Second Chances

Summary: xmen/ smallville: An sequel to Caught in the Storm....When Clark was held prisoner in Russia, it wasn't Oliver Green that was his salvation....

Author's Note: This obviously takes place around the first episode of season eight and it will contain A LOT of spoilers, so you have been warned....

*****************************************************************************

The sound of voices swarmed around in his head like an insistent buzzing of bees. Clark struggled to open his eyes and moaned as he was greeted with a splash of cold water to the face from a rusty pail bucket. Some of the water got caught in his throat un expectantly, and he sat up coughing violently.

"How are you feeling?" a cold Russian laced voice asked evenly.

"Never better," Clark muttered sarcastically while he struggled to his feet.

He winced as the sun in the sky glared unforgivingly in his eyes causing his head ache to worsen. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious, but it felt that he had been drowning in darkness forever.

"Ready to get back to work?"

Blood from the nasty cut that was slightly below his hairline, mingled with the water dripping in his eyes making it hard to focus as he stumbled a few feet forward in a daze. It felt like he had been held prisoner forever when in reality it had only been a few days. He had never felt so tired, beaten and destitute in his whole life. He knew that the time would come when he had to make an escape or he was sure that he would pithier be held captive forever or die. As he tried to regain his bearing, his thoughts slowly crept back to the incident that had led him to his current predicament.

It had all began when Lex had learned about his secret. His worse nightmare had came to past and after fighting so hard to prevent Lex from finding the way to control him, he had failed which is what had led to their show down in the Fortress of Solitude. The last thing he had remembered was Lex holding him in his arms with a look in his eyes that revealed to Clark that Lex was no longer the friend he had once known. He was a man completely driven by power and the desire to conquer. He had to get back to Smallville. He didn't know whether or not Lex had survived the collapsing of the fortress, and if he had, he was sure that his former best friend and now arch enemy was scheming of a way to exploit him and his powers.

Not thinking, he swiftly grabbed a piece of lumber wood sitting on a pile of abandoned crates and swung it violently as his nearest guard, who fell to the ground screaming in pain. Another guard lifted his rifle to strike Clark when Clark grabbed the weapon struggling to wrench it away from the other man. He had nearly succeeded when the touch of a cold metal barrel pressed inches against his temple cause him to halt his uprising abruptly. Any time before, he wouldn't have hesitated to break free at gun point, but without his super speed, he knew if he had tried such a thing it would ultimately lead to his death. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he let his hands drop to his side as a sign of surrender. Another thing he wasn't accustomed to.

"You are very determined aren't you?" the Russian in charged asked evenly.

Clark felt a wave of anger wash over him.

"I just want to go home," he said softly.

The man holding the gun to his head was not sympathetic if his next words were any indication.

"Ok, just tell us where to ship the body."

Clark closed his eyes. This was it. There was no more fight that he could put up. They were going to kill him and there was nothing that he could do to prevent that from happening. He was confused to as how things could end this way. He had thought he had a destiny to protect Earth and be hope to those who know longer possessed it. All that Jor-El had told him was not to be.

"Is this not a place of business or is this nothing more then an over glorified fight club?"

Clark eyes snapped open and after the gun had lowered from his skull he whirled around to see the stranger who had spoken.

His eyes was first drawn to a tall bulky man who stood menacingly in the middle of the work yard with an unreadable expression on his face. Beside him a woman just as tall stood wearing crisp white pants, a yellow silk camisole top and a matching yellow scarf covering her face.

"Who the hell are you?" his captor growled, annoyed at being interrupted.

"We mean no disrespect, friend. My name is Nikolaievitch and this is my employer Lady Ana. Ivan, your boss, told us that we should come here to find what we are seeking," the man said mysteriously.

The heavy accent carried in his voice showed that he was truly an Russian native.

His captor stared at them suspiciously.

"What is it that you are looking for?" he asked snapping his fingers, causing several of the guards to come to attention with their weapons ready.

To Clark's surprise, neither the woman nor the man looked frighted considering the present danger they were in.

"We were told that you had the finest caviar in Russia, I assure you, she will pay very handsomely for is a woman with a very expensive taste,"Nikolaievitch smiled.

His captor chuckled, relaxing somewhat. Apparently their story checked out with him.

"What woman isn't, eh?" he teased, and all the men shared a good laugh easing the tension.

The woman seemed not to be bothered by the comment as her eyes suddenly fell on Clark with mild interest. Clark stared back not knowing how to react to her presence. One minute he had been ready to embrace death and the next he had been saved by this woman's arrival which seemed random, or so he thought...

"Advert your eyes if you know what's best for you," her Russian companion growled taking a menacing step in Clark's direction.

The woman laid a hand on Nikolaievitch's forearm stopping him.

"Careful, lady. He's very volatile," the guy warned.

"He is a bit worse for the wear and seem to have been dealt a great deal of punishment. I do not fear him," she assured before moving closer to him.

"What are your intentions with him?" she asked, not breaking eye contact with Clark.

"A rebellious brat like that with a stubborn streak a mile long is no longer any use to us or are work. To tell you the truth the kid was about to take a permanent dirt nap before you arrived," his captor chuckled darkly.

The woman's eyes smiled.

"It would be such a shame to kill such a creature filled with so much potential. There is fire in his eyes. He would be perfect for my line of work," she mused.

"Which would be?" Clark's captor asked with great interest.

"That is not of any importance. What is important is that I see a warrior which is better suited for living life taking my orders and not death. I want him," she said suddenly.

"Lady, he is not worth your trouble. Look at him. He is nothing more then a beaten man," her companion tried.

"Let me decide that for myself. A beaten man would not have such a fierce look in his eyes. If he is as you say then you will dispose of him and that will be the end of it," she said curtly.

Clark inhaled deeply. The hope of being rescued and set free was quickly dwindling. He was just being past from one slave camp to the next.

"I had plans on killing him myself," his captor grumbled.

The woman narrowed her eyes at him agitated.

"I will double my pavement for your caviar if you would be so gracious as to include this man in the deal," she paused before her voice soften noticeably,"If you do me this favor, I assure you that you and I will have many more fruitful transactions to look forward to in the future."

Clark held his breath bated as he waited for his captors response. While he was confused as to why the woman wanted him badly, he wasn't complaining. Moments ago he had been about to die and now there was a small window of hope that he might actually get out of the hairy situation alive. Despite the woman's ulterior and personal plans for his "service" he felt a bit more confident that he had a better chance of escaping her custody, then he had escaping the hell hole he was in at the moment.

But he couldn't shake the feeling that he knew her from somewhere....from a time long ago....Her voice seemed to remind him of a distant dream, and her eyes...he was certain he had stared into them before.

While the man was obviously reluctant to let his prisoner walk away alive, money and business was far more important then a personal grudge so he nodded his head, giving them his permission.

The woman's 'associate' walked over and helped him up. Clark tensed but one stern look from the man made him stop all thoughts of resisting. He was huge and Clark wasn't sure if he couldn't mentally or physically take another beating.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you. You have been most gracious," she said appreciatively.

She turned and led the way to the black luxury towns car waiting near the gate of the fenced in camp, with the driver standing outside the door. The driver had chestnut brown hair tucked beneath a cap and he was wearing ruby quartz shades.

"Are we done here, Lady?" he asked smirking at the woman as if he was sharing some private joke.

She nodded, as he opened the door for her.

"Yes, Scott. I believe that we have got what we have came here for," she assured before climbing into the car.

Clark hesitated before climbing into the car after the woman warily. Nikolaievitch climbed in the passenger seat and the engine to the vehicle suddenly roared to life.

"Let us return back to the jet, Piotr. We do not want those men changing their mind and if you can, may you switch on the heater? We do not want our friend back here to catch a cold seeing how he is not exactly 'himself' to prevent such a thing from happening," she said mysteriously.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a delicate pink handkerchief and began to gently wipe away the blood and water staining his face. Her words caused suspicion to creep up his spine. His gut instincts were right. From her statement he knew that she knew more about him that she was letting on and now the only thing to determine was whether she was friend or foe.

"Not that I'm not grateful for you saving my life back there, but," he started

"I was just returning a favor...Kal-El." Her words held no contempt, and dripped of kindness, but Clark's fear did not subside. Instead it was mounting steadily.

None of this was making sense.

"What favor?" he wondered apprehensively.

The woman obviously knew his true identity. Suddenly he got a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. Could it be possible that Lex had survived the cave in of the fortress and sent these people to come get him? He knew it was best to not let his fear get the best of him. If he was going to escape he would have to do it with a calm state of mind.

"I believe you have mistaken me for someone else. My name isn't Kal-El and I thought you said your friend's name was Nikolaievitch," he said pulling away from her touch.

To his surprise the woman laughed and the man flashed him a grin through the rearview mirror.

"Ja, Nikolaievitch is my middle name. Piotr Rasputin is what I go by," he said cheerfully.

Clark turned to the woman.

"Ok and who are you?" he demanded.

The woman chuckled merrily and she stared him amused.

"Do not tell you do not remember me, Clark Kent," she murmured.

Clark reached over slowly taking caution that she wouldn't harm him if he went any further. Almost as if she had read his thoughts, she nodded giving him permission. As he leaned in closer, he could smell the scent of sandalwood mixed with jasmine radiating off of her. The scent caused him to hesitate. He knew that scent. It was so familiar and it frustrated him that he didn't recognize it. Not wanting to wait any longer he caught the hem of the scarf between two of his fingers gently and pulled it away from her face revealing her identity.

"It has been a long time old friend," she smiled warmly.

Clark's head was nearly spinning from the shocking revelation of his savior. Memories began to swirl around his head. Memories of a strange, memory deprived woman with white hair, and blue eyes that he had pried from Lex clutches. A woman who had taught him that he wasn't solely responsible for every genetic mutated person on the planet. A woman who had nearly crippled him with her beauty and strength. A woman whom he had found it hard to watch walk away, yet here she had returned to him once more.

"Ororo...."

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________