A/N: My take on what Clark Lane went through on that day. Spoilers for 'Keep the Peace'. If you have not seen the finale, you have my permission to avoid this one.
If you are brave enough to read, I hope you enjoy.
Find Me
Chapter I
Clark Lane was starting to feel like a third wheel as he accompanied Dean Parker and his prom date, Mira, on their downtown shopping excursion. Clark was dressed casually in khakis and a white tee beneath a long-sleeved, buttoned shirt; his unruly mop of curls bouncing on his forehead as he navigated the busy sidewalk with his friends.
Mira, wearing a pink V-neck jersey and jeans, was chattering on about matching colours of boutonnieres and dresses. For the upcoming school prom, Dean's own blue shirt and jeans would be replaced with a suit and peach-coloured rose to compliment Mira's peach dress. Clark couldn't resist taking the opportunity to tease Dean about the fact that Mira had been the one to ask him out.
Not one to take a jibe lying down, Dean shot back: "What colour's your boutonniere?" all the while knowing it didn't matter because Clark was flying solo for the dance.
"Uh, whatever colour means 'no curfew because it's prom'," Clark responded smartly.
"Seriously?" an incredulous Dean asked, somewhat shocked that Clark's parents were relaxing the house rules for their son.
Clark answered that his folks had evening plans, something about going to a hotel. "Plus, they trust me," he added, "it's weird."
"Plus," Dean drawled, "you're not going to tell them."
"Scary," Clark admitted, "like your dad!" He folded his arms and eyed the blonde-haired Mira. "You sure you want to date a walking polygraph?"
The girl smiled, and sent an affectionate look Dean's way. "Yeah, I'm sure," she asserted, linking hands with her dark-haired boyfriend. Mira was fully aware that Dean was the progeny of Gregory Parker, a sergeant on the city's Strategic Response Unit and head negotiator with its best team.
They reached Clark's car, a second-hand, Harvard Blue Pearl-coloured '92 Honda Civic LX EG sedan. Dean and Mira politely turned down his offer for a ride, and he unlocked it, bidding them a quick 'see you later'. Part of him was pleased that he wouldn't need to drop them off somewhere else. A detour like that would have delayed his plans to get to City Hall to obtain a permit for the outdoor party they were planning. Why the responsibility to take care of this task had fallen to him, Clark didn't know. Maybe it was because all his friends and classmates thought he'd have an easier time with it just because his father was a police officer.
As if that makes any difference when dealing with the city for this sort of thing, he grumbled to himself as he drove towards his destination.
If Clark had turned on his radio, he would have learned of the sudden and unexpected bombing of a downtown federal building that set off city-wide panic. As it was, Clark had music blaring through the ear buds hooked to his iPod. The rolling bass and pounding drum beats of the songs he played cancelled out any noise from the world outside.
Even if he had known of that first disaster, he would still not have noticed the young man dressed in dark blue coveralls carrying a toolkit who was exiting the underground parking garage at City Hall just as Clark was entering.
The teen cruised around for a few minutes, somewhat annoyed that the first level of parking was full. He thought he spied an empty space, but the other car was parked badly, and even with his smaller vehicle, decided he didn't want to risk scratching either by squeezing in too close. Undaunted, he continued down to the second level, descending the ramp smoothly. He found a space almost immediately and pulled into it with ease.
He set the parking brake, unbuckled his seatbelt and plucked the ear buds from his ears, completely unprepared for the hellish disaster zone City Hall was about to become. Without the slightest warning, a deafening, earth-shaking blast ripped through the compound, followed immediately by a sickening, jarring crash. Clark felt as if every bone in his body was being pummeled at once by a sledgehammer; felt his world go dark with the certain, terrifying knowledge that he was being crushed to death inside his own car.
Clark's brain was a foggy mess when he slowly regained consciousness. His entire body felt as if it had just been through ten rounds in a mixed-martial-arts match against Georges St.-Pierre, and disoriented as he was, realised that he was somehow supine.
"What happened?" Clark thought groggily. "Why am I on my back?"
His left side was on fire, and every breath was agonizing. The air was choked with heavy dust that smelled of concrete and ash. Flickering fluorescent lighting cast dancing shadows across his blurred eyesight of massive, irregular shapes and dangling wires.
It soon dawned on Clark's hazy mind those irregular shapes were pieces of concrete that were once part of the parking garage structure.
His legs demanded his attention next. He'd never broken a bone before, but with his kind of excruciating pain, Clark figured they must be in very bad shape. There wasn't quite enough light to see, but he felt his lower limbs were probably jammed beneath the steering column.
I need help, he slowly pondered, still in a dazed state. Gotta call Dad… Tell him something… bad happened at City Hall… Can't be an earthquake, can it? Earthquakes can't happen in Toronto, can they?
Where's my phone? Where did I leave it?
Pocket. I put it in my pocket…
He nearly yelled in pain as he tried to move his left hand towards the pocket for the cell phone. Something was wrong with his left arm, too.
Gingerly, Clark snaked his right hand across his body and began the difficult task of finding the mobile device that was his salvation. After several interminable minutes, his numb fingers finally secured it.
Ten missed calls…?
Clark squinted at the screen, which was thankfully not broken as he feared it might be.
Dad… Mom… Dean… They've all been trying to reach me…
He hit re-dial to the one person he knew was fully capable of making things better; of making things happen: his father. He needed his father to assuage his fears and to rescue him; needed to hear his father's voice tell him everything was going to be okay.
Clark was unprepared for the tone of recrimination in that voice when it answered.
"Where the hell are you?"
"D-dad…" Clark managed to weakly croak.
Instantly, worry replaced his father's initial brusque manner. "Clark, what's goin' on? Talk to me."
"Uh…" the teen whispered, taking in another ragged, pain-filled breath before answering.
"Talk to me!"
Every word was a struggle as the air quality continued to degrade. "Can't… move…"
"Clark… Clark… you at City Hall?"
A gasp was the only reply Clark could provide.
"Are you in City Hall?"
Clark heard the tremble in his dad's voice; noted how the pitch changed. He knew his father was terrified for his safety.
"Yes…" Clark groaned, "…garage…"
"Okay, okay, stay with me."
"Can't…mm-ugh…" Clark tried to squeeze the words through clenched teeth.
"It's okay, just stay with me."
Clark realised that his dad was trying to remain calm for his sake, but knew the panic was still there.
"I'm…here…"
"Call Donna, tell her Clark's at City Hall! Track his phone!"
He must be talking to the team, Clark deduced. Spike will track my phone... Thank you, God! They're gonna find me… they're gonna find me…
"I'm comin' to get you."
Dad… hurry.
"Stay with me."
I'll try, Dad… Please, just find me. Get me outta here.
"Clark, let me ask you: do you feel any pain?"
"Yeah… side… hurts… legs… legs are killing…" Clark grimaced.
"Hey, it's good, buddy. Means your spine's okay. Now, Clark, I know this is hard, but I need you to slow your breathing right down for me. Let's get that heart-rate down, okay?"
Clark obeyed, putting every ounce of effort into tamping down his own panic; forced himself to inhale and exhale at longer intervals; heard his father tell him it would help slow any blood loss.
"Now, I taught you sniper breathing, right? Clark?"
Sniper breathing, Clark mulled. Breathe slow and steady. So slow, you can count your own heartbeats… so slow… so slow you can shoot someone dead between heartbeats…
The teen felt his head swimming. He didn't know if his vision was fading or if the lighting had finally sputtered out, leaving him in darkness. His grip on consciousness was slipping away from him, and the sound of his father's voice started waning to background static.
"Clark? Clark! Look, I know it's hard for you to speak, but… Clark, I know you can hear me. You are such a strong kid, and I am so proud of you. Now, I need you to stay strong. I'm on my way."
Clark gasped again; felt powerless to keep his eyes open any longer. Without a trace of fear or panic, he wondered if he'd ever wake up again.
"I love you, buddy; I love you."
I love you, too, Dad…
"Clark!"
Clark stirred slightly at the sound of someone calling his name. It was oddly familiar; feminine, and fraught with worry.
I'm here, he wanted to cry out, but his vocal cords refused to obey.
"I'm at City Hall, looking for Clark. Can anybody hear me?!"
The fog clouding his brain cleared marginally. He was certain now he knew that voice.
Yeah, I do know who that is… That's Donna Sabine… Dad must have sent her…Thank you, Team Three.
Relief washed over him like a warm, comforting tide, believing fully that his deliverance was at hand.
"I know protocol, Boss, but this is Ed's kid!"
A small memory, unbidden, sparked in some region of Clark's brain of his would-be rescuer sharing a laugh with his dad at the Lane dinner table several months ago. He'd never considered it before, but it dawned on him that after the members of Team One, his father probably counted Donna Sabine as one of his closest friends. He remembered thinking it was weird at first that his dad had walked her down the aisle at her wedding, but now he realised the bonds of friendship and trust must run very deep between them.
"Clark! Eddie, I'm right here!"
Donna, I'm right here! Can't you see me? God, please let her see me! Let her find me!
Clark wanted to call out; made several lame attempts to make some kind of noise to attract attention, but it was as if he were paralysed.
"Clark?!"
Donna! Constable Sabine… Why can't you see that I'm right here?
The teen wanted to cry tears of frustration that his body refused to obey. The noises of people moving around with crunching footsteps, thuds and echoes, tantalizingly close, brought hope surging to the fore that he was only moments away from being released from this prison.
"Anybody there?"
Another voice called out, this time male.
"Jimmy, we gotta go. Team Three, let's move."
Clark felt his stomach lurch and his blood run cold at this command.
You're leaving?! Oh, no. No! Don't go! Damn it, I'm right here! Please don't go… Donna… Oh, God, make her come back. Get them to come back! Clark sent his desperate, silent petition as he heard the sure sounds of people retreating.
"Always, Eddie."
One last utterance, and then there was a terrible, mocking silence.
Dad… Dad… Are you talking to Donna? Why is she leaving? Tell her to come back! Tell her to come back!
Please… Team Three… he silently begged. Please, come back…
But there was no reprieve for the trapped son of Ed Lane.
Darkness enveloped him once again as hopelessness forced him into merciless submission.
