"You've got a shard of Kryptonite in your rib cage." Clark instinctively laid his thumb on the spot, under her heart, between her sixth and seventh left side ribs. She flinched and jerked away, indignant fire leaping into her eyes. "Sorry." Clark soothed, his voice low and rumbling. "I'm only trying to help."
"I know." She grimaced. "Get it out of me. Please."
"I don't think I can." Clark shook his head. "It's in too deeply. I'll hurt you too much if I try with my crude methods. Do I have your permission to touch you again?" He reached a hand toward her, surprised at the tremor that was lacing his normally steely voice. Why should he care if she rejected him or not?
The woman nodded, her chest rising and falling slowly, a soft wheeze escaping her lips as she visibly composed herself. "I don't care if you hurt me. You already do every day."
Clark's brows snapped together hard again. "Enough. What's that supposed to mean? Who are you?"
"I don't feel like myself right now." The woman half apologized, "My normal demeanor is more like raging bitch than cowardly lion." She began to cough violently before either of them could comprehend her strange question evasion. Clark hurried to support her again in the sturdy circle of his arms and then shot up like a bullet, a cloud of snow exploding beneath him as he searched for civilization. He thought about landing in the nearest town he spotted, but decided against it, since a small town might not have the kind of modern hospital they needed.
He finally touched down in Zurich, landing on the street in front of a huge University Hospital. Swiss citizens cried out in alarm at his sudden arrival, pointing or recoiling as he strode across the busy roadway and made his way into the hospital lobby. Using his gift of multilingualism, Clark quickly picked up the language around him in seconds and addressed a startled looking desk attendant in smooth Swedish.
"I need a surgeon. My—" he frowned for a second, momentarily at a loss over what to call the Kryptonian female. "—friend needs a surgeon. Quickly."
The attendant fumbled with an intercom and spoke into it rapidly, calling for backup. He tried to explain that there was a procedure to follow, not to mention a waiting list, but he didn't get very far before his breath caught in horror at Superman's deadly looking glare.
"Kal, you're scaring the shit out of these people." The woman slurred. She was looking very sleepy. Her skin was clammy and blanched. The Kryptonite poisoning her internally was working quickly. Too quickly. "Fly to Metropolis…they know you there."
"They know me here too." Clark growled under his breath in English, glancing at the sea of wide eyes around them. "Apparently as a curiosity from television. An object to be discussed in a committee." He directed that last word at the desk attendant, his gaze intense again. "I don't have time for this." He snapped in Swedish.
"Kal, don't." The woman pleaded. But her voice sounded very far away. "It's not worth bullying your way in here. It won't look good for you—"
"Do you think I care about that!" Clark shook his head at her in frustration as he turned and pushed past the front desk. He strode down a sterile smelling corridor, looking this way and that, penetrating the walls with his xray vision as he traced the best path to the surgeon's wing. "You won't survive the trip to Metropolis." He stated gravely. The woman took another shuddering breath, as if to protest before her body went limp. His name, his Kryptonian name died on her lips.
Clark quickened his pace. He certainly made a menacing sight, carrying a languishing woman and looking fit to kill anyone who got in his way as he marched down corridor after corridor and shouldered through closed doors, his red cape snapping behind him. He ignored the sound of blaring alarms and the frightened medical personal that jumped out of his path until he finally crashed through into a surgical prep room.
Two middle aged men were just rinsing down after a procedure, their arms and tunics streaked with red blood. They jumped in surprise as Superman made his impressive entry.
"She needs surgery. Now!" Clark demanded in Swedish.
"But she's not next in line! We have a liver transplant next!" the surgeons glared and demanded an explanation. A group of nurses and other assistants flowed through the man sized hole in the broken door behind Clark, looking both shocked and curious.
"She's poisoned. You've got to help her next or she'll die." Clark stressed, his expression pleading and irritating at the same time.
"She's not prepped!" the doctors chorused stubbornly, looking extremely annoyed themselves.
Clark clenched his jaw to avoid screaming in their faces and advanced toward the doors that led into the sterilized operating room.
"NOOOOOOOO!" the Swedes called behind him. "You'll contaminate everything in there! Then she definitely won't survive!" Clark stopped walking and glared, challenging them.
"Which way do you want to do this then?" He said icily.
"Fine." The two surgeons quickly stripped off their scrubs, dirty from the last patient, and began rapidly dressing into clean uniforms, their attendants helping. "We'll do it your way, mister. But this is not acceptable."
"I understand." Clark watched them, standing impassively as he tried to clamp down on his raging anger.
"What is her injury?" the head surgeon asked impatiently, still looking very put out as he washed his arms with soap and water up to his elbows.
"A shard of Kryptonite." Clark sighed through his nose even before he registered the man's confused expression. "It's a piece of green alien material from my home planet, Krypton. It killed me once and I'm pretty sure it's slowly killing this woman if it's not removed." He went on to explain in detail where he had seen the offending shard, and in what position it was lodged. He glanced down and used his xray vision to scan the woman's chest cavity as he spoke, "Actually It's not between her ribs anymore. It's moved toward her heart." His face darkened even further as he gave that update. No wonder she was so weak.
Four white clothed assistants rolled over a metal cart and urged Clark to lay the dying woman on it. Clark looked reluctant but did so, his skin feeling cold as the warm body heat of the other Kryptonian left his arms.
The head surgeon pursed his lips, held out his clean hands and allowed a nurse to open the door to the operating room ahead of him. "Then it sounds like we'd better move quickly." He spat in clipped Swedish. "And no," he leveled Clark with a glare "You cannot follow. You can watch through the glass partition." His gaze fell to the symbol on Clark's chest, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust as he took in the rest of Clark's battle scorched suit and boots. "You're the Superman. Do the right thing. You're only putting this woman in more danger with your filthy presence. This whole situation is bad enough as it is, and you've already caused enough destruction today." He disappeared though the doors with the rest of the medical personnel and the cart.
Superman tried to control his rapid breathing. His fingers curled into fists and every muscle in his powerful body begged to burst into that operating room against his better judgment. He calmed his mind and focused his supersensory abilities, watching through the glass and tuning his ears to listen through it as well.
The surgeons muttered, swore, protested and said other unkind things about Superman's atrocious behavior but they worked quickly, cutting away the woman's black leather top. Clark averted his eyes then with a start, suddenly rethinking his decision to watch the procedure in order to preserve her modesty. The head surgeon sliced into the woman's skin easily, as her body was weakened to that of a normal human from the side effects of the Kryptonite. Clark turned his back and leaned against the glass window, listening hard as the surgery took place, his every sense on high alert for the slightest hint of danger. He had already picked out the rhythmic sound of the woman's breathing and the rhythm of her heart beat. He concentrated mainly on that, monitoring her and waiting in near agony.
A blond haired nurse poked her head in from the outer hallway, grinning at the crumpled metal doorway he had entered through.
"Who is she?" she asked him quietly, in Swedish, jutting her chin out at the surgery room.
Clark sighed heavily and closed his eyes.
"I honestly don't know." He admitted, after a long pause.
"Are you really the Superman we've seen on television?" she continued, her voice catching with mixed excitement and fear.
Clark swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing. The nurse's eyes darted to his thick neck. She looked fascinated.
"That's what they call me." Clark answered sullenly. He opened his eyes, feeling the events of the past hour catching up to him. "I, uh, I'm usually not this reckless."
"Oh I know." The nurse smiled, dipping her head. "Some of us were more surprised at your appearance than angry with you being here. Well, some of us are actually very angry. Yes. Actually." She amended, shifting on her feet and crossing her arms, smiling and blushing. "You make me flustered."
"Sorry." Clark said, and he meant it. His actions would have repercussions. But at least he might have not been too late getting the Kryptonian woman help. He stopped listening to the soft voice of the nurse as she babbled on, though he knew it was rude, and stared at the white tile ceiling.
I'm trying to keep Clark in character. He wants to save lives, but he also has to do things on his own terms sometimes. Review if you want! Let me know your thoughts.