Chapter Text
Choix Libre, Movement Two: “Liberation”
Pt. 12: Collapse-Lateral
Preface: Covenant-Longevity
I’m very let down that you aren’t prepared to divulge such a minor detail, after all this time. As if I’d care. Le sigh. But, as to the substance of the record at hand… Yes. It was less than ideal, and certainly not fun. But, we got through it. And yes, it might have been an easier recovery if we had made other choices; both before and during. But, again; we survived… and we subsequently got to embark on our new adventure together. I must admit I am more interested in looking forward into what our future held for us after that little hiccup. Because after that? We got to begin our life. And that was, and remains, one of the most incredible developments I have ever experienced. Certainly one I never imagined for myself. Definitely never allowed myself to dream about it.
Well. Truth. I daydreamed; more than once, since the day you came to me on red kryptonite the first time and proposed such lovely visions. But. Not actively. I didn’t think I had the right. And then you proposed it again, and changed my entire existence. You must know, it was and is a wonder to me; even to this day, that we got to do that. That you wanted to give up your home and join me to look toward an unfamiliar and sparkling future. To explore it, side-by-side. For, by it, you gave me a life.
* * *
231. Commotion-Liability :
It was the sound of Lex falling limply to hit half on the thick rug, half on the unyielding hardwood, that did it. Clark was back in his body like a burning house falling in on itself. With no violence left to be done, no action to be taken, Kahl had fled; no doubt in hopes that this side of him more used to human contrivances, could contrive something, anything to salvage this situation.
The problem being, he couldn’t. Do anything!
Right now, Lex was bleeding, and he couldn’t help. He couldn’t even get close. He’d already collapsed, legs turned to jelly the instant the bullet had penetrated their room. He was impossibly weak… and Lex was maybe dying. He could feel the moment he lost consciousness, his vital signs inside Clark’s solar plexus shutting down to something stuck at a low, flickering ebb. Fading, shot; and he couldn’t do anything about it at all.
Lionel was still there, too. /I could grab him, tear him to pieces… if I could reach him./ But with a vengeful Kahl buried under responsibility, Lionel wasn’t the priority anymore. Given the circumstances, his whole attention was on his mate. Otherwise, he would already have long since flown at the perpetrator, Kahl or no Kahl… but right now he couldn’t even do that. Lex lay between him and the bastard who’d wounded him… and Lex had kryptonite in his shoulder. Refined kryptonite.
Clark clung desperately to the bed just to stay upright; stuck fast a solid three feet away. He’d crawled as close as he could; managed even to touch Lex’s limp, naked ankle, but that contact afforded him no purchase to get any closer to his wounded shoulder. All it managed to do was add to the agony riddling his being, till he couldn’t remotely tell the difference between his pain and Lex’s.
None of that mattered, though. Not weakness, not incapacity, not Lionel. Lex needed him.
He tried in vain to creep closer. Promptly vomited on the rug next to Lex’s knee, tremors racking his frame so violently that he could scarcely remain on his hands and knees; muscles crawling and knotting so that he could not force them to move forward even another inch.
Somewhere in the distance, where he no longer mattered, Lionel was no help. He’d staggered back once he’d realized what he’d done. Was gaping now, folded back into the doorway like a knocked-over house of cards. He would do no further harm tonight. He’d already done enough. Had shot poison point blank into his son’s shoulder in an attempt to ‘save him’. /Even if he does shoot again, he’ll shoot me. So I have to get Lex help before…/
Clark gasped and retched; trying, ever striving to get closer. So much bleeding, and Lex looking horribly pale and vulnerable in front of him. Everything in him dragged him forward, millimeter by infinitesimal millimeter; inexorably closer to his wounded mate, but by it more and more incapable of forcing himself near enough to be of any help. His body, unable to comply, all of him palsied and agonized… and he one hundred percent had no clue anymore how much of the anguish was his and how much of it came from Lex.
“Help him,” Clark managed to wheeze at the bastard panting and leaning like a deflated sack of shit against the open door. He didn’t want Lionel anywhere near Lex right now, but given the options left to him… /Anyone, if I can’t. Any…/
Desperation made odd bedfellows, or whatever the saying was. But, a stunned Lionel appeared unable to move as well; like a sick marionette with cut strings, who had used all of his remaining energy just to stagger to the site of his failure, and was now so weak that he couldn’t force himself a step further. He’d even since dropped the gun at his feet.
It was a good thing he had. Not that the presence of more kryptonite was in any way helpful, but at least the proof was there; that this could have been worse. Half-wedged in the jammed slide on top peeped a second livid, fitfully-glowing bullet of evil. A double-whammy of angry meteorite in that direction, and Clark couldn’t… /Someone help him. I can’t… Ohgod…/
Something seized Lionel’s body from behind, yanking the brittle form backward, away from the doorjamb. He didn’t fight the newcomers, if he even could. He just made a low moan as he vanished from the aperture.
“I got him, Luke.”
“Get the cuffs on him! Here!”
“Shit! Grab that; he has a gun!”
“Did he shoot someone?”
“I heard a shot!”
“Check inside!”
“Oh, fuck… he got the boss!”
“Goddammit, not again!”
“Get him out of here!”
One of the guys, Luke Silver, appeared in the doorway, one hand on Lionel’s wasted arm to restrain him, eyes flicking from Lex’s bleeding form on the floor, then up to where Clark lay near-suffocating at his side with a hand on the pallid, unmoving knee. “Shit. Kid, are you shot too? Did you call anyone yet?”
Before he could answer, maybe demand why one of them wasn’t in here helping with First Aid, Farah had darted inside and, irrespective of the fact that they were both naked right now, fell on her knees next to Lex’s damaged shoulder. “Are you shot, too?” she gasped.
“No. Help him, please…” Clark couldn’t breathe. But he could back up, make the all-important call. Now that Farah was there, and brave enough to try…
With each inch of ground gained in the opposite direction, some ability returned to his body. Another foot, and he no longer felt like he was actively dying, could take a sobbing, groaning breath. He didn’t care right now who saw that he was naked, and maybe different. It didn’t matter a whit who noticed his shy genitalia, now hiding in shock; even Farah. That wasn’t what was important. What was was getting Lex help.
He gained the nightstand, somehow. Scrabbled around atop it till he got hold of Lex’s phone. If the security guys only had their walkie-talkies on them right now (which seemed to be the case, since that was what they were using to communicate a lockdown to their fellows), then he had to call everyone else. /I can do that much, at least./
He seized the Blackberry with numb hands still trembling and horribly weak, and managed to dial nine-one-one.
‘Smallville RFD, what’s your emergency?’ Deena Altan answered in her businesslike voice.
“Lex Luthor’s been shot by his father,” Clark gasped it out. “In the shoulder. Send someone, please! He’s upstairs in his bedroom…”
‘By his father?’
/No time./ “Please, send someone!”
‘Uh, EMTs are being dispatched.’ Deena sounded like she was taking refuge in her script. ‘Is, ah, the shooter still on the premises?’
“The security guys have him. Send the Sheriff too.” Clark lifted his eyes to the man in the doorway. “EMTs are coming!”
Luke nodded and lifted his walkie-talkie to his mouth. “Paramedics are on the way. Let ‘em in when they get to the gate.”
‘Roger that!’
‘The Sheriff is on her way with a deputy to take custody of Mr. Luthor. I’ll advise the ER that Lex is coming, and that he's sustained a gunshot. Are you able to try to staunch the bleeding? If you apply pressure…’
Farah, kneeling next to Lex, looked frantic as she pressed what looked like a light jacket to Lex’s seeping shoulder. She was crying, and the thin garment was already soaked with blood. Clark staggered forward a foot or so, grabbed the nearest sheet, and yanked it off the bed. Currently possessed of a lot less than his standard strength, it took some tugging, but it was off and on Lex in seconds. “Here!” he husked. “Use this!”
Farah grabbed it, relaxing slightly as the tail of it covered Lex’s exposed bits, since probably it was a no-no for her to touch a person not in her family who was naked. But she’d done what was necessary anyway, and he would be forever grateful to her. “They say to keep pressure on it till they get here!”
She nodded wordlessly, wadded up the lavender, thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton, and pressed, her whole upper body’s weight behind the move. Underneath her, Lex groaned in reaction. It shouldn’t have been a relief to hear it, but the fact was, this was the first sound Clark had heard from him since the bullet struck.
Unfortunately, it also came accompanied by a shock of lancing anguish. The pain shot through him, from his torso outward to settle in his own shoulder; an echo of Lex’s status as he was briefly roused to semi-consciousness.
He felt it when his mate lapsed back to a passed-out state, if only because the piercing agony subsided somewhat, back to unknowing, blissful unawareness. It left behind a staggering, comparative recognition of what hurts belonged to which person. How pervasive and all-encompassing was the familiar ache of kryptonite, versus how pointed and intense the feel of the rending bullet.
On the phone, Deena was asking him something. He had no idea what, and was it horrible that he burst into tears, having heard that one low, agonized exhale? It was a tearing, awful noise, but it was a sign of life, and the relief of it nearly swamped him. “Why didn’t you guys get here sooner?” he demanded of Luke.
“Here. Get him out of here!” Luke turned away from his invisible colleague to face Clark with a pained expression. “He had a diversion. Probably paid ‘em off to try to get in. We had a whole bunch of what looked like more protestors scaling the gate and the wall. We were down there repelling ‘em like this is an actual damn castle, so we didn’t catch him when he snuck in.” By his expression, he was pretty mad at himself for letting Lionel get the better of him.
/He planned it. He came here and he planned it and…/ “I’m gonna kill him.” /When do I get to kill him?/
Time had lengthened impossibly; stretching out like the entire universe was contained in this room. Lex was still bleeding; frighteningly still, and distant as a nearby star. Deena was on the phone asking him health and safety questions he couldn’t hear, telling him that the EMTs would be there in two minutes, that they’d already left. Clark struggled to breathe as he stumbled back toward his love, and fell to his knees by his feet. /If I could help… If I could use that laser thing I did on Zach…/ He tried, but nothing would kick on. Not with kryptonite so close. He was just squinting dumbly through the white noise in his brain, the blurry eyes of the meteor-affected Kryptonian.
Such a little thing to render him so damn useless.
Three feet away, hijab askew, Farah was chanting something to herself in Arabic or Farsi or something, tears still streaming down her face. “We won’t lose him,” Clark croaked, hoping it would help. He knew how courageous she was being right now. If they… lost Lex, and it was on her watch, she would never forgive herself. He would never forgive himself either way; that he wasn’t strong enough to help… but he would give anything to be able to do what she was doing. Take her place; but he couldn’t move. Could barely keep from throwing up bile, his muscles were knotting again…
He called Mom and Dad, somehow. The farm was speed-dial two on the Blackberry, after his own cell. ‘Kent Farms. How can we…’
He didn’t know why they were answering like it was business this late. It had to be after seven, or… Maybe they were uncertain whether it might be another hate-call. /But no; this is worse./
He interrupted without thought; gasping out the necessary. “Mom, Lionel… shot Lex.”
‘Wait, what?’
“He came… in here and… shot Lex, with a kr… a meteor-rock bullet. A refined one!”
‘Oh God… Jonathan!’
“Meet us at… the hospital.” He couldn’t think, couldn’t help, but if they could come, then maybe… Maybe it would be alright?
Despite not moving, he found he could breathe again when the EMTs shouldered their way through the doorway to slide inside and jump into action. One of them, a man Clark vaguely recognized as newcomer Tim Fields, fell to his knees next to Farah and nudged her aside to lift the sheet and glance underneath. “God. Bill, grab a compress, fast!” He had the sodden wad back down and was pressing in Farah’s place. “Good job,” he murmured to her as she gave way gratefully. Her hijab was half-falling off, revealing strands of dark, glossy hair. She was breathing like a wounded fox in the henyard as she shuffled away on her knees, scrubbing unawares at her bloodied hands.
Across from Tim, old-timer Bill Severance had some kind of case open and was handing out technical looking items. In a trice they’d removed the soaked-through sheet to press something official against the wound. “What’d he use?” Bill demanded of the room at large.
“A forty-five,” Clark answered, tottering on his knees and gulping to keep his gorge down. “He had a green…” /Shit./ “It looked like the… bullet was made of… meteor rock.”
“Why the hell would anyone do that?” Tim demanded as he strapped down the compress thing.
Bill grunted as he set out bandages and took vitals. “You’d be surprised what people’ll do with that shit. Here.” A swift, sideways glance Clark’s way. “What’s wrong, Kent? You hurt too?”
“No, I…”
“Scared of blood?”
/Damn, they’ll probably think that, right?/ “I’ve, uh, never seen anyone shot before,” he lied, sounding woozy enough that they might even buy the implied falsehood. /Too squeamish to help my guy survive. A wuss./ Accurate assessment, even if that wasn’t the real reason. /If I was stronger, I would’ve…/
Bill grunted again but didn’t comment further. Probably he thought it was because Clark was effeminate and weak or whatever. Clark didn’t care. He could think what he wanted. /As long as you keep helping Lex./ Thank god they weren’t pulling some, ‘it’s against my religion to give medical treatment to a fag’ thing. He’d heard of people doing that, and just letting victims bleed out. It was to the point that some cities had made laws saying if you were a first-responder, you couldn’t make calls like that anymore, because of the liability. /Smallville RFD can’t handle a lawsuit if a Luthor dies on their watch. They’ll help him whether they like him or not./
It was somewhat of a comforting thought.
Outside the room came the sounds of a scuffle or something, then the familiar tones of Sheriff Adams’ comfortable drawl. “Here, hand him over. Alright. Mr. Luthor, we’ll read you your rights later. You look like you need a doctor yourself. Willy, get him checked out once you get to the jail, alright son?”
“Yes ma’am. C’mon, Luthor, let’s move.”
“Here. This is the gun, Sheriff.”
Clark heard the distaste in her voice as she answered. “Just put it aside there for a sec, will you? I need to go have a look in there. One of my boys’ll be here in a second to wrap it up.”
“Whatever you say, ma’am.”
Clark spared a brief millisecond to thank Whatever that she hadn’t chosen to bring the evidence in the room with her. He’d definitely pass out if she did.
The sheriff ducked inside just as Tim was saying, “His vitals are looking real rough, Bill.” He sounded alarmingly worried.
/Oh God…/
“Yeah, let’s get him on the gurney and to the ER, stat.” Bill sounded like he was reserving judgment, but that he didn’t feel super hopeful.
The doubt in his voice was a devastating thing to hear.
“Missed his heart. Not sure why he’s failing so fast…”
“It’s the rock. That stuff does weird things to people. I don’t care what the CEP says. You guys! Bring in that gurney for us, now your hands are free!”
Luke and another security guy, Jim Alderson, scurried in, pushing the saffron-and-crimson medical gurney the EMTs had left in the hall. As the paramedics lowered it and struggled to get Lex safely on it, Sheriff Adams eyed Clark’s naked self up and down. “He get you too, son?”
Clark could move as soon as Lex was heading for the door. The rock didn’t hurt so bad now he was across the whole entire room. That being the case, he struggled slowly to his feet. Only then realized how hard he’d been crying.
He was not even a tiny bit ashamed. “No, I…” How the hell should he explain why he wasn’t able to help? A so-called loving partner, and he let everyone else do what he couldn’t! “Is Lionel gone?” His eyes remained locked on Lex as he was wheeled away; terrifyingly pale, one limp arm lolling off the gurney, spattered with blood. Tim shoved it back on and strapped it down so it wouldn’t collide with the doorframe while they moved briskly out.
“He’s gone. On the way to the station.” The sheriff pursed her lips like something wasn’t adding up for her, which it probably wasn’t. “What I want to know is why in damnation would anyone make bullets out of that stuff.”
He had to play it off, somehow. “I dunno. Weird, huh?” It came out weakly, but he got it out. “I think he went off his rocker a little, there.” Absently, he found himself swiping at his soggy face with his left wrist, like it would do any good. He felt oddly numb as Lex’s feel seemed to telescope. As they took him further and further away… “He’s not the first one to try it, though.”
“Oh, right. That McNulty kid.” The sheriff appeared to find his statement slightly amusing. “I’d have to say you’re right in your assessment, Mr. Kent, if Luthor jumped up from his deathbed to shoot his own son for being gay.”
/I mean…/ “Actually, he meant to shoot me.” God, it hurt to say it. “Lex jumped in front of me.”
The sheriff blinked at him, then nodded as if things were starting to tally. “That’s a good man to have at your side, then. You want a ride to the hospital?”
/Any normal partner would be in the back of that ambulance with him, but I can’t do that./ He nodded gratefully, and found to his surprise that tears were still streaming down his face. “Yes, please.”
“Then get some pants on, son.” It was a kindly reminder. She turned to a silent, traumatized Farah, probably to give him a chance to get dressed in something like privacy. “You should go on and wash up, young lady,” she added gently.
Farah looked like she needed it. She had blood all over her, and her hijab was by now half off. /And Lex said that’s not cool./ He’d help her straighten it, but that probably wasn’t cool, either. “Your headscarf’s falling, too,” he told her, and thought his own voice sounded really weird. Attenuated.
“Oh. Thank you, Clark.” She, too, sounded distracted. Like ya do; but she did move to straighten her accoutrement. “I’m gonna go… clean up.”
“Yeah. Thank you, Farah.” It came out with feeling, despite his oddly remote sense of the world right now.
A nod, and she was making her shaky way out the door.
He owed her his entire life. He’d have to give her… a card, or flowers, or…
“Pants, Clark,” the sheriff reminded him quietly. It was the first time he’d ever heard her use his given name.
/Right, right./ He scuffed around on the floor with his feet, seeking his discarded jeans. Found them eventually and tugged them on, wondering distantly if anyone had thought he looked weird, the way his junk was all half-retracted like that. He was probably lucky everyone was too busy worrying about other stuff. But either way… /It doesn’t matter right now. Nothing matters, but…/
He’d have to clean himself up while he was waiting in the hospital. Could he sit in the ER close enough to see Lex, see if he was alright? Or would he go right into surgery? /If I’m outside the viewing window, maybe…/
He felt completely out of it. Weak still, for exactly zero reason, and pervasively guilty; like he’d said something wrong and couldn’t recall who to apologize to. He could also barely feel Lex. It was disorienting, scary, and he couldn’t think even a little bit.
He jumped and blinked when Sheriff Adams laid a friendly hand on his bare shoulder to guide him toward the door. “You have a shirt around here somewhere, Clark?”
“Huh? Oh.” He eyed the floor, where some bits of clothing remained scattered from earlier adventures. Lex’s lavender ribbed long-sleeve with the oval neck. Lex’s slacks. Clark’s tee had to be somewhere around here, right?
His eyes skipped over the pool of blood on the hardwood, and he again blanked out. He might cry some more, he might…
“I think you might be in shock, son. And frankly, I’m not surprised. Here.” The sheriff stooped, grabbed something off the floor, and settled it around his shoulders. It was his rough canvas jacket with the flannel lining. He murmured something that might have been a thank-you, and commenced shoving his arms in. One sleeve was inside-out, and he couldn’t seem to figure out how to get it to work right. It didn’t make one lick of sense, but he just couldn’t get it to work, anyway.
“Here.” A tug from the kindly woman, and his arm slid right in. “Alright, let’s go. I bet you’re itchin’ to get to the hospital so you can keep an eye out for your significant other. Your folks on their way?”
She was being so nice. It would weird him out if he wasn’t already topped out with emotions and, just, really confused. “Uh, yeah,” he answered vaguely, and stumbled on nothing on his way out the door in her wake. /Is there still some kryptonite around, or…/
The sheriff didn’t seem surprised that he was acting uncoordinated, though. She merely waited for his gait to recover, then gamely nudged him so he’d turn the right way. “Glad to hear it.”
The way she was acting around him sort of reminded him of how gentle she’d been with that girl last year who’d been hurt by her father. Like she got how Clark was feeling and felt bad for him, or something. It was different, but he didn’t have the mental capacity to really focus on it right now.
They spilled out into the passage. No explanation there. He didn’t feel the other bullet around. One of the deputies must have grabbed it and put it into evidence or something. Good thing, or he wouldn’t have been able to follow her down the corridor. /They’ll have crime-scene guys come to look at the room. They’ll…/
His attention sort of hazed out. He didn’t really notice the passage of time or space; just that somehow he ended up inside a patrol car—the front, not the back—being driven swiftly along darkened roads that seemed weirdly unfamiliar. He couldn’t think of anything to say. His mind was a vast, empty, echoing space, full of monsters lurking around corners.
He kept his eyes pointed straight ahead so he didn’t see them. He was so adjusted to the low light, though, that the blazing of the hospital as they rounded the last curve nearly blinded him. “Oh.” /Here. Right./ He fumbled with his seatbelt. He didn’t recall putting it on in the first place.
“Alright, son, let’s head in and see what’s the what.”
He let her lead him, focusing solely on trying to feel Lex. He couldn’t, though, and as such, panic was starting to break through the numbness. Also, why did he feel so cold?
His heart started to pound furiously again. /What if…/
“…Checking in to see where they took Lex Luthor,” he heard from some vast, roaring distance. The sheriff, asking for info at the front desk. “What’s his status? Is he in surgery yet, or…”
The girl at the desk, someone Clark only knew by sight but not by name, looked at some list, then nodded up at the sheriff. “Yeah, he’s in Surgery One right now.” Her eyes darted to Clark, standing there half-naked in jeans and a gaping jacket with no shirt, then bounced away to resume staring at the paper in her hands. “Uh, go on upstairs to the second floor.”
“Right. Thanks, hon.” The sheriff resumed guiding Clark; this time toward the elevator with a hand between his shoulder blades.
He obeyed without thought as relief thundered through him so hard that his legs wobbled. /In surgery means he’s unconscious. That’s why I can’t feel him. He’s alive, he’s just under. He’s alive, he’s okay…/
When he exited the elevator, he saw his parents sitting on one of the rows of hard chairs in the teal room, huddled together looking anxious. Dad had an arm around Mom’s waist, and their heads were leaned in to each other. But when they heard the doors open, they looked around… and immediately sprang upright to greet him.
Mom literally ran to him, even. Grabbed him up, wrapped him in her arms, sounding shaken as heck. “Oh, Clark!” An instant later she’d pulled him away from her to do a one-over. “Oh, honey, you have blood on you!”
Immediately derailed, he looked down at his bare chest, his legs, which were now covered. “Where…”
“On your… Your feet.”
He stared down at his feet… and only then realized they were bare. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d forgotten to put on any shoes. /How did that get there? I never got close. I couldn’t! If I had, if I’d earned this…/ It was not much; just splatters between his toes; like when you stepped in muddy puddles in spring, and it squished up between them and under the arch of your foot, but didn’t get much of anywhere on top. /Except, when you do that, it feels nice. Warm and nice, not… This./ He’d probably picked it up from the rug, from some side-puddle. He’d avoided the big pool like the plague. He hadn’t even wanted to look at that.
Would housekeeping clean that up before they got back? It seemed a lot to ask of anyone, but he really didn’t want to go back to that, either. He never wanted to see it again.
“Clark. Baby, look at me. What happened?”
He returned her look, his mouth hanging open, wordless. Nothing would come out of his throat. He couldn’t find any way to start, and he honestly couldn’t think with Lex’s blood on him. /Is it on my hands, too?/ His eyes drifted away from Mom to look at them. Turned them over, saw a few droplets. His brain fuzzed out.
“You okay, son?”
Clark blinked when the sheriff left him to move a little closer to the folks. From inside his daze, he thought he heard the words, “…Probably in shock. God knows I would be…” and “…Don’t think he was hit. But it was the hell of a thing to have happen in front of you…” and, “…The security men up there said he had an issue with blood? He wasn’t the one doing the First Aid. I guess a girl named Farah did it…”
Oh. Right. His lame cover story, that made him sound like an asshole who cared more about seeing blood than the fact that his Lex was dying.
Mom hurriedly went with it, of course. Murmured something about knowing who Farah was, and that they were grateful to her, and that yes, Clark short-circuited sometimes around blood, and some bullshit about him being badly affected the first time he’d seen a slaughter on the farm back when he was first adopted. How they got around it well enough by sharing out chores each according to his gifts, and that who knew what might have happened in his infancy that might have made that a thing for him even before he’d been adopted.
The sheriff answered with some old saw about how it wasn’t any shame, and that she’d known some cops who weren’t the best at blood, even. “It was the sort of scene that makes trained officers a little squeamish. Anyhow, we should let him go clean up. It might help get his head on straight again, doing something so straightforward and normal. And in any case, it’s not like we’re gonna hear much about the man in question till he gets out of surgery…”
/I still can’t feel him. But he’s in surgery. He’s not gone, he’s not…/ It was all he could think of.
“I can get his statement later, once that’s all done and Lex wakes up. I doubt he’ll be in the right headspace to give it till then, anyway. But once he knows all’s well…”
“Right. Yeah, uh, we’ll set it up, Sheriff.” Dad held out a hand. “Thanks for bringing him in yourself.”
The sheriff shook the hand, then waved it to dismiss the thanks. “It was a real bad scene up there. I wanted to make sure he was alright. Seein’ something like that can really mess up your head. Maybe if you could try to get him to talk it out, that might help.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Mom answered. It sounded like agreement.
/Don’t make me talk about it, don’t…/ He couldn’t revisit it. Not yet. Not till he knew.
The woman turned to Clark and patted his shoulder where he stood stock-still in front of all of them. “Go get cleaned up, son,” she urged him, still in that even, gentle voice she’d been using since she’d first addressed him in the bedroom. “You’ll feel a heck of a lot better once you’re lookin’ more like yourself.”
“Yeah,” he breathed, and felt his eyes fall involuntarily back to inspecting his hands for more blood. /His blood on my hands. I didn’t do anything, and…/
The sheriff gave him another encouraging cuff to the shoulder, then headed for the elevator, presumably to go deal with the crime scene and whatnot. Clark scrubbed at his hands fitfully, hoping to get rid of the telltale spots.
After a second’s exchanged glances, Mom said something about staying here to hear any news. At which point Dad grabbed Clark’s arm, firmly but gently. “C’mon, son. Let’s go get you cleaned up. We can’t do much in a hospital bathroom, but…”
He was guided away; away from the waiting room, toward the corner. Realizing that they’d be leaving the lobby, Clark balked, literally digging his heels in. He didn’t have the words, but what if they said something while he was gone? What if Lex needed him, and…
“It’s alright, Clark. Mom’s there. She’ll come get us if there’s any news.”
/Mom’s there. She cares about Lex. She’ll tell me, she won’t let me miss it if…/
With perseverance and a lot of nudging, Dad got him around the corner and into the men’s room. He then stood there like a valet and wetted paper towel after paper towel for Clark to mechanically and repetitively sop up the blood on his feet and throw it out; flimsy, tearing, useless paper after paper. Eventually he got it all off, more or less (except for the resultant, faint stain), and by then, he was better able to pay attention to his world and function in it. He even felt a tad warmer. It seemed the sheriff was right, and doing something so everyday and menial had cleared his brain and motor skills up somewhat. “Uh, I’m gonna go in the john for a sec,” Clark added finally, and headed over to grab a couple other towels. He wet them, then nodded in his Dad’s general direction and, without further explanation regarding the props, went into one of the stalls. He should probably clean up in the personal bits, too. Especially given the whole retractable thing. He’d been in the middle of… Of sex when…
A flash of Lionel, standing in the doorway, staring. Holding the gun. The sound of Lex, hitting the floor. The awful thud of it, bringing him back. Glimpses, as from other eyes, of the bullet moving in slow-motion…
His brain blanked out again. /Stop./
Seating himself on the toilet, he began to methodically pull things out and dab them off, then tossed the towels in the bowl even though he knew that wasn’t the best thing in the world for the plumbing. He had nowhere else to put them, and there was no trash can nearby. He then did his business since he was there anyway, and he didn’t want to have to leave the waiting room again, then exited and went to wash his hands.
He must have scrubbed at the fading stains for too long, because somewhere in there, Dad laid one of his on Clark’s wrist. “You’ve got it, son. You’ve done the best you can. The rest will just have to… fade out. C’mon. Let’s go see Mom. She’s worried about you, too.”
Clark obeyed mutely, inordinately grateful to have someone available to tell him what to do, how to behave. He simply couldn’t function right now. Not without Lex seated comfortably there in his solar plexus. It was wrong to have him not-there. It wasn’t acceptable, and at any moment he could slide right back into total panic.
The enormity of his absence right now made it impossible to think, or do, or work right in any capacity. He needed help, right now, just to… /Just breathe. Just keep breathing, for him./
They regained to the lobby and sat. Any other time, Clark would be pacing, but right now he still felt weirdly weak. Like there was still kryptonite around, somehow. Like he’d been the one to be shot with it. /Is it because he still has…/
“What happened, honey?” Mom asked him after a little while. “How did…”
It burst out of him; a shocking unspooling of self-hate he hadn’t even known was lying in wait. “I should’ve known!” He was abruptly incredibly furious at himself now, way too late. “I felt sick when he got there! Just a little, but I should’ve known!” Berating himself felt better than doing nothing. “I thought I was just feeling sick in general, seeing him, especially with… With what he was interrupting, but…” /I should have told Lex that I felt it. I should've.../
Mom looked ready to cry, now, herself. “Oh, baby. If you didn’t see it, you wouldn’t know.”
Dad scowled on his other side. “I would’ve felt sick, having that man show up in my bedroom at night.”
Their forgiveness was unacceptable. “I should’ve…” The tears were coming back. He was going to break. “I should’ve been able to help.” It came out thickly, and he couldn’t hold it back. He was definitely going to cry again.
Rage fled, helplessness rushing back in to take its place. “I should’ve been able to stop the bleeding, or go after him, or… But I couldn’t do anything! Not a damn thing! I just sat there being useless, because of that stupid rock, and I…”
He must have scared them with how hard he was crying, because they both took him into their arms and held on; a three-person, tight embrace. His folks murmuring fierce things to him about how it wasn’t his fault, how he couldn’t have done anything, how he’d reacted much worse to the stuff after he himself had been shot with it, last year. How even they had noticed the difference. That his allergy was so bad now it was a wonder he’d stayed conscious at all. How he hadn’t failed Lex, how he’d done the best he could by calling the people they needed to come save him. “And he’s in surgery,” Mom insisted, stroking his bare back over his useless jacket. “They’ll get it out, and then you can sit with him, and hold his hand, and tell him to stay with you.” Tears in her voice, insistence in her hands. “And you know he will. If you ask him…”
/I can’t… What if…/ He couldn’t think it. Wouldn’t be able to do it, if… /I can’t… If…/
“Yeah, I have to say, that man’ll do anything for you, Clark. And you know it.”
For Dad to say… That meant it was true, right? /Even this./
“He’s a strong guy. He’ll be alright.” Dad scrubbed briskly at his lower back, sounding like he was fighting to convince himself. “He’ll be fine. Probably walk out of here in a couple of days.”
It was all Clark could cling to. Would a crazy-good, meta-level immune system help with kryptonite? Would… /Please…/
The wait was endless; like sitting in an impossibly long tunnel, waiting for the sun to rise somewhere outside while everything around them remained stubbornly dark, and nothing could be seen to guide them on toward the opening and freedom. He thought he heard whispers from nurse’s station; stuff like, “I knew things were bad with his father, but I never thought…”
/The stupid news people are gonna be back, because of this, aren’t they? Ohjeez…/
When the doctor exited, still wearing scrubs and a cap-thing, Clark was on his feet in an instant. “How is he?”
The doc didn’t look super stoked, was the thing. “Ah, we got the bullet out. I must admit, I’ve, ah… never tried to remove a bullet made of meteorite before. It, ah, fragmented some upon impact. Brittle stuff; not the same as the kind of metal used in regular bullets.” Why was he babbling like that? “Ah, I think we got it all out, but it took a while, and…”
Clark simply could not. “Is he alright?” He didn’t need to know anything else. /Please tell me he’s alright!/
It was probably not the best sign that the doctor couldn’t look at him. “Ah, he’s resting now. But…” A tiny wince, visible in gray eyes, around the edges of graying hair beneath a blameless white cap. “Even if we got all the larger particles out, there has no doubt been… contamination. In his bloodstream. He’s, ah, not responding as well as we’d like to see, post-op. We’re not sure what to do about it…”
Clark was already moving for the door. “Where is he?”
“He’s, ah, in post-operative care right now, you can’t… Wait!”
“I need to see him.” He couldn’t wait a second longer. /I still can’t feel him!/
He needed to see his mate. /I need to know it’s real. That he survived, or.../
“You have to give them time to get him situated. He’s still under anesthesia! You can see him once he’s in a recovery room… Mr. Kent!”
It took Dad holding him back to bring him to his senses. That, and Mom’s urgent whispers that if he went barging in right now, he might negatively affect Lex’s recovery. He subsided finally, shaking. “Please,” he whispered to the doctor, and it took all he had not to move forward anyway. To bust through the door, crush this man’s hand out of desperation; beg. “Please let me in as soon as I can?”
The doc, who looked deeply relieved that his parents had managed to stop him, nodded with alacrity. “Of course. Just as soon as he’s fit for visitors. I’m going to head back in now, but it shouldn’t be much longer…”
Clark fell back into the nearest chair, shaking so hard he thought he might throw up again, even if there was no kryptonite around, and nothing left in his belly. At a loss for what else to do, he put his face in his hands, curling up like a pill-bug on the hard seat. “Please,” he heard himself whisper. “Please.”
Dad and Mom returned to their seats too, arranging themselves around him to hold him up as the world continued to fall in.
* * *