TOCChapter 6:Clark welcomed the silence as he found himself back in a dark alley. Confused, he looked around, recognizing a torn poster that he’d seen earlier. He wasn’t quite where he’d been hiding before, but close enough. With a soft moan he rested his head against the brick wall next to him. The pain in his groin was blissfully gone, as was the blinding headache brought on by the loss of control over his super hearing.
Instead, the aches and pains of this other body made themselves known. He grabbed his arm as he felt the sharp sting where Luthor’s bullet had grazed him hours earlier and hissed in renewed pain. A low groan left his throat as aching muscles weighed him down. He knew he was getting worse again. It wasn’t quite as bad as it had been the night before when he’d first woken up. But there was no denying the intense fatigue. It settled on him so heavily, it almost made him lose his footing. He steadied himself with his good hand and took deep breaths. He could only hope that he wouldn’t have another attack like the one the other night, because he felt that he might not survive it.
His stomach clenched in unease and he felt the hairs in the back of his neck stand on end. Clark knew he couldn’t stay in this alley for long. He had to get moving. His little trap wouldn’t keep Luthor forever. Using a necktie to bind Superman’s hands had been a rather pathetic attempt at keeping him in check. Hopefully, the headphones would do their job far more effectively.
He prayed that Lois would make it outside unscathed, that she’d listen to him for once and get herself out of a dangerous situation instead of jumping right into the claws of death. He didn’t want to imagine what Luthor would do to her if he got his hands on her again.
Clark pushed himself off the wall and made a few wobbly steps before he managed to lock his knees underneath him. His legs felt so heavy, not like they belonged to him. But as he moved on, they seemed more willing to cooperate. Still, it took a long time to walk even a short distance. He wouldn’t be able to run like the last time he’d narrowly escaped Luthor after their previous body swap. There was no darting off to the closest subway tunnel to vanish among the crowd.
There was no crowd here for one.
After what had just happened at Lois apartment, Luthor would be outraged and thus incredibly dangerous. To make things worse, he had all of one day's experience at controlling Superman's powers. That was a scary thought. Clark didn’t even want to imagine what kind of havoc Luthor could wreck, how many people he could hurt.
Including Lois.
Clark’s stomach dropped as he thought about how close a call it had been, how Lois had almost been hurt.
And it could still happen. If only he could have stayed in Lois’ apartment a bit longer to watch her leave.
Clark felt a huge lump in his throat and let out an angry growl. How could he have been so blind, despite all his powers? How could he not have realized who the man in the wheelchair had been? What use were his extraordinary powers if he simply walked into such a trap, like the lamb to the slaughter, not knowing what was waiting for him?
He could only pray that with the headphones, Luthor would be disoriented to the point where he couldn't break free despite all his powers. That, even if he did manage to get rid of the headphones soon, they would shoot whatever control he’d gained to pieces.
It would serve him right, Clark thought grimly. The wave of hate flooding him was scarily intense. He'd never thought that he might feel like that about another person. He'd never truly understood the sentiment until he'd met Luthor.
Clark clenched his hands into tight fists as he imagined what Luthor might already have done to Lois. He was trembling with the rage coursing through him, emotions that were reaching out for his usual powers and finding only a shadow of what they’d been before. He didn’t know how Luthor’s body could even have powers in the first place. But what he’d had left was dwindling fast. Perhaps that was even a good thing. Clark wasn’t sure what would have happened if he were at a hundred percent right now. Chances were that he wouldn’t be able to contain them completely, that he’d have to fly to a secluded area to let out his frustrations before they channeled into his heat vision or his strength.
A strangled cry escaped his lips. Lois was supposed to be safe in his arms, protected by his superhuman powers, not threatened by them.
Yet his body had been used to violate her and he'd been helpless to protect her.
If only she'd listened to him during the short period he'd been back inside his own body. If only she hadn't insisted on talking to Henderson first. If only he'd managed to finish his note, then maybe none of this would have happened.
But it had, and there was nothing he could do to change that. All he could hope for now was that Luthor would be out of the picture long enough that he could talk to Lois. If she came, that was. And if she could see beyond the exterior and could believe that he was Clark, and not the man whose body he was now living in.
That was a lot of 'ifs'. So far, Lois hadn't seen through Clark’s flashy disguise. How was Lois going to recognize him in Luthor’s face, if she didn’t even see what or rather who was right in front of her when he was only dressed as Superman?
Clark heaved a sigh as he realized that he was going to have to tell Lois about his other identity to protect her. He ran a weary hand over his face, finding his spare glasses and his fake beard still in place. That, at least, was good news. Heaving another sigh, Clark pulled his baseball cap deep over his face and staggered around the corner onto a busier street.
He'd chosen a neighborhood that was as nondescript as possible, just one of the usual streets on the outskirts of Metropolis with no more than the occasional deli or convenience store. As Superman, he’d gotten to know the city like the back of his hand. Ever since his almost encounter with SuperLex this afternoon, he’d hidden in parts of town he hoped Luthor wasn’t likely to recognize.
Clark kept his gaze down and stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his pants. The slouched position made it all the harder to keep his equilibrium and walk a straight line. With any luck people would mistake him for a homeless guy and wouldn't look at him too closely. Though, to be brutally honest, being homeless was exactly his current reality.
Clark heaved a sigh and strained what was left of his hearing, the last power that hadn’t left him yet. It was disconcerting to try and listen to his own pulse in someone else’s body. And the sounds of the city were threatening to get overwhelming. But from what he could tell, SuperLex was nowhere near him, not yet anyway. Clark's super hearing shorted out on him and he found himself left with the muted sounds in his immediate vicinity.
Whatever this spooky Dr. Kelly had given him was clearly wearing off. He couldn’t even begin to understand how it was possible that Luthor’s body had at least some of his superpowers. But then, he had no idea how they could have switched bodies in the first place, or how it was even possible that Luthor had survived a fall from LexTower.
His list of worries was sheer endless, and there was no better way to tackle them but one at a time. And right now, his biggest concern was that Luthor would find him sooner than he’d anticipated.
Perhaps, he would have a few hours before SuperLex would get his hearing back under control. And perhaps, he’d be facing his now superpowered nemesis as soon as he took the next step. Whatever the outcome, he had to get out of this part of town and over to the sewer reclamation facility, praying that Lois would show up there and not disembowel him.
That was, if he managed to get across half the city without being recognized as Metropolis’ most wanted criminal who everyone, including him, had thought was dead. How had he ever ended up in this mess?
Gritting his teeth, Clark forced his concentration on the task at hand - setting one foot in front of the other. His limbs were reluctant to support his weight. His joints were aching something bad and the cool air was sending massive chills down his spine. He wrapped his coat tighter around himself and staggered on. In his mind, he was tapping into his mental map of Metropolis’ public transportation.
He thought that there had to be a subway station somewhere close. All he had to do was find it. Too bad Superman didn’t have a need for public transportation. If he’d have committed that to memory the way he knew other facts about this city, he’d be far better off. But perhaps his eidetic memory wasn’t part of his superpowers and was just a personal trait. Well, he’d make sure to find out.
Twenty-four hours earlier…
The air was damp and musty. A chilling gust of wind made the hairs on his arms stand on end. Clark blinked into the darkness as he slowly came to. He was lying on some sort of cot. There was only the faint light of a lantern hanging from the ceiling.
He winced as even that bit of light meeting his eyes resulted in a splitting headache threatening to burst his skull. Nausea rose in the depth of his stomach and Clark quickly shut his eyes again. He took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to will down the unsettling sensation.
Where was he? What had happened to him? The headache spiked up once more as he moved his head to look around to find out more about this dark place and how he could have ended up here, feeling sore all over. Unable to stifle the groan that escaped his lips, Clark collapsed back into his earlier position and closed his eyes. Gradually, the headache eased.
*Kryptonite?* His mind supplied helpfully.
He pondered that for a moment, carefully assessing his current situation without making the headache spike again. There was no sign of his powers. Not that he had expected them to be present, crappy as he felt. His bones and limbs were aching all over, not to mention the now dull throb in his head. But he didn’t feel the all-encompassing agony of kryptonite exposure, so the deadly green rock wasn’t anywhere near him.
Come to think of it, there was also another quality to his aches and pains that didn’t agree with the kryptonite exposure theory. While he was most definitely sore, he didn’t feel the same paralyzing weakness weighing him down. His limbs weren’t too heavy to lift and he wasn’t the feverish wreck he usually became.
So if it wasn’t kryptonite that had put him in his current state, what was it then?
He went over the things he remembered before waking up here. His mind was fuzzy and it took him some effort to concentrate on the mental images. The relentless headache spiked as he tried to get a grip on the elusive memories.
The last thing he remembered was being at the Planet, asking Lois out. And she had agreed, albeit reluctantly. He had secured tickets for a Pearl Jam concert, which hadn’t exactly been his idea of a perfect date. But he’d figured that - as worked up as Lois had been about going out with him in the first place - joining him on a concert wouldn’t seem as intimate and threatening as maybe a dinner at a restaurant.
When she’d been about to go to the police station and fetch the tickets for them, Clark had heard a call for help and had left the Planet in a hurry. He vaguely remembered helping with a massive pile-up on one of Metropolis’ bridges. After that, his memory was foggy. And his headache was spiking again.
Clark tried to raise his hand to rub at his temple, hoping to ease the pain. But he found that his right hand was shackled to the cot he was lying on. He lifted his arm a few times, tearing at the restraint. It wouldn’t budge. Clark groaned. As if his situation hadn’t been bad enough already!
Checking his left hand, he realized that it was free. He used it to pinch the bridge of his nose and realized that his glasses were gone. Reflexively, he felt for his clothing. The fabric was soft to the touch, but not as smooth as the spandex of his suit. So he wasn’t here as Superman. Did that mean that whoever was responsible for his current condition knew his secret?
Panic took hold of him. He sat up straight.
Immediately, both the headache and the nausea returned with such a vengeance that he lost the battle against his rebelling stomach. He tasted acid and something bitter that had to be bile. He barely had the time to roll over and empty the meager contents of his stomach on the concrete floor. Soon his body was wrenched by a few dry heaves until eventually the need to throw up passed. Sweat covered his forehead as he eased himself back into a lying position.
Clark groaned again, frustrated by his own helplessness. This was bad. Very bad.
Trying to calm himself down, he decided to approach his situation methodically. Despite his best efforts, Clark’s pulse went up several notches. He took deep breaths to keep from freaking out. What was the last thing he remembered?
In his mind, he went back to the events of the day. He’d finally worked up the courage to ask Lois out. They had received pictures of some people who’d been working for Luthor – his manservants and his personal physician, who had stolen Luthor’s body.
They had followed Luthor’s former lawyer only to watch him be abducted. Superman had tried to find Bender, but so far he hadn’t been successful.
Later, Clark had left Lois to get the tickets and talk to the police. After Superman had cleared up the bridge, Clark distinctly remembered flying to the precinct. He’d found out that the van used to take Bender had been lent to one Ramin Tarbush. When he’d left the precinct, a man in a wheelchair had addressed him, asking him to help him across the street.
Clark had gladly complied and they had started to talk a bit. The man had recognized him and praised him for his expose on Lex Luthor. They had shaken hands and then… nothing.
Tentatively, Clark opened his eyes. Now that they had adjusted to the light, the onslaught of that headache wasn't quite as intense. His thoughts drifted back to Lois.
She'd be furious with him if he didn't show up at the Planet. Even more so after he'd just asked her out. She'd such a hard time trusting people, men in particular. If he didn't show up that would only reinforce her trust issues. Clark cringed. It was bad enough that he was lying to her about his secret identity. He hadn't wanted to mess up the chance she'd given him. But right now, he didn't think he had a choice.
Clark had no idea how much time had passed since whoever had taken him. Was Lois already missing him? Had she gone to the precinct herself? A wave of panic washed over him as he imagined that whoever had captured him, might have taken her, too.
Clark sat again, this time more gingerly. He definitely had been abducted as Clark. Vaguely, he remembered a prick in his neck. But he couldn't recall the familiar pain of kryptonite. How should anyone possibly inject him with anything? And what did they want from him? Did they know about his powers or had they found some new means to render him helpless, maybe even without knowing who he was?
His headache intensified and Clark rubbed the bridge of his nose to ease the pain. Something felt incredibly off, but he guessed that was just the absence of his powers. He took deep breaths, once again trying to calm himself. Getting all panicky wasn't going to help.
Why was this happening now when he'd finally worked up the courage to ask Lois out? He cringed as he remembered how reluctant Lois had been to agree, afraid of what such a date might spell for their friendship. And he'd ached for her, had sympathized with her, because he knew how badly men had treated her in the past. She’d lost all trust in men in general and he'd known that it would take time to rebuild that trust. But if he wanted to do that, he needed this chance to show her that not all men were unworthy of her trust, that he wasn’t like that. With the exception of the massive secret he was still keeping from her.
Clark clenched his fists in frustration and let out an angry growl. With his current predicament, he was in desperate need of help if he wanted to make it to their date. And what would Lois think of him if he didn’t show up? The painstaking work of so many months would have been for naught.
Clark started to run a weary hand through his hair, finding only naked skin. His panic surged. Where was his hair? How could he have ended up bald? No one had been able to cut his hair since his early teens! What was going on? What did people want with his hair? Expose him? Clone him again? But they'd need the root of his hairs, too, wouldn't they?
Clark gritted his teeth and once again pulled at the shackles holding him in place. After another few attempts, it became rather obvious that he wouldn't be able to break them. They just scraped his skin. That gave him an idea, though. With his free hand, Clark held the shackle while he tried to wiggle his hand out of it. More abrasions appeared around his wrist. But he couldn't remove his hand.
Clark eventually ceased his efforts, feeling strangely breathless after his fruitless struggle. A chill rushed down his spine, only to be immediately replaced by a hot flush. His chest tightened and it became harder to breathe. Black spots were dancing before his eyes, while the pain in his chest increased to the point of stealing his breath completely. As if through thick fog, he felt himself collapse on the cot, fighting to get in enough air. The black spots coalesced before his eyes, a dark void threatening to swallow him. His body was numb and he felt awfully detached.
<Lois, help me!> he thought desperately.
His chest burned.
He couldn't breathe.
The world faded.
"Damn"
A cold touch.
Air.
He gulped.
More air.
A hollow voice. “Take slow breaths.”
Another breath.
"That's better."
He breathed again.
Chills.
Breathe.
Heat.
Breathe.
The burning eased.
Hands on his arm.
Tight.
Breathe.
A prick.
Cold spreading through his arm.
Chills.
Breathe.
Heat.
Breathe.
The dark void became less opaque.
Faded colors swam before his eyes like a thick fog.
A heavy weight was lifted off his chest.
Breathing became easier.
The colors turned into shapes.
Gradually, Clark came to. Someone was sitting beside him, feeling his pulse. A mask was on his face. Clark felt the steady flow of air against his nose and mouth. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision of the fog that was still thick. He turned his head to the side, following the strange sensation still radiating through his arm.
A surge of panic rushed through him as he spotted an IV- line attached to his forearm. He tried to get up, but a firm hand pressed him back onto the cot.
"Calm down, everything's fine." It was a woman's voice.
Clark thought it was vaguely familiar. He let out a low groan. Why was he feeling so awful? There hadn't been kryptonite. He was sure of that. His chest had been tight and his lungs burning. While he usually experienced those symptoms during kryptonite exposure, he hadn't felt the all-encompassing pain radiating through his body, nor the nausea or the blinding headache. He felt weak, but more in the way of exhaustion than the limb-numbing lethargy that came with kryptonite.
"What happened?" He rasped.
"You had trouble breathing," the woman explained. "It was a close call."
Clark gaped at her. Suddenly, he realized that he'd been through this in the past. In another dark void with no oxygen. He'd come pretty close to suffocating when he'd tried to stop the Nightfall asteroid the first time.
But how could he be suffocating in a room full of air? He could hold his breath for twenty minutes, for Heaven's sake. Though, right now and without his powers, he probably couldn't.
"What have you done to me?" He tried to sit up again, but her hand pushed him back down without effort. That alone was disconcerting. His gaze drifted back to the line sticking in his forearm. "What's this?"
"Something that will help you," she said. "You'll be feeling better soon."
He scowled at her but didn't have the strength to do much else. His head was still swimming. Slowly, her features became clearer. The woman was blond, probably in her thirties or forties. She wore a lab coat. Her gaze drifted across his body with professional curiosity. But there was something warm, almost loving about her expression.
It gave Clark the creeps.
The longer Clark looked at her, the more he felt that he knew the woman. He'd even met her in person. Dr. Gretchen Kelly.
"What do you want from me?" he gasped.
"Don't worry, Kent," Kelly replied coolly. "We are in need of your services. But nothing shall happen to you in the meantime."
Clark gritted his teeth. "If you're thinking that I'm going to do anything to help you, you're having another think coming."
She gave him a smug smile. "We already got all the cooperation we needed, thank you very much."
Clark felt his throat tighten. What was going on here? What had they wanted from him that he'd already given involuntarily? His hair? Was that really it? Had they planned to expose him to the world by making both Clark Kent and Superman bald at the same time? But if they knew his secret, why had she called him Kent, then? He'd figured that if anyone ever found out about him, they'd let him know. They'd boast about it.
"I'll come back to check on you later," Kelly said.
She turned her back on him and quickly was out of Clark's sight. He craned his neck, trying to see where she was going and who was with her. But he felt a surge of dizziness that forced him to move into a more comfortable position. He closed his eyes, willing the dizzy spell to subside.
He took deep breaths, still reeling with his recent experience of almost suffocating. His thoughts were a jumble. If Gretchen Kelly was involved, did that mean that Bender, St. John and Asabi were, too? What had he stumbled upon? And how had he ended up without his powers? He realized his mind was going in circles, with no hope of coming to a useful conclusion. What he needed to do was get out of here, which was easier said than done while he was powerless and feeling like crap.
Where was Lois? Was she still safe at the Planet, or had whoever had taken him, abducted her as well? He didn’t want to think about what they might be doing to her.
Muffled voices reached his ears. “What were you doing back there?”
Clark thought he’d heard the man’s voice before, but he couldn’t quite place him.
“I saved his life,” Kelly replied grimly. “You know we still need him.”
“Not much longer,” the man said. “We’ll soon have what we need.”
“It might take more time than you anticipate, Lex,” Kelly said, her voice turning gentler, as if she was talking to an impatient child. “Your body has been through a lot. I’ve stabilized it for now. But it will be a long process.”
Clark blinked. Luthor? How could this be Luthor? How could he still be alive? He’d seen him plummet to his death and had had some nasty nightmares because of it. The voice hadn’t even sounded like Luthor’s! The only explanation was that he was dreaming this up.
But - what if he wasn’t delusional and this was real?
