Once Bitten
A/N - This story is set in the Alt-Clark universe, a couple of years after 'Tempus, Anyone?' The difference is that 'our' Lois Lane never visited this world.
Metropolis, as described by HG Wells …
Is it not more dirty than clean, more dark than light?
A thousand details exactly alike - and a thousand as startlingly different as the infinite choices in every moment.
From the little I've been able to gather, everyone is frightened, cynical, with no faith that society can protect them.
A big thank you to my two wonderful BRs - Iolanthe and Lynn. Thanks for your patience, unflagging enthusiasm, and inspired ideas to make this story stronger.
Posting schedule - one part a week, sooner if I can manage it.
Disclaimer - Recognisable characters from 'Lois and Clark - The New Adventures of Superman' are not mine.
Angst level - moderate.
Rating - PG13
Part 1
Betrayal gouged bleeding craters through his heart.
The knowledge of her treachery hacked through his mind like a thousand poisoned darts, seeking out all traces of the lie on which he had built his life and ruthlessly obliterating them.
Isolation coiled around him like a python, suffocating him.
He was alone. He'd always been alone. But now, his aloneness was no longer a dull ache, content to lurk in the background of his awareness, but a rearing, spitting, surging dragon of suffering that was greedily devouring his will to live.
He wished it were possible for it to devour his body and grant him freedom from the torment of a shattered life.
But he was invulnerable. For him, there could be no escape.
But they couldn't force him to stay. This would fester in his mind forever, but he didn't have to stay and face daily reminders of his gullibility.
He had nothing here. Less than nothing. He would leave. He couldn't die, but he could do the next best thing - he could go somewhere and exist in the condemnation of solitude.
Never again would he risk being subjected to this pain. Never again would he trust a human. Never again would he love. Never again would he allow himself to be fooled into believing he could be something other than what he was.
An alien.
An outsider.
Different.
Alone.
~|^|~
Half an hour later, Clark Kent walked into the Daily Planet offices for the last time. He kept his head up and his eyes forward as he walked through the newsroom and to the door of Mr Olsen's office. He tapped quietly and walked in when summoned.
Mr Olsen looked up from the jumble of papers on his sprawling shiny timber desk. "Ah, Clark," he said.
Two words, and Clark knew his boss knew. It was there in his awkwardness. His stilted smile. The unnaturally high pitch of his voice. Clark swallowed, searching for the cool and composed words that would sever his ties forever without exposing the magnitude of his need to flee. "Mr Olsen, I …"
"Are you all right, Clark?"
There seemed to be genuine concern in the question, and it felt like acid being splashed on open wounds. "I wish to resign," Clark said, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket for the stiffly worded letter he had tussled with for over twenty minutes. "Effective immediately."
"Clark." Mr Olsen rose from his seat. "Clark. Are you sure about this? Are you sure you should be making decisions right now? You have some leave accrued. Why not take it? Take some time to think about what you want to do and -"
"I know what I want to do," Clark said coldly, feeling so completely detached from his life as Clark Kent that the words and the voice delivering them seemed to emanate from somewhere outside his control.
Mr Olsen took the proffered envelope with obvious reluctance. "I won't process this for at least two weeks," he said. "I think you need time to get away. Time to try to find some perspective."
"I have perspective," Clark said. "I'm leaving the Daily Planet, and I'm leaving Metropolis."
"You have friends here," Mr Olsen said gently. "You have a career as a respected journalist. You have -"
"I have nothing," Clark said, and the words tasted rank in his mouth.
Mr Olsen tossed the enveloped onto his desk. "What are you going to do?"
"Go away."
"Where? Back to Smallville?"
"No." There was nothing in Smallville but a glut of harrowing memories.
"Then where?" Mr Olsen persisted. "A vacation, perhaps?"
Clark thrust his hands into his pockets and fought against the compulsion to fly away. "Goodbye, Mr Olsen," he said. "Thank you for everything."
"Clark -"
But Clark had gone. Out of the office, out of the newsroom, out of the building, out of the city, out of the lives of everyone he knew.
He needed to be alone. He needed to grieve. He needed to allow the plague of suffering to pound him. He needed to crush the forlorn hope in his heart that this was just a bad dream. He needed to accept his destiny.
He had lost everything.
He no longer cared what happened to him. His hopes and dreams had been squeezed from the cracks of his broken heart.
His only thought now was self-protection.
He would never allow it to happen again.
~|^|~
Clark felt as if he'd lived through an eternity since waking that morning, but it wasn't yet midday in Metropolis. He flew in search of the blackness of night. When he found it, it enveloped him, accepting his presence with the impersonal disinterest of an overcrowded doctor's waiting room.
He landed on the top of a snow-covered mountain and sat in the sub-zero darkness, wishing he were human, wishing he were susceptible to its frigid hostility, wishing it had the power to freeze the jets of pain tearing through his heart.
The passing of time eventually thinned the fog of shock and grief, forcing him to face the unpalatable truth that the corpse of his carefully constructed life demanded finalisation of a few details. Clark slowly rose from his icy seat, compelled by the sense of responsibility his mom had instilled in her adopted son. Perhaps dealing with the practicalities would bring a degree of closure.
He flew back to the city as the sun began to slide behind the horizon in farewell to another blistering summer's day. Clark let himself into the apartment he had shared with Lana. It was empty.
Empty of people, but the possessions were still there. Her possessions. His possessions. Their possessions.
The material evidence of two lives intertwined, a journey begun.
Overcoming the urge to walk away and leave everything, Clark shoved a few articles of his clothing into a bag. The apartment lease was in his name. He would hand the keys to the super and pay an additional month's rent to cover breaking the agreement. Sale of the furniture and other items would easily cover the cost of having them removed. Lana had expensive tastes.
His eyes fell on a statue of a young woman, her face marred by a full-lipped pout that had always reminded Clark of a spoilt child. But Lana had insisted she must have it, so Clark had parted with nearly a month's salary in a futile attempt to buy happiness for his wife.
He quickly scribbled a note to the super, relinquishing the apartment. He signed it and then picked up his bag. At the door, he hesitated.
He slipped his wedding ring from his finger.
He marched across the room and placed the ring at the foot of the statue.
Then, without a backwards glance, he strode to the door, opened it, and stepped out of his home for the last time.
Pain assaulted him. New pain. Physical pain.
The oxygen in his lungs turned to fire, torching his ribcage from the inside out.
Clark dropped the bag and groped at his chest.
From behind him, a mighty blow struck his head.
He crumpled to the floor.
And blessed darkness consumed him.
~|^|~
The waves of anguish washed over him, hauling him from the chamber of oblivion and into the ravages of consciousness.
Clark prised open his eyes and looked up into the face of Mr Tempus - Mayor of Metropolis and New Troy's most wealthy and powerful man.
In defiance of the claws ripping through his chest, Clark attempted to drag himself to his feet. He rose only a little way before collapsing back to his knees, gasping for breath. After a moment, he slowly unfurled his body, lifting his head to face Mr Tempus.
The Mayor smiled down at him. "So, Mr Kent," he said. "We meet again."
"What … what do you w…want with me?"
"I couldn't let the day of your demise pass without offering my heartfelt condolences." Mr Tempus shook his head. "A terrible business. Who would have thought? The lovely Lana. Such a delightful face. Such a duplicitous heart."
"You know?" Clark gasped.
"Of course, I know," the Mayor said. "I have made it my business to know everything about you, Mr Kent."
Clark slumped against the wall, trying to placate the sharp talons that were tearing his lungs to shreds. "Why?" he rasped.
"I'm sure you know my motto," Mr Tempus said. "Be prepared for the enemy."
"I'm not the -"
"Oh, Mr Kent," the Mayor said. "Deceit does not become you."
"Wh…what did I ever do to you?"
"You existed. Usually, that's enough."
Clark gathered all of his strength and channelled it into an effort to stand. Once on his feet, he leaned against the wall, panting heavily and clutching at the invisible blades.
Mr Tempus unfurled his fist, revealing a small chunk of green rock that was glowing eerily. "As I said, Mr Kent, I know everything about you. Your past. Your true identity. Your incredible strength. Your strange abilities." He tossed the rock into the air, deftly catching it. "And I am always prepared."
The piece of rock was causing his agony? An innocuous-looking rock could render him weak and razed with pain?
"I have waited like a boxer - primed and equipped - for my opponent to enter the ring," Mr Tempus said. "I took control of this city, riding the wave of fear about the coming enemy. I made millions of dollars selling guns and weapons to people who didn't know that the enemy could not be killed with bullets. I waited and waited for you to make your move. But, other than a few trivial incidents, you refused to rise to your destiny."
"I -"
"Oh, puh-lease don't bring up your inept attempt to prevent me from being elected Mayor," Mr Tempus said as he held up the green rock to the light and slowly rotated it. "I sent a mere suggestion of a death threat to that spineless wannabe, Jimmy Olsen, he panicked and told you to stop investigating, and you immediately scurried back into your corner and resolutely looked the other way."
"I didn't have any proof. I -"
Mr Tempus moved to within a few inches of Clark's face. "You disappoint me, Clark Kent," he said. "I expected to conquer a worthy opponent, but you have reduced it to a hollow victory."
"Why are you doing this?" Clark breathed.
"Because I have seen what you can be."
"But you were elected," Clark shouted, his voice crashing through the barrier of pain. "I couldn't stop -"
"It's not what you are now," Mr Tempus said with searing contempt. "It's what you could be. This world will never know what I have saved it from; there will be no superhero in spandex enforcing his sickening morals and nauseating justice on us."
"I -"
"Although you denied me the battle, I did have fun dismantling your life, piece by sanctimonious piece." The Mayor reached behind him to a table and held up a copy of the Metropolis Star, evening edition. "And, because I know it means so much to you, I smeared a little dirt on you squeaky clean reputation." Clark focussed his eyes enough to read the headline - Daily Planet Reporter's Wife Tells: My Secret Life of Abuse.
"But I didn't -" Clark made a shaky lunge for the paper, but Mr Tempus jerked it out of his reach with a cold snicker of disdain. "Lana wouldn't say that."
"She did. She even added a few juicy details for authenticity. Everyone has their price, Mr Kent. Even your lovely wife."
"I … I loved her," Clark mumbled.
"No, Mr Kent. You pretended you loved her. What wretched bad luck for you that you will never know the real thing. Not in this world."
Clark couldn't argue. Not anymore. He didn't care. He dropped his head and closed his eyes, no longer able to fight the tidal waves of torture sweeping through his body.
"Take him to the capsule." Mr Tempus's voice echoed through the pain haze.
Four hands seized Clark's arms and dragged him out of the room, along a corridor, and into an elevator. Mr Tempus followed. The doors slid shut, and as the cage began to drop, the Mayor of Metropolis held out his hand, revealing the green rock lying in his palm.
"Do you know what this is, Mr Kent?" he asked.
Clark shook his head.
"It is Kryptonite. The only known substance with the power to overcome your alien strength."
"I'm not an -"
"Come now, Clark." Mr Tempus reached down to slip the glasses from Clark's face. "We have been the best of enemies for too long to lie to each other."
Had Lana betrayed him in this, too? Clark turned his head away. He wanted to die.
The elevator plunged many floors, stopping at a level Clark estimated to be deep underground. Once the doors slid open, he was pushed forward into a tiny cylindrical room with transparent walls.
They threaded a band under his arms and left him, suspended in the small space.
From the midst of the cloud of pain, Clark was dimly aware of the capsule door being shut, enclosing him. There were other sounds, but he no longer cared.
"Goodbye, Mr Kent." Mr Tempus's voice echoed through the capsule. "After all we've meant to each other, I feel an obligation to give you a fitting burial. And because I'm a man who can appreciate irony, your body will rot near hers."
"La-"
Clark's cry was drowned in the roar of an explosion.
The pain, carried by searing flames, assaulted every part of his body.
He blacked out. He surfaced enough to realise they were hauling him away. Their hands on his body felt like knives carving through his flesh. His stomach lurched as the elevator rose. When it jerked to a stop, he was hurried through the darkness and shoved into the back of a waiting vehicle.
As they travelled, Clark slipped in and out of consciousness, drifting through the surreal sensations of movement and sound that penetrated the wall of his suffering.
The sound of the engine grew louder. It thundered through his throbbing head. His mind tried to trick him, plying him with the impression of flying. His body alternated between sweat-inducing heat and shivering cold.
He couldn’t think, couldn't grasp why this was happening, couldn’t anticipate what would happen next. Every thought ran aground in the sea of agony ripping through him.
Through his body.
His mind.
His heart.
Then, the hands came again - rough and sharp. They pulled at him, dragging him.
There was a sudden rush of air - like shards of ice, piercing his wounds.
The hands propelled him forward. The floor below him dropped away.
The air blistered past him, the feeling of weightlessness offering a tiny fragment of familiarity.
But this was different.
He wasn't flying. He was falling.
He tried to arrest his plunge. Tried to take control.
But he was helpless victim of gravity.
The air sliced through him.
He was going to die.
Alone.
No one would know how he had met his death.
He doubted anyone would care.
A few people at the Daily Planet might experience passing curiosity, but they would assume he had made good his intent to leave Metropolis.
They would think he had gone to a new life.
Perhaps he had.
The green blanket of trees rushed to meet him. Clark tensed in anticipation of impact.
It came.
He screamed.
With pain.
And anger.
And the utter devastation of facing death alone.
Something cannoned into the side of his head, the fuzzy edges of unconsciousness closed over his mind, and Clark Kent slipped into the world of blackness.
