."
"Do you want to tell me about it?" A slight shake of the head pressing into his neck was the only response he got. "If you change your mind," Clark nodded and pulled back, smiling.
The nightmares continued over the next few weeks, two, sometimes three a night. Clark refused to talk about them. Sometimes he claimed he couldn't remember, but most often he just clung to Lex until his breathing steadied and he could lay back down to sleep again.
***
His leg had almost healed when Clark was able to ditch the plaster cast in favor of a walking cast and cane. The change in his personality was pronounced enough that even the doorman to their building commented on it.
"It's nice to see you smiling again, Mr. Kent," Randy said as he held the door for Clark to pass out into the sunshine. "Going for a walk?"
Clark's smile had widened into an almost grin. "Yeah, just over to the Planet. I've been cooped up too long, so I thought I'd walk over to talk to my editor about going back to work next month."
Randy laughed. "Well, try not to overdo it in the excitement of your newfound freedom from plaster cast purgatory, but if you do, give me a call and I'll have a car sent over for you."
Clark chuckled and clapped Randy on the back. As he walked away, he realized with a start that the friendly gesture had been the first time he had voluntarily touched anyone other than his parents, Lex or Chloe since he'd been found. Smile still gracing his lips, Clark made his way down the hill and across the 15 blocks that separated home from work.
When Clark stepped off the elevator and into the bustle of the newsroom, he knew that this was the answer to the feeling that something was still missing from his life. The energy swarmed over him, warming him, making his pulse beat a little faster and his mind perk up to the fragments of stories being worked on across the room.
It was Chloe who caught sight of him first. "Clark!" she shrieked and dashed across the room to wrap her arms around him. Heads began to turn in their direction and it wasn't long before he was surrounded by co-workers who told him that they missed him, that it was good to see him, and asking when he thought he'd be back to work.
Clark smiled brightly and returned the sentiments with answers that he wasn't sure when he'd be return, but that he missed the place and hoped it would be soon. Chloe and Lois noticed when he started to look haggard and pulled him away to Perry's office.
"I wondered how long it would take you to make your way in here."
"It's good to see you, too, Perry."
"Is this a social call? Or are you here to beg to come back, because you're going insane not being in the thick of things?"
"A little bit of both, actually. I wanted to talk to you about coming back next month."
"Clark, that's too soon!" Chloe cut in. "You haven't even started physical therapy yet and Dr. Welling says you still need to take it easy."
Perry shot a look in Chloe's direction that was hard enough to silence her temporarily. "She has a point, Kent. You sure you're up for coming back so soon?"
"I'm not ready to jump back into things full-time, Perry, but this place is a part of me and it wasn't until I walked through the door that I realized this is what's been lacking."
"You've been cranky because you couldn't work, Smallville?" Lois broke in. "God, if I'd known that I'd have put you to work proofing my pieces weeks ago!" It was said with a grin on her face that let Clark know she was joking.
"That's actually a good idea," Perry interjected. "Mary from copy is going on maternity leave next month. With that leg, I don't want to put you on anything that requires you to move around too much. I was going to hire a temp, but you've got a good eye and you know how things work here. I'd expect you in the office to work on the weekend editions. Everything else you can do from home through e-mail, fax, and courier. Once you're back on your feet again, you'll transition back to your usual beat."
Clark considered the option. It wasn't writing, which is what he really missed, but if he could get Perry to let him do a couple stories a month on top of the copy editing, it sounded like a good way to get back into things.
"Deal."
"Your first day back will be the 15th. Be in my office at ten a.m. Now, go home because you look exhausted. Sullivan, drive him home. I don't need my recovering reporter passing out in the middle of the street because we made him walk on a bum leg."
Back at the elevators, Clark stopped Chloe. "You don't need to drive me; Randy's sending a car to get me."
"Okay," she leaned up to kiss his cheek. "I'll see you guys at dinner tomorrow."
Clark made his way back down to the street and bought a cup of his favourite coffee from the vendor, who smiled brightly at him and still remembered his order.
"Are you coming back to work soon?" she asked. Clark nodded and smiled. "Good. My mornings are nowhere near as bright without your smile to light them up," He blushed and chuckled softly. When she refused his money for the drink, he dropped the entire $20 bill into the tip cup instead. She grinned, shook her head and shooed away.
By the time Clark had made it to the top of the hill their building sat on, his leg was screaming at him to slow down, or better yet, stop moving all together. He was seriously regretting the last minute decision to walk home. Randy shook his head at him as he limped through the door.
"I told you I would send a car," He grasped the elbow of Clark's free arm and helped him over to an empty sofa. "You'll have to sit tight here for a little while, I'm afraid. The main elevator shorted out and the guy had to turn them all off to isolate the problem. I can get you some water while you're waiting, if you’d like."
"No, Randy, that's okay. I'm just gonna sit here."
"You know where to find me if you need anything."
"Thanks," Clark smiled and Randy headed back to his post.
Twenty minutes later Lex entered to find Clark seated on the leather sofa in the foyer. Clark quirked a brief smile at the sight of him and Lex raised an eyebrow in response.
"So, how long until the elevator is fixed?"
"A couple of hours."
"If the guy from OTIS ever wants to work again, it'll be done in half-an-hour," Lex said, just loudly enough that his voice carried over to Randy, who moved to speak with the mechanic.
"No threatening the helpless repair guy, Lex."
"I'm not threatening, Clark, I'm motivating."
"You and I have very different definitions of motivation."
Lex shrugged smoothly, wine-coloured dress shirt hugging the curve of his shoulders. He sat down beside him, stretched his legs out, and leaned closer to Clark. "How's the leg?"
It was Clark's turn to shrug. "Still broken."
"Overdid it, huh?"
"Yeah."
Lex leaned in further and whispered in his lover's ear. "Your powers will come back, Clark. Just give it time."
"Mmmm."
"Hey, look at me." Lex's hand rose to cup Clark's chin. "You can't change the past. You're alive and you're home; that's all that matters right now. Everything else is just details. Don't get lost in the details, Clark."
"Lex, I-" Clark paused, not sure what he was trying to say. "I just... can't let it go. It's still to fresh a hurt."
"No one's asking you to let it go, Clark. No one's asking you to do anything you aren't ready to do." Lex's heart ached at the haunted look in the younger man's eyes. "When you're ready, I'll be here. I know you're scared of pushing me away," he went on, seeing Clark prepare to interrupt him. "But it won't happen. We've been through too much for me to be willing to toss it all away."
Clark nodded, his eyes falling to the floor before cutting back up to Lex's face. "I love you," It was a simple declaration, spoken barely above a whisper. Lex's pulse thumped irregularly at the words. It was the first time Clark had said it to him since he'd been found broken, abused, and powerless in a lab ten stories below the ground.
Lex pulled him forward, pressing their lips together. "I love you, too, Clark," He let his hand rest on the back of Clark's neck and they sat forehead to forehead until the sound of a throat clearing nearby brought his head back up.
"Mr. Luthor, sir, the elevator is fixed now," The kid couldn't have been much older than Clark's 25 years. He looked ready to bolt at the slightest provocation, and at Lex's nod and declaration of thanks, he did just that.
Lex moved to stand, but Clark pulled him back down. "I think… no, I know I'm ready, Lex. To let you in. I don't want to carry this by myself anymore, it hurts too much. I need you."
Brushing a lock of hair from Clark's face, Lex pulled him into a tight hug. "I'll cancel everything for the rest of the week, the rest of the month. I'll cancel everything for as long as you need to take to get this out. The rest of the world can go to hell because *you* are the most important thing in it."
Clark felt a tear soak into the fabric if his shirt, and knew that the fierceness Lex spoke with was only the beginning of how the other man felt about him. "Thank you, Lex."
Swiping a hand across his face and eradicating any trace of tears, Lex actually managed to stand this time. "C'mon, let's get you upstairs and off that leg," Lex helped him to his feet and handed Clark his cane. With one arm circling Clark's waist, Lex lead the way home.
***
Lionel Luthor strode into a windowless room no bigger than a walk-in closet and stopped just in front of the man huddled in the corner. When the man didn't move, Lionel crouched down to his level, the single hanging light bulb casting shadows across his expressionless face.
"You've been a bad boy, Cyril," Lionel's voice was hushed in the enclosed space. "You were injecting yourself with Clark's blood."
Dr. Callum raised his head and smirked. "It's a mixture containing more than just blood; I'm not prone to vampire-like tendancies. With its remarkable qualities, how could you expect otherwise, Mr. Luthor? I'm sure that by now you've been through my notes quite thoroughly. Perhaps we can make some sort of arrangement? You're a keen observer, I'm confident you noticed the speed with which my unfortunate injury healed."
"Oh, I agree, I'm quite sure we can come to some sort of arrangement. I don't, however, think it will be one you'll like."
A voice spoke from the door. "Lionel."
He stood. "Clark, you're right on time."
"I thought he got away."
"No, he's been here all this time."
"You look well, Clark. Mr. Luthor was kind enough to tell me what James and Robert took upon themselves to do to you. I should have been more specific in my instructions. While you were of no more use to me, I did not intend to see your last minutes on this earth spent in agony."
Clark scoffed. "You say that as if you didn't spend months inflicting worse on me."
"In the name of science, Clark, not for fun, unlike my overzealous associates," Clark moved as if to strike the man, but Lionel held him back. "Tell me, Clark," Callum continued. "Have your powers returned?"
Clark blanched and took a step back. "Fuck you."
"He's seen my notes. He knows all about you by now, I suspect." Clark's eyes darted to Lionel and he took a step back so that he stood slightly outside of the room.
"I've known since you were a teenager, Clark, you don't need to worry. The reason you are here today is to determine Dr. Callum's fate. He played god with you. It's only fair you should get to play god with him."
Lionel was manipulating him and Clark knew it. Callum was far too dangerous to Clark to be let go, but Lionel also knew that he would never condemn a man to death. Regardless of what Clark said in this moment, Callum would die. The only question remaining was whether or not Clark would allow himself to carry the guilt of that death with him for the rest of his life.
Raising his eyes from Dr. Callum's calculating gaze to Lionel's impassive one, he took another step back. "Do what you want with him. Kill him, flay him alive, let him go; it doesn’t matter to me anymore."
As he turned to leave, Callum's voice stopped him. "Do you remember our conversation, Clark? Was I right? Or do you still wish for death?"
He responded without looking back at the man. "You were right. About more than things being just a different kind of good; you were right about the desire to help. When-" and here he paused and sighed. "If my powers come back, you can at least go to your grave *happy* in the knowledge that I'll use them to help people."
"Your blood had regenerative properties," Callum called as Clark walked away. "If Mr. Luthor was smart, and I have no doubts about his intelligence, he saved some of it. I suggest exploring that field of possibility. You may find something you've lost."
Lionel followed Clark from the room, nodding to the guard stationed outside. The man entered the room and closed the door behind him. The only sounds marking the demise of Dr. Cyril Callum was the soft pop of the silencer and the slide of his body to the floor.
"Clark!" Lionel had caught up with him. "He's right, you know. It would be a simple injection; why not take the chance? He'd been using it on himself!" he called as the younger man started to leave. "He healed a close-range gun shot in a matter of days."
"I need to do this on my own. If my powers are meant to return, they will. If not, then I finally have what I've always wanted; the chance to be normal. Goodbye, Lionel," The elder Luthor watched as he left, one hand coming up to idly stroke his beard.
***
Back in the penthouse with Lex, seated comfortably close on the living room couch and watching an old black and white movie on TV, Clark spoke. "Callum's dead. Your father had him killed today."
"How do you know that?" Lex faced him.
"I was there."
"Clark-"
"I'm tired of feeling helpless."
"You're not helpless."
"I feel like I'm scared of everything. Scared of life itself. The only people I let touch me are my parents, Chloe and you. When I went to the Planet the other day I almost had a panic attack when my co-workers, the people I've known for more than three years, touched me in such simple gestures as a hand on the should or a quick hug. I realized that I'm standing on the edge of living my life again or becoming an empty shell of who I used to be."
"You can't be who you were before anymore, but that doesn't automatically condemn you to a half-life either."
"I know that. I do, I know. Things are different now. The perspective has shifted. Nothing is ever going to seem the same as it did before, but I understand that that doesn't mean it can't be good again," He reached out to stroke Lex's cheek, leaned in to place a chaste kiss against his lips and almost pulled back before hesitating, then deepening the kiss. His tongue flicked across Lex's lips, begging entrance.
"I need you," he whispered.
"Bedroom?" Clark nodded. Lex stood and took his hand, leading him to their room and sitting him on the edge of the bed. Leaning down he continued their kiss while his hands moved to unbutton Clark's jeans and pull the zipper down. Breaking apart long enough to pull Clark's t-shirt off, he returned to the kiss and started to unbutton his own shirt, letting it drop to the floor.
"Lift," he whispered, tugging at the waist of Clark's jeans. Falling to his knees, Lex gently worked the pant leg over Clark's cast. "I guess it was a good idea to cut a slit in these after all."
"Why, so it's easier for you to get me naked?"
Lex grinned. "Of course! Wouldn't have to waste perfectly good sex time trying to get your pants over your cast."
Clark tugged him back up and reached for the clasp of his pants, stripping them off to leave both men clad only in boxers. Clark slid back on the bed until he was leaning against the pillows, watching as Lex crawled up his body, laying closed-mouth kisses as he went.
"You okay with this?" Lex knew Clark's aversion to touch didn't extend to him, but he understood that the last time the two had made love their worlds were promptly thrown into chaos. Both knew one had nothing to do with the other, but still he worried that Clark - who had only been able to tell Lex that he loved him just three days ago – would push himself further than he was ready to go.
"I'm-" Clark stopped and let his hands slide down Lex's arms. "I’m ready to be ready."
"Even if you weren't-"
"I know."
"I love you, Clark."
"I love you too, Lex."
-end-