A/N: It's a holiday here, (Victoria Day) and I should be gardening, but it's pouring. I should also be working on my research paper, but this is more entertaining. So my boredom and procrastination on other things, means an extra chapter this week!!!
****
Clark woke in a panic. He could hear voices, not loud enough to distinguish who they were or what was being said, but he knew they were in his house. He tried to cover up his injuries at the same time as reaching for his glasses, jamming them onto his face as Perry stuck his head around the bedroom wall.
“Perry?” He asked, while pulling the sheets up to his neck.
“Hi, son. Henderson is here, wants a few words. You up for it?” Perry asked quietly.
“Uh, yeah,” Clark said, trying to sit up without the sheets slipping, unveiling his burns.
“Don’t get up. I’ll bring Henderson in here.” Perry disappeared and Clark hurriedly tried to get himself into a sitting position, while keeping the sheets over his wounds, wishing he had time to grab a shirt. As painful as it had been to peel the other one off, at least it would cover him properly.
“Clark,” Henderson announced as he entered. “You had us a little concerned for your whereabouts for a few hours there.”
“Uh, yeah.” Clark had no idea what he was going to say to Henderson. He’d hoped to have some more time, be a little more awake, and a lot less exhausted, by the time he had to deal with the police.
“When you didn’t come see me, I thought I’d stop by. According to the others, you were the ringleader in collecting the evidence against Luthor. I do need to get a statement from you now.”
“Ok, why don’t I meet you in the main room,” Clark suggested. As Henderson left his bedside, Clark gingerly got out of bed. Standing, he was aware the crushing pain in his bones was gone, but his muscles ached still. Changing in the bathroom, he was easily able to hide the burns on his arms, and shoulders by wearing a hooded sweatshirt, which, when he placed the hood around his neck, hid the burn there a little too. He would have to remember not to show his palms, revealing the burns from grabbing the Kryptonite coated bars.
Entering the living room, he noticed Perry cleaning up in the kitchen, and Henderson sitting at the dining table. Clark headed for the table, as Perry brought over a glass of water, and a plate of rice, followed by a hot mug of tea.
“Now, Clark, I can stay here if you want me to, for the night. That couch of yours is pretty comfy, I had to put my foot down last night to stop Jimmy from stealing it from me,” Perry offered.
Clark smiled briefly at Perry’s attempt to lighten the mood. “I think I’ll be ok, I just want to sleep some more.”
“Ok, but I’ll leave my number. You need anything, call, you hear?” Clark nodded in response. “I’ve still got the key from yesterday, so I’ll let myself out and put it back in its hiding spot. Call when you wake up.” Perry waited for another nod, before bidding both Henderson and Clark a good night, grabbing his jacket, several bags, and leaving.
“We just have to wait for Officer Kostiuk to join us, and then we can begin,” Henderson broke the awkward silence that had fallen as Perry left.
Clark nodded in response, picking away at the plate of rice in front of him. He took a sip of the tea, forgetting how hot it was, and hastily put it back down on the table, his hands complaining about the contact with the hot mug. He’d have to remember to use the handle, rather than grab the mug with his palms, and after letting it cool a bit. He managed half of the rice before another knock at the door announced the return of Officer Kostiuk. Pushing the plate aside, and pulling the mug of tea towards him, he prepared himself for the questions he didn’t know how to answer.
****
As an officer, then an investigator, Henderson had spent decades honing his ability to observe, and the moment Perry opened Kent’s front door, Henderson had been fed information from his observations.
“Perry!” Henderson exclaimed, the sharpness which Perry had opened the door, showed Perry’s frustration.
“Bill,” Perry responded, tilting his head in Lois’s direction. “She just showed up, she’s had a bit of a shock,” Perry spoke quietly. Henderson wondered if the frustration was from his interruption, Lois’ tears, or both. There was no sight, or sound, of Kent.
“I’m just here to see Kent. Is he awake?”
“Let me check.” Perry disappeared, leaving a still sniffling Lois standing alone, looking lost and distraught.
Henderson spoke softly to her. “Lois? Are you ok?”
“I just wanted to see Clark,” she sobbed. “What happened to him?”
Her question held less of a wail, and more of an accusation towards Henderson. Something had happened to Kent, and Lois didn’t know what it was, but was angry about it. “I think it’s best if we get you home, Lois.” He turned to the officer that was with him. “Can you call for someone to escort Ms Lane home?” He asked. Lois, thankfully, followed the officer out of the apartment, willingly. No sooner had the door closed before Perry emerged from the other room. At Perry’s inquisitive glance around the now empty living area, he stated they’d get Lois home, before heading in to see Kent.
“Clark,” Henderson announced as he entered. “You had us a little concerned for your whereabouts for a few hours there.”
“Uh, yeah.” Clark seemed to be half awake still, and trying to keep himself completely cocooned in blankets, though not quite concealing a wound on his neck, which looked suspiciously like a burn mark, very similar to the injuries he’d seen on Superman earlier.
“When you didn’t come see me, I thought I’d stop by. According to the others, you were the ringleader in collecting the evidence against Luthor. I do need to get a statement from you now.”
“Ok, why don’t I meet you in the main room,” Clark suggested, and Henderson left the room.
Henderson watched as Perry fussed in the kitchen, heating a plate of plain rice in the microwave, making a cup of tea, and cleaning up the remaining dishes. Clearly, Perry was also worried about Clark, otherwise he wouldn’t be fretting like a mother hen. Clark was perfectly capable of preparing his own meals, that Perry was doing it for him, was telling. He watched as Clark entered the room, wearing sweat pants and a hoodie, but no socks, and walked slowly to the table. He wasn’t limping, and was keeping his facial expressions neutral, but Henderson could see Clark was in pain, and exhausted. As he sat, Perry delivered the plate of rice, and beverages, then offering to stay if needed, before departing.
“We just have to wait for Officer Kostiuk to join us, and then we can begin,” Henderson broke the awkward silence that had fallen as Perry had left, and watched as Clark ate half heartedly, barely finishing half of the rice, before pushing the plate aside.
“It’s taken care of,” Officer Kostiuk stated to Henderson, as he entered the apartment. He joined them both at the kitchen table, placed a voice recorder on the table, followed by a notebook and pen.
“Clark, this is Officer Kostiuk. He’s going to take notes, and we’ll get a signed statement from you. We’ll also record this conversation.” He waited as Clark verbally affirmed he understood, and consented, before continuing, stating the date, time, and location, as the recording started.
The questioning began easily enough, as he asked Clark about the investigative work he had done, along with Perry and the others, on Luthor. He watched as Clark functioned on autopilot, recounting the recent events with the purchase, then destruction, of the Daily Planet, the suspicions around the perpetrator, and the questionable claims from Luthor regarding the insurance, all with no tone inflection, barely more than a monotone. Clark told of how he, Perry, Jimmy, and Jack, had worked together, covering different angles, and uncovering the truth of the bombing, exonerating Jack, and linking Luthor to the Boss.
Nothing in Clark’s statement was new information to Henderson. He’d read through the evidence, and witness statements, from the others. However, through questioning him, Henderson discovered Clark was missing some of the final details. He had suspicions about John Black, and the knowledge of the bribing of the former board members of the Planet, but no confirmation. According to Perry, Clark had failed to return the evening prior, for dinner, where some of the final pieces of their investigation had been put together.
Throughout Clark’s interview, he remained hunched over slightly, continually fiddling with his cup of tea, which by now had to be cold. His voice had remained even, almost void of emotion, and other than meeting his eyes while being asked a question, for most of Clark’s statement, he had fixed his gaze on the recorder sitting on the table. This was a far cry from the confident, self assured, young man he’d had come to know. Something had shaken him in the last twenty-four hours, and so far, Clark had not hinted at where he had been.
“What happened to you last night?” Henderson asked bluntly.
Kent raised his eyes to meet his squarely, but remained mute. Slightly unnerved by his stare, Henderson rephrased the question a few times to try to get an answer. With no comments from Kent, he ended the recording, and Kostiuk gave Clark the written statement to look over. Once signed, Kostiuk stood, and walked to the door.
“I’ll be right down,” Henderson instructed him. Once the door had closed behind the officer, he looked back at Clark, whose gaze had fallen to the cold mug of tea. “Yesterday, at some point in the late afternoon or early evening, something happened to you.” When there was no forthcoming explanation, he continued.
“There were three guys in your apartment, anticipating you to join them for dinner, but you never arrived. Perry stated he stayed up to wait for you, but fell asleep. When you weren’t here in the morning, they headed straight to the station with all the evidence you all had gathered, concerned for you, as we hadn’t heard anything either. When we didn’t find you at LexCorp Tower, I was wondering if we’d be fishing your body out of the river.” Henderson paused, waiting for any reaction from across the table. There was the slightest flinch at the suggestion he’d be found dead, suggesting that Clark had faced that possibility. He waited a few more seconds, before continuing.
“No one finds any trace of you at LexCorp Tower, and then I hear from Superman that you’re fine, and you’ll call, which you do. After a long day of witness statements, pouring over evidence, I’ve got a reasonably good picture of what happened today. Even Superman’s story, while incomplete, I’ve got a fairly good grasp on. The only big hole right now is your disappearance, and miraculous appearance.”
Henderson leaned forwards and rested his forearms on the table, starting straight at Clark, who was refusing to meet his eyes. “At some point yesterday, after you began to make the link between Luthor and the Boss, you were captured, and spent the night somewhere courtesy of Luthor. Late this morning you either escaped, or were rescued, and came home. Superman knew you were safe, and told you to get hold of me. Am I close?”
Clark showed no indication he had heard what was said, his body posture not changing. Henderson tried something different, taking a gamble. “Were you in the cage too?” He asked softly.
Henderson sucked back a gasp as Clark reacted, letting go of the mug, knocking it over, and putting his hands up in a gesture strikingly similar to Superman’s reaction earlier. Clark quickly rescued the mug, then placed his hands on the table, palms down, but not before Henderson noticed, just like Superman, Clark’s hands revealed wounds stretching across his palms, and the hood of his sweater shifted, displaying the wound on his neck. The wounds on his palms, now out of view, Clark schooled his expression back to one of neutrality, not quite able to erase the fear from his eyes, not noticing the hood had slipped leaving one wound still visible. The unflappable Clark Kent, who despite finding himself in many life threatening situations, usually with his partner leading the charge, always kept a cool head, was now afraid. Whatever had happened last night had shaken him, and Henderson wasn’t going to push anymore tonight.
“Clark,” Henderson continued to speak softly, “unless you want to tell me what happened, I’m not going to ask anymore tonight.”
Clark shook his head, eyes back to the mug, which his hands had returned to holding.
“Ok, Clark, I need you to listen to me.” Henderson was relieved when Clark met his eyes. “Whatever happened to you, it wasn’t your fault.” He paused so that could sink in, knowing whether or not Clark would listen, he needed to hear it. “Whether you want to make an official statement, or have someone to talk to, I’m available, anytime. If you want to talk to someone else, that can easily be arranged, just call the precinct.”
Again, Henderson paused, and waited as Clark slowly nodded in acknowledgement, thankfully not dropping his gaze back to the table. “I think you should take Perry up on his offer to stay…”
“No, I’ll be fine,” Clark insisted. “I just need sleep, and I’ll be fine.”
“Ok,” Henderson replied as he stood. Clark walked him to the front door and let him out, he could hear the door locking behind him. As he walked down to the street where Officer Kostiuk was patiently waiting, he shook his head. Had they not stopped Luthor when they did, he would bet his badge that Clark and Superman would be dead.
****
Clark woke, gasping, and sat up, untangling his legs from the sheets. He couldn’t remember exactly what he had been dreaming about, but the fear of being trapped remained. His mouth was dry; he was desperately thirsty, and his throat was sore. Was that from the screaming earlier that morning, or had he been shouting in his sleep, he wondered? As he felt his heart rate settle, he stood, and wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water.
He’d left the living room lights on after Henderson left, missing his super-vision, not wanting to be in the dark, and as he guzzled a glass of water, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. He filled his glass again from the kitchen tap, and turned to face the rest of his apartment. When he saw her, he almost dropped his glass in fright.
“Lois?” Was he hallucinating?
“Clark?” She called as she got up from the couch and walked towards him. “What happened to you?” She stopped a few feet feet from him and reached out as if to touch him.
His arm snapped up and he grasped her wrist, preventing her from touching him. She wasn’t a hallucination, and he was in front of her, bare chested, bare faced, and exposing his injuries to her.
“Lois,” he growled. “You shouldn’t be here.” He dropped her wrist quickly, and walked into his room, pulling on a t-shirt, and sliding his glasses on, his heart pounding away. Was it from the fright she had given him, or because she was here, somewhere he never expected her to be again? He stepped back into the living room, hoping that she hadn’t recognized his face minus the usual frames.
“What did Lex do to you?” She whispered, not approaching him this time.
In a flash, he heard the feral growl Luthor had made when he realized the cage was empty, and relived the moment the wine barrels were smashed with the axe intended to end Superman’s, his, life. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to stop the onslaught of panic, calm his heart rate, and escape the recurring nightmare.
“Lois, you can’t be here, not now. Go home,” he said, curtly. He couldn’t face her at the moment, he needed her to leave. He watched her pale a little before she turned away abruptly. She placed a key on the coffee table, and walked up the stairs to the door, before turning back to face him.
“You shouldn’t leave a spare key in such an obvious place. You never know who can let themselves in.”
“I won’t,” he retorted as she closed the door closed firmly behind her. He went up the stairs, locked the door, and walked back down to the couch, sitting where she had been. The cushions were still warm from where she sat, and he didn’t need his heightened sense of smell to breathe in the fragrance of her perfume. He grabbed one of the decorative cushions and pulled it towards his chest, sinking his chin onto the top, miserable.
As he inhaled her scent, he was flooded with the memories of listening to her wedding ceremony proceed as he lay dying in a cage, listening to the vows of the happy couple as he made one last desperate attempt to escape. He could feel his skin, where it touched the Kryptonite bars, searing as he reached for the key, his hands burning as he pushed open the door of the cage, his own screams of pain blocking out the final words of Lois’s vows to her husband-to-be.
He stood abruptly, catching his knee on the coffee table, and shouted in frustration, and pain. He threw the cushion that smelled of Lois, across the room, watching as it sailed over the television and landed harmlessly on the floor. He’d never see her again now. She knew, somehow she knew, what Luthor had done. He couldn’t see her again. That brief encounter had sent him spiraling into a panic, almost overwhelmed him with the painful memories. How long would that take to fade?
He glared at the cushion on the floor. Maybe he’d never regain his powers after the hours he’d spent in that cage. He would have to move on, find a job, leave his memories of Metropolis, and Lois, behind.
Fighting tears, he headed back to bed, idly wondering, if his powers never returned, perhaps he would never have to wear glasses again.
****
Comments
