Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything you recognize, and I'm not making any money with my writing.
Summary: He has been kept behind closed doors all his life, with no knowledge of who he is or what he can do – until one day he is freed by valiant reporter Lois Lane. Can she help him master his new life? Will there be love? Clois, some Marthan and Chimmie. AU.
A/N: I've been reading fanfiction for years and years, but this is in fact the first one I've ever written. I've recently been hit by a streak of inspiration and this is the result (or at least the beginning). Just to warn you, I haven't seen Smallville seasons 1-3 or 10, and I haven't read the comics – all my information is either from what I've learned on the show or from the Smallville Wiki. And even with that I'm taking a whole lot of artistic license on my story. The rating is mostly for language. Enough said – enjoy :D
Word of warning: Beware the doors. They tend to open where you least expect them to.
Prologue: A small world
"Martha?"
She looked up from where she was preparing the candles. Hearing him call her by her name, instead of as "mom" as she'd once hoped still stung a little. But if he hadn't called her mom when he was a kid he surely wouldn't start doing so now.
"I'm coming." She picked up the small chocolate cake with the lighted candles on top, walked over to where he was waiting by the fireplace and carefully put it on the mantelpiece. He looked at it, smiling, that rare solemn expression on his face which he only ever used on days such as this. "Well done, as always," he said quietly in Martha's general direction. Then he cleared his throat. "Happy birthday, Lionel," he intoned, "wherever you are now."
Martha nodded to that, lost in thought, suddenly overcome by the picture of Lionel standing by this very fireplace, glass of sparkling champagne in hand, lion's mane unruly as always as he spoke about something that needed celebration. He'd always loved to celebrate, just the three of them together, having a little fun while outside the world run its course. They never did that anymore since he was gone, and she really missed it.
"He used to love cake, didn't he?" the young man quietly asked, cutting into her thoughts. "Only the expensive kinds of course."
"Yes. From when he was young." Martha tried to shake the feeling of forlornness which had been creeping up. "I really miss him."
"Me too." His voice was rough. "It always seemed to be a relief for him when he came out here."
"Oh, it was," Martha assured him. "Like a refuge. He used to rave about the quiet out here."
A small smile plastered itself onto the dark-haired man's face. "That must have been before the wailing guy took over block C."
She grinned, "It was." She frowned. "I'm not hearing the wailer right now. Did you sedate him?" She wouldn't put it past him to do that in order to get some calm for this special moment.
"Wasn't necessary. I think he got into a fight with Icy Jack this morning and came off worse." He sighed suddenly. "Which reminds me – I have to check the automatic bolts in the community cells again. Something isn't right there."
"Later," Martha told him, putting a hand on his forearm. "Let's give Lionel a minute."
It had been their ritual in the last three years to put candles on his birthday cake, one for each year he'd been gone, and keep quiet watch until they'd burned down. As they stood there waiting, contemplating the pass of time, the silence was almost perfect, only broken here and there by the distant cry of some bird or other circling over the surroundings.
Martha frowned as that idea stuck with her. Circling … circles. We're going in circles, aren't we, since you're gone. What was your plan?
Once again she realized that she didn't see any other way than to keep going.
oOo
The fruit trees bore early this year, and the fall sun made the leaves, still green for the most part, shine brightly. He'd always enjoyed hanging around in the fruit garden to the west of the farm house, tending to the trees, watching them grow. Or climbing into them with the help of an old wooden ladder as he was doing now. The trees had been standing here for no more than twenty years, but they were already strong and gnarled, their branches heavy with produce. He threw the apples and plums into plastic buckets, wiping his sweaty forehead with his sleeve from time to time, and allowed himself a small break every now and then to thoughtfully watch the surrounding area. The farmhouse, the small barn, the cattle and chicken sheds, the fruit garden, the fields, the supply building and, of course, the facility itself were his whole world. Not too big a world, true, but he knew he was lucky to even have it, given his unique condition.
When he was satisfied with what he had picked so far he carried the buckets over to the large supply kitchens. The security lock between the outside and the facility proper automatically recognized him and let him through. The white tiles and stark artificial lighting inside the facility buildings always made him feel just slightly uncomfortable, but after all of seven years he was used to that feeling, enough so to be able to ignore it.
"Hey, Billy," he greeted the kitchen manager, who worked all alone on preparing the food for the prisoners. Billy was a stocky and unpleasant person, who always looked at him as if he was a leech. He'd also never heard Billy utter a single word in all the time he'd known him. Billy never ever left his kitchen; he slept in a cubbyhole next to the pantry and probably considered the cockroaches living under the shelves his best friends.
Billy gesticulated brusquely towards the food portions that stood ready on plastic trays. "Alright," the unenthusiastic servant sighed picking up the first one, and stepped over to the next security lock. Gruff, muffled voices were waiting for him.
oOo
"Clarkieeeee!"
"Come over here, my pretty!"
"What have ya got? Yummy food?"
"Here now, Clarrrrrrkie …"
He always told himself that it was best to simply ignore the hooting, but the truth was that it never got any easier. The never-ending calls, outstretched hands reaching for his clothes or hair, the pale faces floating in the half-light of the cells like ghosts, it was too much for a single person. Sooner or later he always found himself one step short of running to the exit, the food tray in his hands started to tremble, and the gazes of some of the more crazy inmates seemed to burn right through his skull. "Shut up," he told them, trying a firm voice, but unsure if he succeeded. Some of the hands grabbed the food plates right off the tray, spilling contents here and there and over his pants, and as happened so often he felt the need to yell in anger. Of course he managed to get a grip on himself, but today, like most days, his mood had already sunken way beyond point zero before he'd even made it to the end of block A.
"Hey my pretty," a female voice cooed at him as he passed the last cell on the left, "did you consider my little offer, pretty?"
He stopped for just a second, looking over his shoulder, sighing, "Offer, Cassandra?" He was pretty sure her power was something psychic, persuasion maybe, but after working with metahumans and meteor-infected people for all these years he normally knew how to keep out of their nets.
She pressed her face close to the bars, her huge eyes fixating him with a weird seductive expression, and he didn't even try to figure out where she'd gotten her makeup from. "My offer," she repeated. "You let me see the sun for just a few hours, and in return you'll get a night that you'll never forget in your life."
He wasn't impressed. He was sure she deserved not seeing the sun, and he wasn't interested in spending his nights with anyone from the facility. "Thanks," he said dryly. "I'd say you might try your luck with any other guards, but seeing as I'm the only one around here … sorry." He didn't really mean it, and he didn't listen to her disappointed mumbling as he left this block to cross over to the next one.
There, the hooting didn't get any better. He sometimes suspected that it could be a weird sign of affection on the part of the prisoners, but he always dismissed that idea as ridiculous. He knew that in reality everything the facility inmates felt towards him was disdain or even hate, and really, he couldn't fault them; he was sure that he would feel the same way had he been in their place.
Although, if he thought it over closely, he was also pretty sure that he still came off rather well when compared to the people – scientists, doctors – who used to visit the facility every now and then to work with the prisoners in the closed-off rooms to the back of the building. He didn't know what exactly they did with the inmates – and more importantly, he didn't really want to know – but it always caused turmoil in the cells. He'd always made a point of never meeting those scientists, keeping clear of the facility buildings and possibly the grounds whenever they showed.
He knew, after all, that he had to avoid contact with outsiders at any cost.
oOo
"You've excelled yourself, Martha. Again."
"Thank you, Clark. That's very nice of you to say." Another ritual, really, and yet it always made her feel warm inside. He forever praised the food she made for him, but then, he really had nothing to compare it to. Was it conceited of her to feel just a little proud anyway?
"Before you get seconds …" Martha reached across the garden table they were sitting at and picked up a thin vial with shiningly blue liquid inside. "Here you go," she said, handing it to the young man who took it with a slightly annoyed expression. "Thanks," he muttered, opening the small container; then he laid his head back and poured the liquid into his mouth. He grimaced as he put the vial away.
Martha expected him to go on eating, but he hesitated, looking thoughtfully out across the garden. It was a beautiful, sunny late afternoon; bird voices and the hum of insects filled the warm air. "What is it, sweetheart?" she asked, putting her hand on his larger one.
He blinked and looked at her, his blue-green eyes shining in the sun light. "Nothing," he replied. "I'm just wondering again if the blue medicine really helps me to get better. That's all."
"Of course it does, sweetheart." She patted his hand and tried to smile. "What makes you think it doesn't?"
He shrugged, tilting his head to look up into the softly swaying branches of the tree that stood to the side of the table. "I don't know. I've been taking it for as long as I can remember, but I always feel the same. There is never any change."
"But that's how it is helping you, Clark." Martha leant back in her chair to smile at him. "You surely wouldn't feel as good if you didn't take the medicine."
He frowned; he didn't seem too convinced. But this wasn't the first time he had doubts, and Martha had always managed to dispel them. "You'll be alright. Come on, there is plenty of food left."
Obeying, Clark helped himself to a second portion of chicken salad. After a couple of minutes had passed, Martha waited for him to start small talking, as he usually did. And sure enough, he asked as if on cue, "How is Jonathan?"
"Oh, he's great," Martha answered. "It seems it has paid off for us to get involved with the Metropolis cooperative."
"Good," Clark said, munching on his salad. "You know …" he continued in a less cheerful tone, which made Martha prick up her ears, "if I could … I would really like to get to know him." He swallowed and set up straight. "I mean, I know of course that I can't, but … if I could. You've told me so much about him. And about your farm. I'd like to see it one day."
Martha sighed; she hated it when these melancholic moods came over him. "Our farm is really not too different from this one," she said, hoping he would leave the subject be; it had been such a nice afternoon up to now.
"Yeah I know. But it is outside the fence."
"Oh sweetie, the fence isn't there because of you," Martha said cautiously.
He smiled briefly, "I know. Don't worry." And he went on eating, hunched over his plate. But Martha's own appetite was gone.
In moments like this, she hated herself for lying to him, and it didn't help that it was to protect him. The boy she'd named Clark twenty years ago didn't deserve this. The lies. The entire façade. And she herself, she didn't deserve to be a loved by him, by the boy who'd fallen from the sky.
That boy was a man now; and it certainly didn't make things any easier.
1: Hidden
"Shit!"
Her pant leg was stuck in the wire fence, and her bag had slid out of her hand. She jumped the last meter down the fence, breathing heavily as she landed on the wet grass, her pant leg tearing free. "Just my luck again," she panted as she glanced at the hole left in the fabric. "Hmm. I need some new pants anyway."
With that she moved forward, gliding alongside the fence while glancing at the facility buildings from time to time. There really wasn't much light there, in any case not as much as she would have expected given her previous experiences with these kinds of places. The buildings were pitch black, square shapes against a cloudy, dark-gray background.
"Approaching the back entrance now," she whispered into the voice recorder she had in the front pocket of her jacket. "No movement anywhere."
She couldn't be sure, though. Better to check in with her friendly vigilante again. "Hey! You there?" she hissed into her headset. "Did you discover anything yet?"
A crackle, then, "Everything's calm. Proceed as planned."
Yes, sir, she thought smiling and crept over a gravel path towards the looming dark building. A nondescript steel door was set into the blank wall. "Opening back door now," she recorded, and then reached into her pocket to pull out a hand-held electronic device which, according to her ally, was the newest door opener available on the black market. She switched it on and held it to the door handle as he'd shown her, but to her disappointment, nothing happened. "Hey, you! Green Arrow!" she hissed, "your thing doesn't work!"
"Well, not much I can do about that. Turn the east corner; I think there's another door."
She crept along the building edge, keeping to the shadows, rounding the corner and suddenly diving into the unexpectedly bright light of the pale half moon. "To your right, behind that nailed-up window," his voice told her. He probably was somewhere on the roof.
She reached the door; it looked pretty shabby, and she couldn't believe her luck when it opened up after she'd slightly rattled the handle. "It's open!" she informed the Arrow excitedly, slipping in. She couldn't detect any form of alarm.
"Hey Lane, wait for me!" the Arrow warned her, but she didn't heed him; her journalistic instincts were screaming at her to hurry. It was very dark in the room behind the door, and the air was stale. Maybe a storage room of some kind. As she switched on her flashlight her assumption proved right.
There was another door in the room, and it was opened a crack. She slipped through, her heart beating furiously all of a sudden. She could do this. She'd already gotten this far.
The corridor behind the door was bare and dusty. At its other end, a greenish light was glowing unnaturally, and if she strained her ears she was pretty sure she could hear the noises of people. Perfect. "Approaching what I'm assuming is one of the cell blocks," she told her recorder.
The greenish light sipped from behind a steel door, and as she pushed it open a square room filled with blinking computer monitors was revealed. Excitedly she stepped forward, the heavy door falling shut behind her, and she noticed too late that there was no handle on this side. I'm going to worry about that later, she thought, shrugging, and regarded a ground plan of the building displayed on one wall.
Five minutes later she was crossing another corridor at the back of the facility main building, trying to stay out of range of the security cameras while simultaneously talking with Green Arrow. "Well I'm sorry I'm too fast for you," she told him. "Did you get rid of the security cameras yet? Yes, I can't get to the cells before you've done that, I already told you." She clenched her teeth; men! Why did they never listen?
"Okay, Lane," the Arrow said after a moment, "I think the only way for you to get there is from the outside. What I'm saying is, you have to get out of the building and in again by another way. Alright?"
"If it's really necessary," she sighed, starting to move again.
While he guided her all the way to another door which led her out onto the compound again, the Arrow, as usual, couldn't keep himself from teasing her a little. "Did I ever ask you why you're so obsessed with these Luthorcorp facilities?"
"Did I ever ask you why you are so obsessed with them?" she responded lazily.
"No, but I must say we really make for a great team," he said and she could hear his grin. "Alright, turn to your left and you're out again."
Indeed she was; the cold, wet night air greeted her face like a blow. "Now, if you turn to your right and duck so those guards in their nice hideout over there don't see you," he continued, "you might just be lucky enough to meet … me." She winced as he suddenly appeared right in front of her, a dark figure in a hood. "You know, I might have screamed," she told him disdainfully. "You just had to satisfy your ego again, didn't you?"
Together they sneaked around the next corner; a high wall and an even higher fence came into view. "Over there," the Arrow whispered, pointing at an opening. "I'm going to check, you stay here."
And he was gone. She waited, sitting on her heels in the wet grass; contemplating what a rewarding achievement it would be to publish the article and discredit Luthor just a little more.
Because every little bit mattered.
oOo
"Your brandy, Mr. Luthor. Anything else?"
"No, that will be all for tonight." Lex didn't look up as the brandy glass was placed by his elbow, and he only faintly heard the servant retire. The crackle of the fireplace was a calming tune in the background.
"Oh, dad," Lex said to himself. "Father, father." His focus was on a pile of printed papers in his lap which he had been leafing through for this last half hour. The documents had only recently been retrieved from a secret stash of his late father hidden in the old hunting lodge Lionel used to spend time at as a youth. He'd probably thought Lex wouldn't remember him mentioning that place. But Lex had remembered, and now he had files in his hands which doubtlessly contained the hottest information any son in the world had ever inherited from his father – especially considering that his father had never meant for him to inherit them.
"Aliens, dad – really?"
But he knew it was true. The evidence was all there, including statistics, formulas, pages and pages of scientific results. And photos too.
These he studied the longest time. A cold shudder that began between his shoulder blades ran down his back. How could you, dad … how could you keep this from the world? From me?
The papers documented the find and subsequent examination of two alien space ships, including their two occupants, right after the meteor shower that had devastated Smallville and its surroundings twenty-one years ago, in 1989. A particular focus was on the scientific testing of a female alien specimen who was described as "approximately nineteen in earth years, blonde hair; proved to be very resilient to all kinds of experiments". From what Lex could gather Lionel's scientists hadn't hesitated to put her through all kinds of tests conceivable for five months on end until the creature had finally died under the pressure.
Almost holding his breath, Lex flipped through the pages, completely awed by the enormity of it all. He'd always known that his father had kept a lot from him, but he hadn't expected his year-long search for any information Lionel might have hidden away to yield results such as this.
… specimen is apparently empowered by the sun's radiation …
… certain weaknesses, have to be examined more closely …
… specimen's lack of cooperation proves even more difficult when …
For whatever reason, that much was clear, none of the results had ever been published; and even more surprisingly, none of them had been used within any of Luthorcorp's technical development programs. This puzzled Lex; he'd have expected Lionel to exploit anything that came within his reach in every way possible. Instead, it seemed like after the death of the female alien the entire scientific program had been shut down in the beginning of 1990 – even before the last tests had been finished –, all the information stored away safely and all the people involved paid off with enough money to keep their lips sealed forever.
As Lex studied some of the pages more closely he realized that all the names of the scientists who had worked on the program had been blackened out, and that no place names whatsoever were mentioned; what's more, many test results and observations were simply missing. This seemed to be more of a summary than the real thing.
As if his father had wanted to make absolutely sure that no one would be able to follow up on what he had covered up so skillfully twenty years ago.
So that was it? Had he been given an appetizer only to learn now that he would never see the rest of the meal?
Lex leaned back in his chair, inhaling deeply. The pictures in his hands seemed to be laughing at him, stark black-and-white photos of things unimaginable. What had happened to the ships after the end of the project? Was this really all the information there was? Was he overlooking something?
If there was one thing he knew, it was that he, the son of the man who seemed to have covered up the greatest scientific discovery ever, had a right to know more. To know everything.
He had a right to benefit from these alien matters.
He took the brandy glass, sipped at it, although he felt a sudden headache creep up. He was missing something, wasn't he?
The silence in the library was only broken here and there by a crackle of the fire. Lex stared at the brandy sparkling in the fire light, lost in thought.
Then it hit him like a blow. It had been two aliens, right? One had died. What had happened to the other one?
Hastily he put the brandy aside to leaf through the pages again. No, no experiments that referred to it, only a couple of sentences at the beginning of the records that said it had been a male, and apparently much younger than the female. That was all. No more mentions throughout the entire pile.
Now there were two possibilities, of course. One, that the documents dealing with this alien were simply elsewhere, or even non-existent. Or two, and this idea thrilled Lex so much he could hardly contain his excitement, that the alien was still out there somewhere. What were the odds?
Lex rose to walk over to the fireplace, feeling a smile distort his lips. If you've hidden him out there somewhere, dad … you know I'm going to find him.
So his father had apparently gone to great lengths in order to protect this little secret of his. But it wouldn't be enough. Not for one Lex Luthor who had the best technical equipment and the sharpest minds in the world at his disposal.
He already felt the excitement of involving himself in this new project. It wasn't just because he wanted to get his own back on Lionel. This was so much more – so much.
His gaze wandered over to his vinyl collection. He felt tempted to put on something adequate to celebrate the moment. Something powerful. Beethoven maybe. Or even Wagner.
Alright, dad … let the games begin.
oOo
She'd sat waiting for all of three minutes when the first ice-cold drop landed on her face. "Oh come on," she muttered, "someone's got to be kidding me!" She tried to creep a little closer to the building to maybe find some protection from the rain. Where was that Arrow? She folded her arms to keep warm and sighed. Anything to get that corner office at the Planet …
A couple of instants later she suddenly heard a male voice somewhere behind her. How had he gotten there? Whatever. She turned and got up, a smile on her lips, ready to give this adventure a new shot. "Hey! What took you so long?"
Silence ensued; she frowned, trying to make out his figure in the darkness. Then a rustle, "Who's there?"
She felt ice-cold all over suddenly. Great, Lane. It isn't him.
It had to be one of the guards.
What to do? Anxiously she looked around, searching for Green Arrow.
"Don't move," the guard ordered; now she could see him, dark-clad and broad-shouldered, and he had something in his hand. Was it a gun? It was revealed to be a flashlight, then, which the guard switched on and shone directly into her face.
Darn! she thought as she narrowed her eyes at the blinding light. Heart still beating wildly, she turned around and started to run. So what if it was crazy, she had enough experience with Luthorcorp's guards to know that it was better not to get caught. "Hey!" the guard yelled and instantly began to run after her. She slipped through the opening in the wire fence, crossed an asphalted square full of puddles and turned left sharply hoping to confuse the guard, but the beam of his flashlight never left her heels. "Arrow! Where the hell are you?" she panted into her headset, but a crackle was her only answer. She was on her own. Now that was what she got for trusting one of them vigilantes!
Come on, Lane. As if this is the first unfortunate situation you've managed to get yourself into.
She ran until a wall stopped her dead in her tracks. Frantically she looked for a way out, turned right and stumbled down a short concrete staircase. Her pursuer was still hot on her heels, and all of a sudden, without warning, a shot sounded from right behind her and a bullet whizzed along her cheek. She tripped, losing her footing, forced herself to get back up and ran on. Her lungs were on the brink of bursting.
Then something shot past her face, and her pursuer gave a soft groan of surprise. Lois glanced over her shoulder; an arrow was stuck in the man's arm. Finally! she thought.
"Lane? Come here! Over to the fence!" The Arrow sounded almost as out of breath as she felt. Although she still didn't see him, she scuttled over. So another fence climb it was.
"Hurry!" the Arrow's voice sounded into her ear, "there's another guard rounding the building, and I can't –" He broke off mid-sentence. She chose to ignore it and began to rapidly climb up the wire while the drain ran down her face. As she passed the top of it she took a split second to analyze her situation; it was no good. Even if she made it to the outer perimeter of the complex there was no way to get over the barbed wire fence there; she'd only made it over it in the first place because she'd used the roof of her car as a stepladder, and her car was parked on the opposite side of the huge facility grounds.
Just as she'd reached ground again, bullets started to zip through the air once more, forcing her to duck and to swear under her breath. "F*** that corner office!" she muttered and stumbled on. Apparently the guard who'd been following her had been stopped for the time being – presumably by her friendly vigilante. However, she'd discovered another guard closing in on her from behind the facility main building, just as the Arrow had warned her.
Remember what the General always says – most soldiers are too stupid to tie their own shoelaces. Wait, did he really say that? Whatever, these men aren't soldiers anyway.
"I got it!" she gasped as she reached an arrangement of waste disposal containers that seemed like a suitable hiding place. Right as she ducked behind one, however, a cold voice cut her relief short. "Now you don't really wanna do that, do you?" She felt a gun being aimed in her direction, and with a curse on her lips, she turned on her heel and shot around the corner of the building. She heard the guard following, although he was definitely slower than her. A concrete wall blocked her view in front, but there was a door in the middle and it was opened a crack. Without thinking she slipped through, her burning lungs screaming for a break which she couldn't allow herself.
In front of her was a large expanse of lawn, the wet grass sparkling. And at the far end of it …
A farm.
She stared. It was as if she'd stepped through a mirror and landed in Wonderland. Or something like that.
Neat, wooden farm buildings, surrounded by trees, a quiet, dark oasis on the edge of the madness that was this Luthorcorp facility. How could that be?
Well, whatever the reason, the sight screamed for her to hurry because if nothing else it was a potential hiding place.
She crossed the lawn in a matter of seconds and staggered up the three steps to the front door of the farm house. She tried the door, but her short run of good luck seemed to be ending already because it was locked and, by the feel of it, even bolted. She turned around, squinting back to the wall at the far end of the lawn. Where was that guard – had he seen her?
She continued to rattle the door, but it didn't budge, so she started to knock like crazy. "Hello? Someone there? I need help!" Whoever lived here, hadn't they heard the gun shots?
She hesitated a second to listen with her ear on the door. When she'd just decided to tiptoe around the house to look for another way in, or to just hide in the animal sheds – she wasn't sure why she hadn't thought of that first anyway – she suddenly heard a noise from inside. Slow steps.
Then, a low voice, "Who's there?"
"Let me in, please!" she panted. "There's someone out there who wants to shoot me!"
Silence.
"And that marksman," she went on, losing her patience along with her dignity, "will be here any second – so … please! Open the door!"
"Ah … I'm … sorry," the man behind the door said very slowly. "But I can't … let you in … ma'am," he added hesitatingly.
"Fine!" she grunted, stepping back and turning round. "I'll just try the barn over there. Thank you very much!"
"Um, ma'am," his voice stopped her, "you can't … get in there. It's all locked … you see, sometimes one of the –"
"Shhh!" She shrank back against the house wall, hoping the darkness would conceal her form in its shadow. The facility guard had just appeared on this side of the wall and was slowly coming across the lawn, looking here and there, waving the flash light in one hand and the gun in the other.
"Mister – whoever you are," she hissed in the direction of the door, hoping he was still there, "look, I understand that you don't want to get into trouble, but if you don't let me in you're gonna have to deal with a dead body on your front porch within the next ten seconds!"
Another two seconds of silence followed; then she heard someone working on the lock, and the door creaked. "Alright, ma'am … I'll open the door but you'll have to wait until I'm –"
"Shhh!" She pushed her shoulder against the door to get through faster, slipped in and pushed it closed all in one movement. From the corner of her eye she noticed someone who'd been standing in the dim light behind the door stumble backwards so hastily he all but fell over his own feet.
His voice was gruff now, "No, you can't be in here while I –"
"Too bad, 'cause I am!" she hissed interrupting him – how slow was he? She scurried to a window next to the door and cautiously looked out from behind the curtain. The guard was there alright, searching the surroundings, and what's more, the other one – who'd been shot in the arm – had just joined him. They didn't look as if they'd give up very soon.
She took a few deep breaths, then turned around to the guy who'd backed away even farther from her – what was up with him? Her once-over of him was delayed for a second or two when she realized he was wearing pajamas – the ugliest gray pajamas she'd ever seen. And who the hell wore pajamas at 9.30 pm on a Friday night anyway? She was tempted to smile for the ridiculousness of it all. Here she was, hiding away in a strange house with a guy in ugly pajamas who stared at her as if she were an axe-swinging warrior princess or something.
That noted, he was her age, his hair was dark and tousled, and his face was handsome to say the least. He was well-built in general. Damn tall, too.
Now get a grip, Lane. He was talking.
"You can't be in here," he was saying, looking at her from narrowed eyes which had a striking bluish-green color. "It was wrong of me to let you in."
"Well, I'm grateful you did," she replied, shrugging, "since the two guys out there want my blood. I can feel it."
"No, you don't understand." She noticed his breathing seemed strained. There was also sweat on his forehead. Frowning, she took a closer look – man, he was on the verge of a panic attack, wasn't he?
"What don't I understand?" she asked, a little more softly given his seemingly fragile condition.
"I'm sick," he said urgently. "And … and it's … contagious."
She raised an eyebrow. "Hmm. What kind of sickness?"
"A … a bad one. It's not really … curable." He sounded deeply unhappy. "If you're near me … there … there's a risk you get it too."
Well thanks for the definition of contagious, she thought, but if she was honest with herself he looked so miserable she almost, almost wanted to take him by the hand, sit him down somewhere and get him a whole lot of chocolate to make him feel better.
She wrinkled her nose. What was she even thinking? He was a complete stranger and no, that she'd invaded his personal space without warning didn't count.
"You know what, I don't plan on staying very long," she said, "and I'm just going to keep my distance to you, okay? Why don't you go back to bed or wherever you were and I'll stay down here and when those guards out there have had enough of the rain and leave I'm just going to leave too and you'll never see me again. Alright?"
Maybe it was her long speech which had confused him, or maybe his knees were just too weak, but anyway he didn't move. Instead he continued to stare at her with those big, amazingly emotional eyes of his, and she felt obliged to reassure him once again.
"You know, even if I get infected I'm not going to sue you. I promise, okay?"
He didn't look convinced, but at least his breathing had normalized. He stepped to the window at the opposite side of the door and warily looked out. "Why are the perimeter guards after you?" he asked quietly. "What did you do?" He turned to her, a frown distorting his ruffled features. "How did you even get onto the grounds?"
This was the moment when she realized that this farm was in fact inside the fenced and walled facility grounds.
"Man!" she groaned. "You – you belong to the facility, don't you? Oh, great, Lane. That's typical. Out of the frying pan into the fire is what they say –"
"I'm not going to tell them you're here," he told her, sounding much more confident now and perhaps even a little … excited. "I think that's Bob and … and André out there. I … I think they might get the idea to search inside here … it's what they did when Silent Stephen once –" He broke off to look at her. His unexpected change of mood made her nervous.
"Hey … you know a better hiding place?" she asked hopefully. The back part of her mind was wondering all the while why she was even trusting him, but the rest of her overruled it by pounding into her that there was no time to doubt.
He slowly nodded, but as she approached him eagerly he backed away a couple of steps. "Don't get any closer to me," he warned her.
She stopped. "Okay, I won't."
He eyed her with just a hint of suspicion. "It's upstairs," he finally said.
She followed his outstretched hand, once again noting his considerable height as she passed him, and walked to the wooden stairs. As she put her foot on the first step, his deep voice reached her again. "You didn't tell me your name."
She snorted. "Have you never seen my face on the news?" Smiling just a little, she brushed her damp hair off her forehead and took the next step, "Lois Lane. Your first choice in reporting."