WARNING: The tenor of the fic turns dark here and there is a WHAM coming.
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From the previous chapter...
His head lifted. Urgency coursed through him. He never knew if he heard the call with his ears or with his mind. Lois needed him now. Clark arrowed through the air, leaving the alley so quickly that he didn’t even take time to change into the Suit.
****************
Faster, faster, something told him. Instinctively he knew where to find Lois – at his apartment? Yes, in the open-air foyer outside his door. She wore her jogging clothes and held Moose’s leash in one hand and a runner’s water bottle in the other. Clark shot downward, seeing the bullet only two feet away from her chest. It moved a tiny bit forward and Clark hurried – he was in time, just barely. Things were deathly serious now.
He vaguely registered the presence of others, frozen in quicktime – a man he didn’t know, holding a gun; his parents, angry and wary, dressed in their pajamas and slippers, obviously being abducted at gunpoint, and an older man who looked familiar. The older man held a gun in his left hand, ready to shoot.
First things first. Clark slotted himself between the bullet and Lois. She fell backwards, knocked over by the breeze of his entrance. The water bottle slipped from her hand. Clark dropped the grocery bags and they spilled on the floor. The bullet bounced off his chest. He felt an amazing surge of relief – Lois was safe.
And then, before he could catch the ricocheting bullet, and far too late to move away to a safe distance, Clark felt the kryptonite.
He crashed suddenly, painfully out of quicktime. Moose barked loudly, and then started nuzzling in the dropped grocery bags. The younger man threatening Clark’s parents held kryptonite in his hand. Clark saw the virulent green glow between the man’s fingers. Suddenly the younger man staggered. He dropped the kryptonite and put his hand to his belly, where blood welled up. Slowly, the younger man collapsed. The kryptonite rolled from his hand and stopped near Clark.
Clark shuddered and toppled. Pain, weakness – the kryptonite took away his powers, hurt him. He writhed on the floor. The other man began screaming from his gut wound. Clark wanted to scream too but held himself silent. How had the day turned so bad, so fast? This morning, all he had had to worry about was placating Lois. Now their lives were in danger.
Lois crawled to him and bent over him. “Clark!”
“Quite an entrance, Mr. Kent,” the older man said. “Or should I say, Superman?” He waved his gun nonchalantly – despite the incapacitation of his partner, he still had the upper hand. Clark’s parents stared at the man, at the gun, at him. His father looked on desperately as Clark trembled with the agony of kryptonite exposure. The deadly mineral lay near the fallen man, out of anyone’s reach.
“What do you want, Nigel?” Lois asked sharply from her knees. At her words, Clark managed to distract himself from the pain enough to look closer at the older man. His heart sank. Holding them hostage was Nigel St. John, former “butler” of Lex Luthor. In actuality, he was no servant. Nigel had been the evil billionaire’s top henchman and accessory to crimes before and after the fact. He looked like he’d fallen on hard times, though – he wore a homeless man’s rags instead of the finely tailored business suits he’d worn as Lex’s associate.
“What do I want, Miss Lane?” Nigel said. “I want this.” Barely stopping, he pulled a tiny revolver out of a right pocket. He took a step forward and fired at Clark. The bullet hit Clark in the abdomen.
Clark cried out. There was no holding the scream back this time. The bullet burned. The pain was agonizing. It had to be kryptonite. He felt the poison course through him, his blood boiling at contact. He curled into a fetal position, hands pressing into his gut.
Lois cried out too, at the shot. She moved to get up, and Nigel pointed his left hand, the one holding the automatic pistol, at her. With the same motion, he menaced the elder Kents. Martha and Jonathan froze in their tracks.
The younger man screamed too – in fact, he’d never stopped. “Oh, for God’s sake,” Nigel muttered impatiently. He stepped back from Clark and sighted on his wounded partner with his left-hand gun. Clark suddenly remembered – when he and Lois had investigated Nigel after Luthor’s death, they found that he had worked for a British government counterintelligence department before he was disgraced. The department’s internal documents had shown that Nigel was rated “Expert” in many, many ways to kill.
A shot rang out, and the younger man fell silent. Blood ran from a hole in his head. Nigel had just proven himself to be an expert ambidextrous marksman. He’d also shown that he had no compunction about killing anyone who annoyed him. Clark groaned.
“You killed him!” Lois said. Clark thought the same thing – he just couldn’t get the words out.
“Yes, Miss Lane. I killed him. And I’m going to kill you.” Nigel’s cool, controlled voice terrified Clark. “But first, Mr. Kent.” The older man took his gaze off Lois and the elder Kents just long enough to fire two more shots into Clark from his small right-handed revolver. One grazed Clark’s arm. Both hit him in the stomach. Blood welled up, quickly soaking Clark’s shirt.
Clark’s mother screamed. His father gasped. They took a step forward. Nigel threatened them with the gun and they froze. Moose looked up from where he was nuzzling the inside shells of the broken eggs, licking up every possible bit of yolk and white. The dog barked loudly, confused.
Lois, defying Nigel, moved forward to take hold of Clark. He felt her warm hands around him, but the pain in his abdomen overcame even her touch.
“You and Kent ruined my life,” St. John said to Lois. “I’m going to ruin yours.”
They had ruined his life, hadn’t they, Clark thought in between the waves of pain. Their investigations had uncovered Lex’s corrupt empire, and because of what they turned up, Nigel St. John was now a fugitive from justice. Bank accounts frozen, face on the “Ten Most Wanted” lists at the post offices, credit cards and passport flagged for detection – yes, Nigel had been ruined.
“If Lex Luthor had known that Kent was Superman… well, things would have turned out differently.” St. John tucked the tiny revolver back into his pocket and spoke to Clark. “Too bad you won’t live long enough to tell me how you got out of Lex’s cage.”
Clark groaned in short little gasping breaths. His abdomen was on fire. He shuddered with every heartbeat. But the real pain came from knowing that he had walked into a trap. Nigel was going to shoot everyone he cared about right in front of him.
Nigel menaced Lois, Martha, and Jonathan with his larger automatic. “Lex didn’t know that Superman hides among us. But I know.” He took a moment to gloat to the horrified onlookers.
Nigel even sounded like Lex Luthor, Clark thought muzzily. He’d taken on Lex’s habit of orating to his victims.
“Revenge is a dish best served cold. He will see me kill all of you before he dies.”
The world was getting blurry. Moose nosed around him, whining at the blood smell. Clark concentrated on Lois, who had his head and shoulders in her lap. Her arm scrabbled on the floor behind them, seeking and finding the dropped water bottle.
Lois looked up defiantly at Nigel. He laughed and sighted his gun on her.
“Watch carefully, Superman,” St. John taunted.
NO! Clark thought. He tried to lift himself up, tried to do anything. But at the slightest move the pain thundered through him. Nigel smiled triumphantly. Anguish rushed through Clark. He had been stupidly overconfident and now he was going to pay. He couldn’t save his parents. He couldn’t save Lois.
Lois looked at Martha. Their eyes met. Lois nodded.
Martha called out loudly, “Nigel!”
Instinctively, St. John turned slightly at the sound of his name. At the same moment, Lois dropped Moose’s leash and threw the half-full water bottle with all her might. “Get it!” she told the dog.
Nigel reflexively caught the thrown object in his right hand. But that spoiled his aim. The bullet which would have taken Lois’s life hit the concrete floor. A flake of concrete spalled off and skittered along the floor.
Moose, barking loudly, raced after the water bottle. He jumped up on Nigel. St. John, already slightly off balance, did what Lois had done when eighty-five pounds of Labrador Retriever had jumped up on her – he fell down. But there was no Superman to catch Nigel as Clark had caught Lois.
Nigel’s head hit the floor with a coconutty thunk. His left hand relaxed and the gun slipped out. The water bottle rolled away.
Moose ignored the gun and cheerfully grabbed the water bottle. He held it gently in his mouth, his teeth not puncturing the plastic. He pranced over to Lois and brought her his prize. He stood near her, wagging his tail, not setting down the water bottle, asking her to pay attention and take the bottle from his mouth.
Clark’s parents hurried forward. His father picked up the gun and got the drop on Nigel, who hadn’t moved. His mother ignored the unconscious assassin and rushed over to Clark.
“Clark – “
“Mom,” Clark said weakly. “Lois.” His vision was fading around the edges.
“Jonathan, keep an eye on that man,” Martha said decisively. “Lois, stay with Clark. I’ll call an ambulance.” She gathered up the glowing lump of kryptonite and ran into Clark’s apartment.
“Lois…” Clark murmured. He wanted to tell her… to tell her… but he hurt so badly he couldn’t think of what he wanted to tell her. “It hurts.” That wasn’t what he wanted to say but that was what came out.
“Clark.” She swallowed. “Clark, hang on.” She hugged him tightly.
“Lois…” It came to him. “…I’m sorry…” Things were fading out. He was so cold. All he sensed was Lois. Lois, holding him, his body with that one last bit of warmth where she held him, her heart beating fast while his heart slowed.
He thought he heard sirens in the distance. He focused on Lois’s touch. Everything went black.
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Clark awoke, laboring mightily to lift his eyelids. After five or six attempts, he succeeded. His mind moved slowly, but he worried. What had happened to Lois? What about his parents? Were they safe?
He stared at a plain white ceiling. His mouth was more parched than the Sahara, his throat was sore, and his back ached. Even breathing hurt – he took short little breaths and that helped. But the pain in his belly dwarfed everything else except for his worry.
He thought about changing his position to ease his aches. But tensing his muscles sent a stab of agony through him. He moaned.
“Clark? You awake, son?”
Clark turned his head, very slowly. That didn’t hurt too much.
“P…P…Perry?” he managed to grunt.
His editor sat by the side of the bed, looking haggard. But when Clark spoke, a smile worked its way up Perry’s craggy face.
“First of all, son, everyone is all right. That crazy guy didn’t manage to hurt anyone else.”
“..L…Lois?”
“She’s fine. She rode with you in the ambulance and waited with your parents while you had surgery.” Perry smiled. “Your parents are fine too.”
Clark felt a great relief. He’d been unconscious, but all the same he’d had nightmares. Now he could relax. Perry would be straight with him. If Perry said that Lois and his parents were all right, then they were all right.
“…H…h…how…” Talking took so much effort. Now that Clark knew his loved ones were safe, he was so tired. And his throat hurt.
“They sat with you all day yesterday. I came in this morning and I made Lois go home to get some rest and freshen up. That girl doesn’t have the sense that God gave a mosquito when it comes to you.”
Clark tried to smile.
“And you don’t have the sense that God gave a mosquito when it comes to her, either,” Perry said. Clark got the impression that their editor was so relieved to see him awake that he was drifting off into proverb territory. “Now, Clark, you just gotta stop doing stuff like this. Getting shot – well, Elvis had a dud record once, but not twice.”
Clark tried to make sense of that analogy but he couldn’t. Maybe he was still too woozy.
“Son, I have to go tell the nurse you’re awake,” Perry said. “You just wait right here, OK?”
Clark almost laughed but it hurt too much. Where was he supposed to go? “O…OK,” he managed.
Perry squeezed Clark’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re still with us, son.” He nodded and headed out the door to the nurses’ station.
In two minutes a nurse bustled in. She had spiky black gelled hair and weighed about a hundred pounds. Her badge proclaimed her to be Kelly Smith, RN. She set some items on Clark’s bedside table.
“Hello, Mr. Kent,” she said cheerfully. “So you’re up and awake. How do you feel?”
“T…tired.”
Kelly nodded. “I can understand that. Now, Mr. Kent – “
“C..Clark.”
“Clark, then. I’m going to elevate the head of your bed so you’re sitting up.” She fiddled with the bed controls. With a whir, the bed slowly adjusted its position. Next, Kelly poured Clark a tiny amount of water from the pitcher on his bedside table. “You can have a mouthful of water.” She held the glass up to his lips.
The cool moisture soothed his parched mouth. Clark swished it around his mouth, letting the water rinse away the metallic taste on his tongue. He swallowed it and his throat soreness subsided a bit. Kelly allowed him another sip before setting down the glass.
“I’ve got to take your vitals,” Kelly told him. She pulled out stethoscope, thermometer, blood pressure cuff, and a watch. As she checked Clark’s signs, she made conversation.
“You’re very lucky, Clark,” Kelly told him soberly. “You were shot three times but you’re going to be fine.”
Clark remembered being shot. He thought he’d remember that to the end of his days. What was worse had been knowing that Lois and his parents were in danger and that he hadn’t been able to protect them. But by some miraculous providence things had turned out OK.
But what had happened after he lost consciousness? At his questioning gaze (a thermometer was in his mouth) Kelly went on. “The surgeon had to take out two inches of small intestine, and fix five holes in your stomach and colon. They thought they might have to remove a kidney because it was bleeding, but they were able to save it.” She wrapped up the blood pressure cuff and made a note in Clark’s chart. “They had to leave one bullet in your liver – it would have been too dangerous to take it out.”
“Left it in?” Clark asked, alarmed. Then common sense kicked in. It couldn’t be a kryptonite bullet, because if that were the case he would be dead by now. Nigel St. John must have shot him with regular lead bullets after he was made vulnerable by kryptonite.
“Yep,” Kelly said. “You’ll be fine. Plenty of people are walking around with a little lead in them.” She smiled. “At least, plenty of people here in Metropolis.” The smile left her face. “We average three GSW’s a night.”
Clark nodded in agreement. As Superman, he often rescued those who had been shot and transported them to the Met Gen emergency room. But he never stayed for the follow-up. He’d never worried about what happened after he turned the victims over to the experienced ER staff – they were much more prepared to handle those things than he was. Well, he was sure getting a look at the rest of it now.
The nurse interrupted his musings. “Now, Clark, you’re going to be here in the hospital for a few days, until you’re well enough to go home.” Kelly set her paraphernalia aside and drew the privacy curtain around his bed. She donned a pair of latex gloves and said, “I’m going to check your incision and see how it looks, OK?”
She took his assent for granted. Clark stared at the oncoming latex gloves in trepidation. The nurse pulled down the bedsheet and matter-of-factly moved Clark’s hospital gown aside.
Clark didn’t look at Kelly and tried to ignore his embarrassment. No doubt she’d seen hundreds of unclothed men. He was just the latest train wreck on her hospital floor. He looked down at his incision. A neat row of surgical staples bisected his abdomen. Traces of disinfectant and a little dried blood completed the unappetizing panorama.
Kelly checked the wound. She pulled out her stethoscope and gently laid it on his chest and then his abdomen. After a minute, she removed it. “It looks as good as can be expected. You’re doing just fine, Clark.” She met Clark’s eyes. “Now, on a scale of one to ten, how is your pain?”
Heck, he didn’t know. He never felt pain, nowadays. He’d had his share of scrapes as a boy, but in retrospect, they were nothing compared with the agony of kryptonite exposure. He cast his mind back. Getting shot by kryptonite – hmm, that would have to be a ten. But today was running a pretty close second.
“Eight,” Clark guessed.
Kelly nodded. “We’ve got some pain medicine for you.” She pointed to a labeled syringe resting in a medication tray. “I’ll give that to you. It might make you a little drowsy.”
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Clark floated. He giggled at the irony. He wasn’t floating the way he usually did. His mind floated and his body stayed like a lump in bed. He thought he should be floating all the way. But when he tried to levitate, nothing happened. He couldn’t fly! Clark thought about getting upset but he decided to giggle again instead.
“Good stuff,” he mumbled. The pain medicine had kicked in quickly, and Clark floated in euphoria.
A noise at the door distracted him from his rapt contemplation of a crack in the ceiling. He turned to look. Had he thought that he was happy already? He couldn’t have been, because Lois hadn’t been there. And now she was here. Wow!
“Lois! LoisLoisLois!” Clark chortled. He beamed at her.
“Clark,” Lois said. She rushed to him. “Clark!” She set down a large coffee on his bedside table and took his hand.
“Lois,” he said. He didn’t seem to be able to say more than that. He was so happy.
Oh, wait. He had to tell her something. It was important. What was it again?
Before Clark could collect his thoughts, Perry entered his view. He took a look at Clark, who smiled foolishly.
“Son, I don’t think you’re going to remember this, but I’ll tell you anyway, just like I told Lois.” Perry stood next to Lois. “I don’t want to see hide nor hair of you at the Planet for the next three weeks.”
Clark felt desolate. Perry didn’t want him? Maybe Lois didn’t want him either? After all, she’d been very mad at him. Why had she been mad at him again? He couldn’t remember.
Perry went on, though, and soothed Clark’s fears. “You’ve got to get better, son. I don’t want to see either one of you at the Planet until you’re up and around, Clark.” He turned to Lois. “Thank you for volunteering to stay with Clark.”
Lois shrugged.
“Right.” Perry nodded with a knowing air. “Now, Clark, don’t worry about a thing. Both of you will get full pay while you’re out. And the Planet’s insurance will cover every penny of this doctor and hospital stuff.” His words floated past Clark. “I’ve got to get back to the paper. You stay here with Lois and do what she tells you.”
“Sure!” Clark could promise that. He loved doing what Lois said. Except when she was too bossy. Or when she teased him. Or when she asked him questions he couldn’t answer. Or when he had to go and be Superman.
Wait. That was what he had to tell Lois. He was Superman. Or had he already told her that? He couldn’t remember. He had rehearsed it so much in his head that he had eight or ten different memories of telling her. No, he hadn’t told her, he decided. He had wanted to, but he hadn’t told her. He had to tell her now. It was important.
“Lois…” Clark began. But she stood at the door to his room, hugging Perry. The editor walked away. Clark panicked. Would Lois leave too?
Clark tried again, louder this time. “Lois…”
This time she came to him. “Clark? Are you all right?”
The panic went away. Lois had come back! He was so happy. Lois was right next to him. And she was holding his hand!
Clark gave her a sappy smile. “Lois… I have something to tell you.”
She squeezed his hand encouragingly. At the last second, Clark’s nerve failed him. “I’m floating.”
Lois flung back the bed sheet in alarm. When she saw him safely lying in bed, she hissed. “That’s not funny!” She brought the sheet back over to cover him.
Clark tried to make sense of her actions. He gave it up. When had he ever been able to understand Lois Lane? He chuckled. “I’m floating. Floating…. Kelly gave me a shot… it was some good stuff.”
“Oh, you mean…” Lois trailed off.
What did that expression on her face mean? Clark tried again. Underneath the euphoria was a great urgency to tell her the truth. But on the surface, everything seemed happy.
“Lois… I got shot.”
“I know that, Clark.”
He stared at her owlishly. “But it really hurt me this time. It’s real this time.”
“I know that too, Clark,” she said patiently.
Driven by the imperative to tell, Clark mumbled, “It didn’t hurt the last time I got shot. The bullets bounced off me.” It seemed important that Lois understand this. “Usually bullets bounce off me because I’m Superman.” There, it was out. “I’m Superman,” he repeated. He tried to take a deep breath. The narcotics made him not care about the pain. What was more important was that he had told Lois. What would she do?
Lois laughed, and her laugh morphed into a tiny sob. “I know that too, Clark.”
“You do?” Clark said, tremendously surprised. How had she known that? He gaped at her.
“You told me two days ago.”
“I did?”
“Yes, you did.”
“I told you I was Superman?”
“Yes, you did.”
“The Last Son of Krypton? The Man of Steel? The Man of Tomorrow?” Clark said, encouraged by Lois’s tiny smile.
“That all goes along with being Superman,” Lois said, holding back a chuckle. “I think Perry is getting a little too grandiloquent on the editorial page.”
“Anyway, I’m Superman, Lois,” Clark said. He loved how she was holding his hand. She felt so warm. She was taking this so well. He thought… well, he worried, underneath the floating, that she might be angry. “I got shot last time and it didn’t hurt at all. Because I’m Superman.” It was important that Lois know that. Had he told her already? Oh yes, he just had. “I lied about it then. But no more! I’m going to… I’m going to tell you the truth all the time from now on.”
Lois smiled sadly.
“I won’t lie to you anymore, Lois. I’ll tell you the truth one hundred percent.”
Lois nodded. Her eyes flickered in interest. “One hundred percent?”
“One hundred percent.”
“One hundred percent?” Lois said again. She barely held back a giggle.
Clark giggled too. He loved to make Lois happy. “One hundred percent. Like Horton.”
“Like who?”
Clark regarded her. His muzzy brain wasn’t sure if Lois was kidding or not. “Horton! The elephant!”
“The elephant?” Lois asked dubiously.
“It’s Dr. Seuss!” Clark felt a strong need to explain this to her. “Horton the elephant from Horton Hatches the Egg. ‘I meant what I said and I said what I meant - an elephant’s faithful, one hundred percent!’” Clark said. “From now on, no more lies.” He ended his peroration with a flourish. “’I meant what I said and I said what I meant – Clark Kent will be truthful one hundred percent!’”
Lois laughed a little, but tears welled up in her eyes. It perplexed Clark. Shouldn’t she be happy one hundred percent?
She distracted him by saying, “The only Dr. Seuss I ever read was Green Eggs and Ham.”
“That was a good one!” Clark agreed, memory supplying an immediate image of words and pictures. “I know it by heart.” He began quoting. “’Would you eat them with a fox? Would you eat them in a box? Would you eat them in a house? Would you eat them with a mouse? Would you eat them here or there? Would you eat them anywhere?’”
“I do not like green eggs and ham,” Lois interjected.
“I do not like them, Sam-I-Am!” Clark finished triumphantly. He leaned over and whispered to Lois confidentially. “You know what?”
“What?”
“The guy in the book ended up liking green eggs and ham!”
“Really?” Lois asked in the same confidential whisper.
“Really!”
“I think you’re a little out of it, Clark,” Lois said, removing her hand.
Clark felt bereft. “I’m perf… perfectly lucid! Perfectly lucid!” His tongue seemed to get a little tangled on the “L’s”. “You know, Lois…” he asked, hoping to get her to hold his hand again.
“What?”
“I’m green eggs and ham.”
“What?” Lois was startled.
“I’m green eggs and ham.” Clark felt very sad suddenly. He had to tell Lois something he had always worried about. “I’m not really human. I’m not regular eggs and ham. I just look like a human. But I’m not human. I told you I was Superman, right?”
“You did mention that,” Lois said patiently.
“I’m green eggs and ham, and…” Clark thought hard. He was a little confused about where this was going. He wasn’t human, he knew. That was very sad. He looked like a human but he wasn’t. He wasn’t regular eggs and ham.
Then a wonderful idea exploded in his mind. “Hey! Maybe you’re like the guy in the book. The guy that thought he didn’t like green eggs and ham at first, but then he tried them.” Clark quoted the book again. “‘You do not like them, so you say. Try them! Try them! And you may! Try them and you may, I say!’” It seemed so important that Lois understand this. At least she was listening to him today. “So you should go on a date with me. Try me! You might like me!”
Clark barely heard Lois say, very quietly, “I do like you, Clark.”
He pressed onward, desperate to prove his point. “I’m green eggs and ham, and you try me, and then at the end, you’ll be like the guy in the book. ‘Say! I like green eggs and ham! I do! I like them, Sam-I-Am!’” He smiled winningly at her.
“Oh, Clark,” Lois said. She was doing that weird laugh-and-cry-at-the-same-time thing again. She leaned forward and hugged him.
Clark’s heart jumped in his chest.
“Clark,” Lois said, sitting back in her chair, “we did go on a date. You made me dinner.”
“We did?” Clark asked, wide-eyed. Images floated through his fuzzy brain. He frowned. “Were you mad at me?”
“I was at the beginning.” Lois said patiently. “But you made me a really good dinner.”
“I did?”
“You did. And then I thought about it, and I wasn’t mad anymore.”
“You’re not?”
“No, I’m not. And I have to tell you something really important, Clark.”
“What?” He focused on Lois with all his attention.
She smiled. “I like green eggs and ham.”
“You do?” Clark breathed.
Lois took his hand again and squeezed it just a bit. “I do. I like them, Sam-I-Am.”
