She dropped the rods next to him and sprinted away to get the other two.
Her journey passed in a haze of torment. All she could think of was Clark, suffering and alone.
She was helpless to ease his suffering, but she could be with him.
She ran across the cell and placed the two rods with the first two. He was lying down now, curled up, his hands clutching at his chest.
Lois fell to the mattress. She lifted his head onto her lap and looked down into his face.
It was contorted with pain.
Part 25
For a long time, Lois sat on the mattress with Clark's head on her lap. She stroked his hair; she ran her fingers down his neck, across his forehead, along his jaw, over his cheek, past his temple.
She didn't know if anything she did brought Clark relief, but being absorbed in him helped guard against her leaping from the mattress, seizing the rods, and expelling them from Clark's presence.
She couldn't do that. She couldn't even give him respite from the agony. If she did, they would lose ground - ground that would have to be recovered.
They had started this - they had to see it through.
Clark was suffering, and it was splintering her heart - one shard at a time.
His breaths were ragged; each marked the passing of a small portion of time and inflicted a reckoning of pain. His fingers clutched at his chest - his knuckles ivory peaks above rigid welts of muscle.
Lurking in the shadows of her consciousness was the knowledge that she would have to leave him to finalise their preparations. She didn't need to think about it yet. There was still time.
Too much time.
Lois checked her watch. One hour had passed.
One hour.
It felt as if that hour had been plucked from reality and transported to an ethereal realm with neither beginning nor hope of an end.
Lois ran her fingers through his hair again. "I'm here," she said. She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his head.
Clark jerked suddenly. "S...someone ... s'coming."
She shuffled sideways, placed Clark's head on the mattress, and sprinted across the staffroom. As she closed the cell door, she heard the click of the lock from the external door. She poured herself some stale-smelling coffee from the machine and clasped the mug, hoping its warmth would steady a heart that was threatening to buckle.
Eric Menzies strode into the staffroom. He was a mountain of a man, and it was instantly obvious how he had gained the reputation of a tyrant.
"Lois Lane?" he barked.
"Yes," she said. "Mr Menzies?"
He nodded curtly. "Where's the alien?"
"In the cell."
"Is he being exposed to the rods?"
"Yes."
Menzies pointed to the cell door. "Through here?"
"Yes."
He shoved the door. It swung open, and his footsteps hacked heavily through the stillness. Lois closed her eyes, trying to track Menzies over the thundering of her heart. Silence came abruptly, and Lois held her breath, praying that Menzies wouldn't inflict further pain on Clark.
After a prolonged moment, the footsteps sounded - coming closer - and Lois breathed again.
Menzies towered in the doorway. "I'll be back tomorrow afternoon," he said. "I expect that by then, he'll be weak enough that the necessary measures can be implemented."
Measures?
Lois leached the disgust from her face as she looked at him. "I'll leave the rods in there overnight," she said. "I don't know how long it will take."
"If you hadn't been so slipshod in your responsibilities, this could have been accomplished much more efficiently," he said wrathfully.
Lois didn't comment. She couldn't afford to allow herself to comment. She just had to think about the fact that when Menzies arrived tomorrow afternoon, she and Clark would be a long way from Metropolis.
He strode to the external door, exited, and slammed it behind him.
Lois waited.
Waited until the last strains of Menzies' motor had faded away.
Then she rushed through the door and crossed to Clark.
He had turned towards the wall, and his body was coiled into an arc. He had donned the bathing cap wig, and its tresses straggled from his head and onto the mattress.
Lois knelt against his back and put her hand on his shoulder.
"Lo ..."
"I'm here, Clark," she said. "It's OK. He's gone."
His arm lifted a few inches, and she reached over him to slip her hand into his. His fingers tightened around hers.
"Is there *anything* I can do to make this easier?" she asked desperately.
"Just ... stay."
"I will," she promised.
She removed the cap and shuffled forward so that her thighs provided support for his head. She drifted her fingers through his hair - a long sweep from the bristles of his sideburn to the satiny black waves higher on his head.
"That's ... good," Clark muttered.
She continued making slow tracks through his hair as she forced her mind to prepare for their escape. If Clark's estimation had been accurate, they should be able to get out of here under the cover of darkness. She would drive until tiredness overtook her, and then she would look for somewhere to stop.
What should she take from the compound? What should she leave? If she decided now, it would minimise the time she needed to be away from Clark.
When the first tingles of numbness started to climb up her legs, Lois leant forward and brushed the back of her finger across Clark's cheek.
"Lo ... is."
"I'm here," she said. "But I need to get ready for us to leave."
"'K"
"I won't be long."
"Come ... back," he said as his hand briefly squeezed her fingers.
"Always."
She reached for the pillow and gently lowered his head onto it.
For the next ten minutes, Lois carried things between the Buick and the compound. She took Clark's suitcase of clothes, his metal box of toiletries, her father's camp mattress, one pillow, and both sleeping bags to the car.
She opened the suitcase; selected one of Clark's checked shirts, his jacket, a pair of socks, and his sneakers; and laid them on the back seat. After placing his glasses in the safety of the glove compartment, she returned to the trunk and unpacked her clothes from her bag. She spread them on top of Clark's clothes and squeezed the suitcase shut.
Lois draped the Winnie the Pooh sleeping bag over Jonas, hauled him into the staffroom, and stashed him in the closet. On her final trip outside, she collected her bag. She locked the Buick and hurried to the staffroom.
Once there, she put the medical supplies into the bowl and hid it with Jonas in the closet. She flew up the stairs to her office with her bag and removed the tape from the VCR. She had wiped it of data, but she didn't want to risk some advanced technology lifting anything from it. On her desk was the paper airplane that Clark had made. She pushed it into the side compartment of her bag.
Lois scanned her office for anything that might be useful. Her eyes fell on the coveralls, and she slung them over her arm. She picked up her bag, locked the door, and raced down the stairs. In the staffroom, she laid Jonas on the table, and with hands made clumsy from an overdose of nervous energy, she pushed his bony limbs into the legs and sleeves of the coveralls.
Once Jonas was dressed, she deposited him and her bag in the closet, shut the door, and took a moment to calm her jitteriness.
Had she remembered everything?
She would review her plans again, but now, she needed to get back to Clark.
His eyes opened when she arrived. "OK?" he croaked.
Lois nodded and attempted a weak smile. "All done," she said. "I can stay with you for a while."
She sat against the wall and lifted Clark's shoulders so that some of his upper body was on her lap.
"Too ... heavy," he protested weakly.
"No, you're not," she said.
His head lolled against her arm, and Lois touched a kiss into his hair.
And so another eon began.
A time when his agony was inscribed in ravages across his face.
The drone of her voice seemed to soothe him, so she kept up the flow of words. It didn't matter what she said - the meaning was lost as they inched through time together.
The next time she looked at her watch, it was after five o'clock. "Three hours done, Clark," she said, hoping that would encourage him.
His hand lifted in search of her. She put her hand into his, and he grunted softly.
It was too early to hope that he'd lost the ability to lift from the ground.
Perhaps he had discerned her thoughts because his weight decreased for a few seconds before settling back down onto her.
"Too ... heavy?" he murmured.
"I'm fine for now," she said. "Do you want anything? Water?"
His head rolled to one side and back again.
The minutes ticked by ... and stretched into hours.
Clark was becoming noticeably weaker. All trace of colour had drained from his face. His grip on her hand had dwindled. His sporadic movements had slowed.
A long time later, Clark shifted again. "L ..."
She bent low against his mouth. "What, Clark?"
"I ca ... can't lift."
Never had such simple words had the power to bring such overwhelming relief. "One hour," she said. "It's twenty past seven now."
"Go ... stretch ... your legs."
"Will you be OK?"
He nodded slightly, and Lois eased out from under him.
"I'll be back soon," she promised.
She ran out of the compound and collected the meals Uncle Mike's delivery boy had left at the door of the warehouse. Back inside, she put them in the fridge. Then, she called Uncle Mike on her cell phone.
"Lois," he said. "How lovely to hear from you."
"Uncle Mike," she said. "My job is sending me away again."
"Ah, no, Lois," he said with obvious disappointment. "I'm so sorry to hear that."
"Yeah," she said. "I'm leaving tomorrow. I won't have the time to come in and fix up what I owe -"
"Don't worry about that," he said. "I'm just sorry you'll be gone. Sam is going to miss you."
"I know," Lois said. "I told him today."
"How did he take it?"
"OK, I think," she replied. "Thanks for the meals tonight. I'll contact you as soon as I get back to Metropolis."
"Bye, Lois," Uncle Mike said. "You take care."
"I will. Bye, Uncle Mike."
She hung up and slipped her cell phone into her bag.
In the cell, Clark was lying on his back. Lois knelt beside him. His eyes didn't open, but his fingers tapped against his bare skin. Lois stretched out beside him and lightly rested her head on his chest. His arm slowly rounded her and collapsed onto her hip.
His heartbeat seemed alarmingly sluggish. She had to remind herself that they *wanted* his bodily systems to be shutting down.
"Hang in there, Clark," she whispered. "We're nearly there."
The minute hand of her watch climbed towards the apex and then began its slow descent. She had spent the past hours willing time to speed by, and now, she felt grossly underprepared.
Lois waited - marking each second. As soon as the hand on her watch touched the two, she sat up, fighting a potent fusion of relief and dread.
"Clark?"
His head sagged towards her. His condition seemed to have deteriorated dramatically in the past half an hour.
"I think it's time," Lois said. "I'll get what we'll need."
He didn't respond, and Lois felt sickening fear scorch through her. What if they had miscalculated? What if Clark had had too much exposure?
She couldn't think about that now. The implant had to come out, and she had to do it. Once that was done, they could concentrate on Clark's recovery.
A minute later, she was back with the bowl, and soon, everything was set out within easy reach.
Clark's eyes were closed. She put her hand on his chest. "Clark?"
He looked at her with eyes scored with pain. "Is ... it ... time?"
"Yes. Can I take the rods away?"
He didn't respond.
He looked dreadful. She had to get the rods away from him. But if she took them away, how quickly would his skin become impenetrable?
Lois lurched to her feet, swept up all four rods, and ran with them to the staffroom. She thrust them in the corner, away from the door.
In the bathroom, she lathered her hands and forearms and then used the hottest water she could tolerate to rinse off the soap. After drying her hands with a clean towel, she returned to Clark.
She knelt beside him, conscious that she had to work quickly. That helped. That meant there was no time to think. No time to worry. No time to reflect.
She opened the sterilised pad and unfolded it on the concrete.
First, she needed the local anaesthetic. She opened the syringe packet and assembled it the way she had seen her dad do many times. Then she pushed the needle into the vial of local anaesthetic and drew the liquid into the syringe.
"OK, Clark," she said as she leant over him. "You'll feel some burning. Try not to move." That was exactly what her father had said to Lucy.
The end of the needle quivered above his skin. Lois closed her eyes and tried to calm her rattled nerves. When she opened her eyes, Clark was looking at her.
His left hand crept across his stomach and gripped her elbow. His eyes sent a silent message of support: You can do this.
She positioned the syringe near one end of the black line that Clark had drawn. She gradually increased the pressure, and to her relief, it slid easily into his flesh. Clark's breath came in a gush, but he didn't flinch. When about a third of the liquid had gone, she withdrew the needle and inserted it near the middle. Then she injected the final third at the far end of the line.
She snapped the needle from the syringe and put it in the small capsule. When she looked back at Clark, his eyes were fixed on her. His mouth fluttered to the ghost of a smile.
"Are you in any pain?" Lois asked.
He shook his head. "I just feel totally weakened," he said. "I'm not sure I could even stand up."
Lois managed a fragile smile. "We'll get this out, and then you'll start to feel better." She tore open one of the sterilised wipes and ran it over the area around his collarbone. Then she opened the laceration repair pack, took out the drape, and placed it over Clark's shoulder, positioning it so that she could see the black line above the lump.
She opened three packets of gauze squares and placed them on the pad.
Clark's smile flickered again. "You're doing great," he said in a raw, rough voice.
"We need to wait a moment for the local to take effect," she said.
"Are you OK?"
"We're nearly there," she said. "You'll be out of here soon."
"Lois," he said. "Lois ... you are ... amazing."
She pressed her fingers into the area near his collarbone. "Can you feel that?" she asked.
"A little."
"OK, a few more moments," she said as she wiped him again with the disinfectant.
"Is everything ready for us to leave?"
"Nearly. Once this is done, we can be out of here within a few minutes."
"Thanks ... thanks for staying with me ... while ..."
"It was awful," Lois said, and her voice shook.
"You being there ... not being alone ... knowing there was a reason for it ... It wasn't too bad."
It had been horrific, but Lois knew she couldn't think about that now. She took one of the gloves and put it on her right hand. It was too big, and the ends ballooned on her fingertips. She tried to push the excess towards her palm. It wasn't ideal, but hopefully it wouldn't affect her dexterity too much.
She put another glove on her left hand and pulled it into place. She prodded Clark's shoulder. "Can you feel that?"
"No."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing."
"OK." Lois ripped open the package and lifted out the scalpel. She removed the cover, and the sight of the sharp blade brought cold reality to what was being demanded of her. She looked at Clark for reassurance.
"You can do this," he said quietly. "I know you can."
She took a deep breath and picked up a gauze square with her left hand. She placed the tip of the scalpel on the end of the black line.
Clark's hand gripped her thigh. "You can do it, Lois," he said. "I trust you."
Slowly and steadily, she drew the scalpel along the black line. A small stream of blood oozed behind it, and she mopped it up with the gauze. She came to the end and put the blood-tipped scalpel on the pad.
"Did I hurt you?" she asked anxiously.
"No," he said. "Just push it out."
She touched her fingers on the underside of the protrusion, and a grey orb squeezed out, rolled down Clark's shoulder, and thudded softly onto the mattress.
"It's out," she announced as relief surged through her.
The walls of this prison could no longer hold Clark.
He stared at her with admiration. And wonder. And disbelief. And such intense gratitude that Lois had to remind herself that the job wasn't completed yet. "I'm going to leave it there," she said. "I don't want to risk touching it until I've finished this."
"OK."
"Is that it?" Lois asked. "You're sure there's only one?"
"Yes, only one."
Lois used clean gauze to wipe up the little trickle of blood and stuck a row of butterfly clips along the wound. She removed the drape, covered the area with another square, and moved Clark's left hand to his right shoulder. "Can you hold that?"
He nodded.
She peeled the gloves from her hands.
"You did it," Clark said in awe. "You did it."
"*We* did it," she said with a tremulous smile.
"What do you want me to do now?" Clark asked.
"Lie there for a moment," Lois said. "I'll clean up this mess and take the rods to my office."
"OK."
Lois put the cover over the scalpel and rolled all of the used medical supplies securely into the pad. She picked up the little ball of lead-encased poison, went behind the half-wall, and flushed it.
A minute later, the trash from the surgery was securely tied in a plastic bag, and the rods were locked in her office.
Lois washed her hands and hurried back to Clark. She knelt beside him and peeped under the gauze. There was a little blood, but not enough to cause concern. "How does it feel?"
"It's still numb," he said. "But Lois, you were amazing."
"So were you," she said. "I came so close to taking those rods away. I would have given up if it hadn't been for you."
"No," Clark said, shaking his head. "You would never give up."
"I have a couple of other things to do," she said. "Will you be OK here?"
He nodded.
Lois removed Jonas from the closet and pulled the blanket from the staffroom bed. Back in the cell, she swept up Clark's wig and stretched it over Jonas's skull. Crouching next to Clark, she said. "Do you think you can sit up?"
He nodded, and she grasped his good arm and helped him to a sitting position.
"OK?" Lois asked. He was still very pale.
"A bit dizzy." Clark leant back against the wall.
"Just relax." She brushed his hair back from his forehead.
"I'm OK," he said. "Do what you need to do."
Lois moved to the end of the mattress and clasped it in both hands. "Could you lift your butt, please?"
Clark did, and she slid the mattress out from under him.
She laid it in the back corner of the cell and arranged Jonas on it, facing him into the wall. She placed the blanket over him and pulled it up to his shoulder. She draped the strands of the wig and stepped away.
Yup, that looked pretty convincing.
She turned back to Clark and saw a look of incredulity on his face. Better than that, a suggestion of a grin was playing around his mouth.
"It might buy us some time," she explained as she pushed the bag of trash into her bag. "When someone - probably Scardino - arrives, the first thing he's going to notice is that I'm not here. He might glance into the cell, think you're here, and spend half an hour trying to contact me."
"But if he looks in here and it's empty, he'll know straight away that we have both gone?"
"Yup." She gathered up the unused wipes and butterfly clips and put them in a side pocket of her bag.
"You are truly amazing."
"Thanks," Lois said. "Have I forgotten anything?"
"The rods?"
"They're locked in my office," Lois answered. "I wish I could have destroyed them or hidden them ... but we don't have time, and they certainly can't come with us."
"Should we leave them in here?" Clark asked. He nodded towards Jonas. "Next to him?"
"They'll have keys to my office," she said. "So locking them away doesn't achieve much in that sense."
"If Scardino or Menzies looked in here and saw no rods, it might be enough to make them investigate further."
"Good thinking," Lois said. "Once you're in the car, I'll put them next to poor Jonas."
"Jonas?" Clark asked.
"He's being sacrificed for a noble cause," Lois said. She used tape to stick down the edges of the gauze square and then took the sling from its package and slipped it between Clark's arm and his body. Leaning in close, she tied it behind his neck. "How does that feel?"
"Good," he said.
Lois wanted to haul him to his feet and rush him out of the compound, but she tempered her impatience. They had made good time. It was still early evening. A few extra minutes would give Clark a chance to recover some more before he had to move.
She looked around the room that had been Clark's prison for seven years. In the corner under the window was a small pile of things, including a newspaper and a pen. "Is there anything else you want to take?"
"The notepad," he said.
Lois walked over to the corner and retrieved the notepad. She took it back to Clark, and he held out his hand. She gave it to him, and he slipped it into the space in his sling. "Anything else?" she asked.
"No."
"Do you feel strong enough to get up? I'll help you."
"Yeah."
"Be careful of your shoulder."
Clark flattened his left hand against the wall and staggered to his feet as Lois steadied him. "Just ... give me a minute," he said as he leant against the wall.
He was swaying slightly. Lois put her hands on his hips and waited. After a few steadying breaths, he straightened.
"OK?" Lois asked.
He nodded.
Lois picked up her bag and slipped under Clark's left arm, placing it across her shoulders. She put her arm around his back.
Slowly, they crossed the cell for the final time.
At the doorway, Clark stopped.
Lois waited, realising how momentous this had to be for him. She stepped through the door and turned to Clark.
"Lois ..." he said.
"Come with me?" she said. "Come and be a part of my life?"
"Is that what you truly want?"
"More than anything."
He gulped ... and stepped from his prison.
Lois looked into his face, wanting to share their celebration.
Clark was staring ahead, his eyes fixed on the external door.
He was physically free. But in that moment, Lois realised that true freedom would not be achieved so simply.
"Ready?" she asked gently.
He wrenched his eyes from the door and mouthed 'yes'.
Lois gathered the Winnie the Pooh sleeping bag from the closet and wrapped it around Clark's bare shoulders. Outside, it was dark and cold, and despite the sleeping bag, Clark started shivering violently. "This way," Lois said. She slipped under his arm again and led him to the Buick. "Do you want to sit in the front seat or lie down in the back?"
"The front."
She opened the door and helped him in. Then she reached into the back seat, picked up his shirt, and held it while he slipped his good arm into the sleeve. "Better?" she asked as she arranged the sleeping bag over him.
"Yeah. Thanks."
His shivering hadn't lessened. "I'll only be a few moments," she said.
He nodded.
Lois could see the shock on his face. She wished she could stop and hold him. Comfort him. Reassure him. But she couldn't - they had to keep moving.
She ran back to the compound and placed the four rods around Jonas. As she passed through the staffroom, she took the meals from the fridge. At the external door, she locked it for the final time and sprinted to the Buick.
Lois started the motor and turned on the headlights.
She glanced across to Clark.
His head was back, and his eyes were closed. He looked exhausted.
She slipped the Buick into reverse and backed out of the parking bay. She turned the car, drove past the warehouse, and waited for a break in the traffic.
Her career was in tatters.
Never again would she work as a government agent.
She was now a fugitive - on the wrong side of the law and without the protection of her job.
She glanced again at Clark, and this time, he was looking at her.
"Second thoughts?" he asked sombrely.
"Not one," she said decisively.
His eyes closed again, and Lois pulled onto the road.
She had no doubts. No second thoughts.
Clark was more important than a job, than a career, than her reputation.
He was the most important thing in her life.
