Later

The clinic was just outside of Metropolis, in an old mansion set on several manicured acres overlooking the Hobs River. The anonymously efficient staff set Clark's arm and hand, cleaned and properly bandaged his back. He'd been mercifully unconscious during most of the procedures, and woke to find his parents and Lois waiting for him to regain consciousness in his assigned room.

"How are you feeling?" Straker asked, coming into the room after knocking on the open door.

"Better, thanks," Clark responded. He was feeling much stronger and hoped it was only a matter of time before his powers came back. He would heal, eventually. He was only a little annoyed by the new pain above his hip joint, on the crest of his pelvic bone – he didn't remember being hurt there. And the spot on his arm where they'd had to lay open the skin and muscles to set one of the bones itched badly under wrappings.

"Nightmares?"

Clark shrugged. He'd woken up more than once the previous two nights screaming. "Yeah, I guess it'll be a while before they go away."

"Not as long as you think," Straker assured him. "Get some rest. You're flying home this afternoon, and we've already told Mister White you'll be gone for at least a couple weeks." The military man turned to leave and beckoned Jonathan and Martha to follow him out.

Lois studied his face. It was odd now to see him wearing his glasses. She'd never realized how different he looked with them on, younger maybe, innocent. But the innocence was gone, drowned in the dark pain that scarred his mind, just as it scarred his body. And he'd had such a beautiful body. She felt her cheeks grow warm at the memory of seeing him clothed in just a towel.

She settled herself on the edge of the hospital bed, facing him. "How are you feeling, really?"

"Pretty rocky still, but better that two days ago," Clark replied. "I thought I was going to die. I honestly believe they intended to start cutting me open." The images refused to leave his mind's eye. The terror, the pain, the rough hands on his body. He shivered in spite of the comfortable temperature in the room.

"Clark, you did die. Your heart stopped when Myerson pressed that button," Lois told him. "You were dead and your mom and my dad brought you back. And I never, ever want to go through that again. You're my partner and my best friend. I don't have so many friends that I can afford to lose one. When I first saw you in that cell, when I realized what they were doing, and you told me they thought you were this Kal-El person, I . . . I've never felt so helpless in my life. And when they started to hurt you to make me talk, I would have died to make them stop." Tears were running down her face.

"It's okay, Lois," he tried reassuring her, reaching out to wipe the tears away. "It's okay now."

"Clark, I nearly killed you," she continued. "If Jimmy hadn't walked in just then, I would have killed you to make them stop hurting you."

"I asked you to, remember?" Clark reminded her gently. "I couldn't take any more. And you were strong when I couldn't be, when I needed you to be. You're my best friend and I don't want to lose you either. When they took you out of that cell, I was terrified I would never see you again, and if I did, you wouldn't be Lois anymore. That they'd . . ." He'd promised himself he wouldn't break into tears again, but he found himself crying once more.

He made only a feeble protest when Lois pulled his glasses off to wipe away the tears. I'm surprised we have any tears left. There was a sharp intake of breath as she brushed his hair away from his face and a frisson of fear went down Clark's back.

She stared at his face a long moment. "They didn't take you by mistake, did they?" It was a statement, not a question. "They knew exactly who they were hurting. They just didn't know it was really Clark Kent."

He ducked his head, unable to look into her face. "How mad are you?" he asked in a tiny voice.

"I'm not mad," she said softly. "A little hurt maybe, that you didn't trust me enough to let me know. No, that's not right. I think I know why you didn't trust me. I wouldn't trust me either, not on something this big. Your secret's safe. I just have to get used to the idea my partner is an alien from outer space." She gave him a faint smile. "Just promise me you won't disappear or die on me again. I don't think I could take it."

His lips twitched into a crooked little smile. "I'll do my best," he promised. He cupped the side of her face in his hand, letting her hair tangle in his fingers. "I love you, you know."

"I know," she said. "I warned you not to."

"I know."

There was a knock on the door and the white uniformed woman walked in, carrying a tray with coffee, juice and Clark's breakfast. "Coffee, Miss Lane. Juice and breakfast for Mister Kent." She set the tray on the bed table and rolled it into place.

Lois picked up one of the coffee cups and took a sip. "I wish we could get coffee this good at the office."

"We have our own special blend," the woman said with a smile. "Enjoy."

"Ed," Jonathan began as soon as they were in the sunroom at the end of the wide corridor outside Clark's room. "Martha and I have been talking and we think Lois's uncle and father may have figured out about Clark."

"Don't worry about it," Straker assured them with a smile, motioning them to sit at one of the tables. There was a simple coffee service on the counter and he poured two cups, bringing them over to the older couple. "It's already handled."

The two Kents gave him a surprised look that turned to dismay.

"Don't worry," Straker said with a tiny chuckle. "All they'll remember about what happened is being worried about Clark and Lois, and helping out. They won't recall anything in detail, and they won't have any particular urge to explore the parts they're missing."

"And how do you know that?" Jonathan asked, sipping his coffee.

"The same way I know that you two, and Lois will not develop PTSD, despite what happened," Straker said. "We're about ninety percent sure Clark won't develop it. He was in their hands for some time and his physiology makes it a little more difficult to predict his reactions with perfect accuracy, but we're extremely hopeful he'll walk away with mildly painful memories rather than debilitating nightmares."

"How can you do that?" Martha demanded.

"My people have had more than twenty years of uncovering things that are buried and burying things we don't want found," Straker explained. "We can completely erase the memory of the previous twelve to forty-eight hours, or we can 'adjust' memories, take the horror away while leaving the rest of the memory intact. And we can do it without leaving any trace. The drugs are generally tasteless and odorless."

"And you're going to do that to us?" Martha asked, worry coloring her voice.

"We've already started," Straker said, clearing away their empty coffee cups. "By the time you reach Smallville, all this will be little more than a bad dream."