Antipathy Chapter 10, a smallville fanfic

Chapter Ten

It had been the pain and shock of having his chest cavity opened that had forced him out of consciousness and into the realm of dreams. Though short lived, the brief loss of consciousness terrified him; but the epigrammatic vision that visited him was strangely comforting.

For a moment, his entire mind was filled with a blinding, white light. Suddenly, two faces persevered through the light, and they were the sad, smiling faces of his parents.

He couldn't tell at first exactly who they were. The woman, her eyes tragic and loving, looked neither like Martha nor Lara, but her motherly adoration for him, and her empathy for his plight were obvious. As the figures became clearer, he could tell precisely who they were.

His biological parents stood before him, and, for the first time since he had regained his memory of leaving Krypton, he gain a sense of love from them stronger than anything he had ever before experienced.

"They're a great people, Kal-El, they wish to be," a voice, otherworldly and wise, said. Clark could feel his body convulsing, though whether these sensations were of the real world, or part of his dream, he did not know. His heart pounded; it was a strong, defiant action, as though by living, he might show his captors that he was worthy of freedom.

"They only lack the light…" the voice continued. The faces had faded from Clark's view, and suddenly he was left in darkness again. He could feel cool hands touching him, searching inside of him for that something that made him different, as though there would be a glowing light inside of him that would indicate that magic something.

"They only…" Clark's head was still thrown back, and it was causing breathing to be difficult; though his breathing was also being hindered by the cold air running over his exposed lungs. The sensation of his neck being stretched backward, of his conscious mind trying its best to get as far away from the pain as possible, struck him as almost a means of escape.

"They only lack the light…" Jor-El repeated.

Clark knew that he was close, now: it was that feeling of being almost awake, of being almost in control. His fingers tingled, and they drew into a fist, clasping tightly through the restraints. His muscles, weakened from the Kryptonite, tensed despite themselves.

"…to guide them."

Clark's eyes snapped open. He found that he was staring into the face of the scientist called Sean, who was hovering over his head. Clark's expression contorted, the entirety of the hate that he already felt for this man making Clark's face ugly and almost inhuman. His father's words began to permeate this hatred and Clark realized that he was here, on Earth, for a reason.

Though it felt as though there was an infinitely heavy weight pressing down on him, he jerked his hips upward, twisting them to one side, so that the green rock resting on his pelvis fell to the ground. The surgeon leapt back, letting out a gasp of surprise, and dropped his scalpel.

Clark could sense Sean moving across the room, going, not for the misplaced meteor rock, but for the door. Clark's strength, with the Kryptonite a little further away, now, began to grow. His heart still beat for an audience, but he knew that the wounds were healing.

With a roar of frustration, Clark thrashed against the restraints. Though his first attempt was entirely futile, he heard the metal holding him down crack against his second attack. It was only this evidence of weakening that gave him enough strength to try one more time.

The restraints shattered. Exhaling sharply in relief, he knew himself off the table, wanting to get as far as possible from the Kryptonite still on the ground with the surgeon.

He pulled himself along the ground, shocked by the amount of blood that was on the ground, on his hands, on his legs. He wondered if all of this blood had come from the wound on his chest; another terrifying thought crashed through his mind: he had no idea what they had done to him after he had lost consciousness.

As his strength continued to grow, he pulled himself into a sitting position and finally allowed himself to look down at his torso.

The incision had been extended to his belly-button, exposing organs and twisted intestines and so, so much blood. He watched as the skin began to knit itself together again, so unbelievably relieved that he did not look up when someone entered the room.

It was Sean. Clark pushed himself to his feet, telling himself that he needed only one more minute. He needed only one more minute, and then he could run.

But there was something held in Sean's hand that brought a rush of terror: it was a small remote control.

Reaching around to his back, Clark felt the lump where the box of lead sat just above his spine. He inhaled sharply and began to claw at the box, despite the awkward positioning, trying desperately to get it out from under his skin.

He could feel blood on his fingers.

"Honey," Sean said. He looked flustered and a little bit frightened, his blond hair tousled as though he'd run his fingers nervously through the gel. "You won't get far."

With all of his strength, Clark threw himself at Sean, wanting to throw aside his morals and appreciation for life and tear Sean's eyes from his sockets. His feet were barely off the ground when the consuming pain hit him. It wasn't Kryptonite resting near him; it was inside of him, tearing his veins and burning his lungs.

Spots clouded his vision. Sean came into view presently and smiled gently with his blue eyes.

"Don't blame this on me, darling," his slightly feminine voice cooed. "When you think of why you're here, think about the person that you sacrificed yourself for. You kept your secret your entire life, hun. Why did you give it away?"

He felt hands clasping his arms and drawing him up, despite the pain. Two large men held him upright and dragged him down a long, white hall. They dropped him, unceremoniously in his room, and Clark waited, forcing his face to remain blank, until the pain subsided.

It was only later that night, after he'd pulled himself into bed and was rubbing the tips of his fingers over the scar left on his chest, that the reality of Sean's words sunk into him.

He had sacrificed his freedom and wellbeing for Lana. He had loved that young, innocent Lana Lang with every fibre of his self, and it had been that feeling that had taken over the day that he had gone to her lawyer. Gone had been his instincts for survival and silent were his father's words in his mind—protect yourself, protect your secret. That day, he had forgotten that he was an alien, and one of the greatest mysteries to ever daunt a human scientist.

He hoped that she was safer, at least, from his sacrifice. He wondered what Lana was doing now.

Lana held her breath.

There was a head on her chest. The slight dizziness that had blurred her senses when she had first awoken had fallen away, like the veil covering the world was suddenly gone. The tremendousness of the situation hit her.

There was a head on her chest. His features, almost angelic, had left a soft, red impression on her skin; his hair, still gelled upward, was brushing her nipples as she breathed. Air from his nose tickled her stomach; his fingers, gripping her back, suddenly seemed hostile.

His second hand had moved around to the front of her hip, caressing the bone that jutted above her thigh. He was clearly being gentle, obviously very comfortable the way he was sleeping, and there was nothing in his expression or demeanor that suggested aggression.

But suddenly it was all Lana could feel.

Every place that they touched suddenly screamed at Lana. Take her, she could practically hear them yell. Take her by force.

She wasn't safe here. His hair was brushing over her sensitive nipple faster and faster; the quicker it brushed back and forth, the more she hyperventilated, wishing she were safe at home; wishing she were safe in the arms of someone else.

His face jumped, unbidden into her mind. Their features were similar; their eyes were the same almond shape and nearly identical ethereal colours. Their lips curled the same way when they smiled, but Viktor's nose was sharply angular. Likewise, Viktor's jaw was stronger, it had less potential to be soft; it was that jaw that struck her then.

Surely someone with such a demanding jaw line did not have the capability of loving her, of protecting her.

She realized then: had that been what she had been looking for? Had she been looking for love from this one night stand?

Roughly, she pushed Viktor's head off of her. Her hands shook as she gathered her clothes, throwing them on as soon as she found them, her socks, her pants, so that she was left holding her pink thong and one sock awkwardly in her hand. She stuffed them in her pocket and turned to leave.

"Hey," a voice said. He was smiling, as though happy to see her, but looked confused. "Don't I get a 'good morning'?"

He rose from the bed gracefully and moved towards her, obviously not uncomfortable by his very blatant nudity. Lana stood stiffly as he placed his hand in the small of her back and pulled her into a kiss.

It only lasted for about a second; the moment that he touched her, he was no longer a strangely attractive German boy, he was something else. His lips became Lex's, trying to force a kiss out of her that night, his probing tongue compelling her lips to open at the same time that he pushed a hand between her legs—

"Stop," she said.

He did. Lana was surprised at how hurt he looked, but she broke eye contact and turned back to the door.

"Will you call me?" he asked, the disappointment in his voice making his accent more pronounced. He reached out and softly touched the pocket that he had placed his card in.

Without turning back, Lana whispered, "I don't know."