Lois took a deep breath of the cool morning air, closing her eyes and savoring the gentle breeze and the scent of the river. She was so tired; it was at least an hour earlier than she normally got up. Somewhere around 5:00 AM she had woken up with yet another massive nicotine craving, and finally, she was giving in.
She stared at the pack in her hand. I really shouldn't be doing this, she thought as she pulled a cigarette out of the box. It's a nasty, filthy habit. She placed the cigarette between her lips and flipped the lid of her lighter open. It's bad for Jason's asthma. She fiddled with the wheel, debating. She knew full well that smoking was harmful to both her and her family, but... it was only one... and her body had been absolutely screaming for one for days now... and she had been going through so much lately... and she'd be sure to wash the smoke from her hair and robe... she really did deserve just one. Just one, and then no more. Honest.
She lit it. Lois took a deep breath and let it out slowly, closing her eyes in relief as the nicotine flooded her body. Oh, God. It was so bad for her, but it felt so good. She slipped the carton and lighter into a pocket on her robe and walked over to the riverbank, stepping out of her slippers and walking barefoot on the cold, damp soil. She stopped by the water, her feet just close enough to the edge to be splashed by the water. She could see the faint image of herself in the rippling mirror, the butt of her cigarette glowing like a tiny ember. She remembered the last time she had seen her reflection in this river, just before all hell had broken loose. She'd been Indulging in a quiet flight with the father of her child, a man about whom she still didn't know how she felt. And now, here she was, perhaps a week later, stealing away in the wee hours of morning to sneak a fix of slow, carcinogenic death.
God, she was pathetic. The moment her life started to get complicated, there she went, running to the crutch of her nicotine-laden coffin nails. She was supposed to be stronger than this, damn it.
Mad-dog Lane indeed. She dropped the still-smoldering stub of her cigarette into the river in disgust. For a few moments, she watched it float, bobbing up and down as it slowly became saturated, then turned away. With a sigh, she headed back towards the house, her slippers in hand. The lights were on in the kitchen, she realized in dismay. She must have woken up Richard. Now he was probably waiting for her, ready to lecture her. Damn it.
And indeed, she was right. There he was, leaning against the counter, wearing the satin pajamas his mother had gotten him, with tousled hair and dark circles under his eyes. Lovely. He noticed her approaching and stood, striding towards the door. Lois slid it open and stepped in, tossing her slippers aside and closing it behind her.
"Lois-" he began, but she wouldn't have it.
"I don't want to hear it," she said, brushing past him. Unsurprisingly, he caught her arm, swinging her around to face him.
"Well you will anyways. Lois, you're trying to quit-"
"I was just taking a walk, Richard."
"Like hell! You were smoking. I can smell it. Lois, you know it aggravates Jason's asthma-"
"It was just one cigarette."
"Yeah, right. And it'll be 'just one' after that, and 'just one more' after that!"
"Well, I think I deserve 'just one' right now!"
"Oh, of course! Yes, with all you're going through! Well you know what, I'm going through a lot worse, and you don't see me lighting up one of those cancer sticks!"
"Well, excuse me! I mean, sure, you've been through so much! After all, it's not like you've been kidnapped, nearly killed, attacked, knocked out, or had your whole life turned upside down! All you've "been through" is finding out that Jason isn't your son, which, by the way, came as a shock for me too!"
"All I've been through? Excuse me?! I nearly lost you and Jason! I nearly died! And I think that finding out that the boy you've been raising for years isn't yours is a pretty big deal!"
"Mommy? Daddy?" came a quiet, groggy voice. Both Richard and Lois whipped around to see Jason, clad in his Aquaman PJ's, rubbing his eyes sleepily and yawning. "Is everything all right?"
Lois sighed and ran a hand through her hair, her adrenaline fleeing like a startled bird and leaving only exhaustion and chagrin. "Everything's fine, sweetie."
"Were you two fighting?"
"No, munchkin, we were just - talking," Richard said.
"You were talking pretty loud."
"Come on kiddo, back to bed," she said, walking over and scooping him up, "Sorry we woke you up."
Richard was unable to fall back asleep. Lois did not even return to their bed.
He couldn't breathe. The water enshrouded him, enveloping him in its icy death. He thrashed madly against the choking liquid, sinking deeper and deeper into the depths.
"No!" he cried out, the exclamation escaping from his mouth in a bubble of air. The darkness pushed at the edge of his vision as the burning pain and the icy water overtook him. "No!"
Clark gasped softly as consciousness hit him. His back was on fire; the pain overwhelming. He tried several times to stand, each time falling back to the mattress as his back protested. Finally, he gave up, laying there and panting until the pain abated into mild discomfort. He pushed himself up on one arm, disentangling himself from the bed sheets and staggering to his feet. Clark lurched to the bathroom, gritting his teeth against the recurring agony. Stumbling in, he stopped in front of the mirror and clutched the counter tightly. Slowly, the pain abated into mild discomfort, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Carefully, Clark stood upright, and looked over his reflection. His dark hair was tousled, the famous curl no more than a tuft that stuck out at an odd angle. Dark circles under his eyes told of his disturbed sleeping patterns and lack of sunlight. He turned around, twisting his neck to see his back. The gauze he had applied last night was now stained crimson. Carefully, he removed the bandages to reveal the wound, throwing the stained rag carelessly into the trashcan. The skin around the laceration was pale, clammy and tinged slightly with green. Immediately surrounding the opening were small yellow and purple bruises, no doubt formed when Luthor had twisted the knife. In the very center was the injury itself: a dark, thick broken scab, surrounded by a small amount of pus (likely his body trying to push out the kryptonite fragments), that was split down the middle with a brilliant crimson ribbon that wound down to the top of his white boxers. As he'd fought against sheets that he had dreamed were choking him, he must have split it open. Again. At this rate, it would never heal.
With a sigh, Clark glanced through the wall at his clock. 5:23 AM. Oh well. He liked to get up in time to catch the sunrise anyways.
Quickly, Clark showered, dressed his wound and donned the Suit - not because he was planning to do any Superman work, but because it was the only clothing that would both stand up to high speeds and allow sunlight to penetrate through to his skin. That, and he wanted to make absolutely sure that no-one caught a glimpse of Clark Kent soaring through the air. After checking around to ensure that no spectators were present, he leaned out the window and launched himself into the sky.
Soon, he was gliding through the upper stratosphere, moving east, basking in some much-needed sunlight. Clark found a nice spot and rolled onto his back, closing his eyes and placing his hands behind his head. Oh God, that felt so good... With a contented smile, Clark allowed his mind to wander.
His expression turned sour as his thoughts turned, once again, to Lex Luthor. Although he had been trying to avoid brooding on the man recently, his attempts had not been entirely successful.
He knew about Jason. Lex Luthor knew about Jason. And, as if that wasn't bad enough, Jason was, indeed, vulnerable to kryptonite. The madman knew who his son was, and how to hurt him. And, if Luthor was behind the major purchases of diving equipment recently, and kryptonite had fallen into the ocean... it was bad. Terrifying.
And even if Luthor wasn't behind the S&R for pieces of new Krypton...if any had fallen into the ocean, and a criminal got their hands on it... it really worried him.
Shoving thoughts of Luthor and kryptonite to the back of his mind, Clark lay there for a while longer, letting the sunlight do its work to repair his aching body. Finally he had to go. Rolling onto his stomach, Clark flew back to his apartment, and got ready for work.
She groaned and rubbed her eyes, trying in vain to dispel the exhaustion. Cordelia Lamma was completely spent: she had, at the insistence of the Boss, been up since midnight organizing a search for xenomaterials that may have fallen into the water after New Krypton was lifted into space.
"'Work discreetly,' he says," she mumbled, "'Avoid suspicion,' he says, 'If anyone asks, you're testing the effects of New Krypton on the ocean's fragile ecosystem. Night-time is best for the dirtier work.' What a load of bullshit."
Cory sighed, closing her eyes and resting her head in her hands. How had it come to this? She should still be working at her lab, heading research programs, maybe even really studying the after-effects of New Krypton, not burning the midnight oil to help some shady benefactor salvage fragments of radioactive substances. But when the private organization for which she was working had began to lose money, her lab had lost the funding, and Cory had soon found herself without a job. That was when the Boss had come in, offering her a job. Do a bit of work to help him, and he would make sure that she found another position after she was done and get paid a hefty amount in the process. (It wasn't like she was a big fan of the alien anyways: Cory had absolutely no qualms about aiding in ridding the Earth of Superman.) So now, here she was, struggling to keep her eyes open as her subordinates continued to search.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself away from the railing and walked over to Andrew Palmer.
"How are we doing?"
"Well," the man said, looking up from the display, "We think we might've found somethin', but it's pro'lly nothin'."
"Lovely," she said, pushing him to the side and pressing the intercom button. "What've we found, guys?"
"Not sure," came the slightly staticky response, "A lot of big chunk of rock. It seems to fit the specs, but we're still working on a sample for confirmation. "
"What about the radiation levels?"
"We're getting something, but something's messing with our readings. Might be the water."
"Well, get a piece and we'll analyze it up here."
"Can do, Ms. Lamma. Jorge out."
"Cordelia out." Cory stepped away from the display and glanced at her watch. It was nearly 6:00 in the morning. God, if they didn't find something this time, she was hitting the hay, orders be damned.
Perhaps ten minutes later, the divers had resurfaced, samples in hand. Removing their breathing equipment, the men had laid it out across the table. Cory walked over. She looked them over. Dull grayish color, crystalline form, with a large vein of a deep green mineral running through it. She fired up the scintillation counter, waving the sensor over the crystals in front of her. Consistent radiation levels. For the first time since the closing of her lab, she allowed herself to smile in relief.
"Call the Boss," she told the team, "I think we've found something." Without another word, she headed towards her bunk for some well-deserved rest.
Luthor groaned slightly as the ringing woke him. Muttering curses under his breath, he groped for the phone, flipping it open and checking the CID. It was Palmer.
"This had better be important," he growled into the phone.
"We found somethin, Boss," came the response. Immediately, all traces of fatigue left him.
"What?"
"We found somethin'."
"I know that, you idiot. I mean as in have you found kryptonite, or just crystals?" he snapped.
"Counter says it's kryptonite, and lots of it. Some crystal too, but not th' pure stuff."
"How much?"
"Hard t'say right now, but a whole lot. Couple dozen pounds."
"Good. Box it up and ship it to the boys in refining," he said, snapping the phone shut without waiting for a reply. With a sigh, he stepped out of bed. There was no way he was going back to sleep now – he had plans to make, and aliens to kill…. He started to set the phone back down, then stopped as he saw the kryptonite fragment. Well, while he was making phone calls anyways... he flipped the phone back open and dialed in a number.
"Hello, Keys' Jewelers."
"Hello, Josh. Long time, no see. You're a jeweler now? Last I saw you, you weren't selling jewelry..."
"Luthor?" came the surprised voice, "Look, I don't know what you want, but I'm legitimate now. I have a family. I'm not doing any more jobs."
"Josh, Josh, Josh," Lex chuckled, "You misunderstand me. I have no intention of asking you to do anything illegal. Far from it. I simply wish to engage your services as a jeweler, free of charge or tattling to the feds" he said.
"And then you'll leave me alone? We're finally even? No more favors?"
"You have my word."
"... I'm listening."
"I'd like you to make a ring," Lex said, tossing the kryptonite in the air with his free hand, "A very special ring..."
How long has it been since I last updated? Sorry for the delay, but I am experiencing just a little bit of writers block right now. There's an event I'm eagerly waiting for, but I'm having trouble sticking to my timeline, and without my timeline, my fic dies. Things should flow smoother once I tie up some loose ends.
Review. Please. I'm begging you.
