Chapter 29: Cold Bath, Hot Dream
Saint Petersburg, Russia
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Jor snuggled deeper under the damask comforter. Surely it couldn't be morning yet. Well, yes, probably early morning, but not time yet to rise.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
It felt as if he and Lara had just turned in for the night. His body still ached from dancing and trying to keep up with two one-year-olds and his son's thirty-something friends. They say being around the young made the old feel young, too. Jor disagreed; it just reminded him of how old he'd become. But age hadn't prevented Jor from showing his wife how much he'd missed her, how much he adored her, and how sexy and attractive he still found her. No, lovemaking wasn't for just the young.
When the offending noise quieted, Jor breathed easier and reached out to pull Lara closer. Fingers skimmed a warm hip covered in tempting silk. Sliding up and down the length of her, Jor found himself moving closer and located that perfect spot against Lara where he spooned her intimately. Although the days of waking her in the middle of the night for lovemaking was past, Jor's turnaround time longer than he'd like, that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy being close to his wife in this way.
Feeling Lara sigh and melt against him, Jor felt the telltale signs of a most welcomed masculine awakening. Smiling against her hair, inordinately proud of himself, Jor slid his hand up Lara's hip, around her waist and up to her bre—
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Dammit, who in the hell?
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Mind muddled with desire and annoyance, Jor didn't immediately register when Lara stretched her lithe form to the nightstand, found her cell phone and answered the intrusive call with a sleepy, "Hello."
Blinking and trying to focus his eyes in the pitch-black room, Jor's eyes settled on the clock on the nightstand on his side of the bed. If he weren't mistaken, it was a little after three in the morning.
He swallowed a curse. No one ever called with good news this time of night. Morning. Whatever.
His suspicion was confirmed when Lara sprang up in bed, turned on a lamp, and said, voice tight with anxiety, "I'll be right there, Clark."
Before Lara could scramble out of bed, Jor was already up, suddenly awake and scanning the room for his hastily discarded clothes.
"What's wrong with Diana?" he asked, knowing with a father's certainty that his daughter-in-law was in trouble. After what Lara had told him earlier, he wasn't surprised.
"She's running a fever and Clark can't wake her."
After that, they dressed in a frantic silence, throwing on clothes as quickly as possible. Lara grabbed a red-and-while emergency kit from a drawer before they ran out their room and down the hall to Clark's.
When they reached the suite, the door was unlocked. So they rushed inside. Heading straight for the bedroom, they skidded to a stop at the threshold. There, on the large, wooden bed before them was Clark dressed in athletic clothing holding an unconscious Diana.
Lara rushed to their side while Jor stood where he was. Rao, he'd hoped to never see Diana in this state again. The last time had been when they'd rescued her from the abandoned house. Her features as slack and lifeless as they were now. The only difference was that—thank Rao—she wasn't green. But she was drenched in sweat, hair matted to the head Clark held to his chest.
When his son's beseeching eyes lifted to Jor's, he knew what he would say. Worst, the response Jor would have to give Clark was one that had the older man leaning against the doorjamb for support.
"I need you to get Hippolyta and Alfred. Between the three of you, you can find the ingredients for the antidote. You guys can work on that while Mom takes care of getting Diana's fever down."
Clark's voice had been neither too low nor too loud but that perfect pitch somewhere between forced control and outright panic.
Jor's, on the other hand, came out as a raspy tremor. "Lara will do her best for Diana, Clark. But . . . well, there isn't much I can do. The original antidote won't help Diana. I'm sorry."
Lara had her emergency kit opened, rummaging inside for only Rao knew what. A second later she pulled out a syringe.
"When was the last time Diana had a nanite injection?"
She'd posed the question to Clark, but his attention was firmly on Jor, eyes blazing with anger and confusion.
"What in the hell do you mean the 'original antidote'?"
Jor stepped fully into the room, knowing it best to get it all out on the table. From the tight grip Clark had on his wife, Lara would be able to do little until he released Diana and answered Lara's question.
"What do you mean?" Ah, there was the raised voice. "We found the damn formula. The house was in shambles. Clearly someone had ransacked the place looking for your old papers. But we found the god damn formula. Now go get my mother-in-law so she can—don't shake your head. Just do as I—"
Jor took three more steps closer but was a mile from being able to help his son.
"I'm sorry, Clark. Look, why don't you answer your mother's question so she can help Diana. I'll explain everything to you after that. But you need to let your wife go."
Wrong words, Jor knew. Clark's savage growl of, "I'll never let her go. Never," telling him as much.
Clark's interpretation hadn't at all been what Jor had meant. But, yes, if things continued at this rate, Clark would have to eventually let Diana go.
He'll have no choice. Death has a way of separating even the most loving of spouses.
But Clark did have a choice now. He need only make the right one.
"Honey." Lara's soothing voice. "Please, Clark, look at me. Focus on me. My voice. My words." She touched his cheek. "I need you to help me so I can help Diana. Can you help me save her? Can you do that?"
Slowly, Clark released Jor from his intractable gaze, looking to his mother for the first time since she'd entered the room.
"What do you need me to do?"
The hand on his cheek dropped, then settled on Diana's moist forehead. Lara grimaced but only repeated her original question. "I need to know the last time Diana had a nanite injection."
"I don't know. We weren't together the whole time we've been here. I suppose she could've had an injection when she showered and changed before the party. Maybe even after I left for the gym." He gave a helpless shrug. "I'm not sure, Mom. We didn't talk about it. The only thing I know is that, if she took an injection, she didn't do it in my presence."
Jor now stood behind his wife, his hands on her shoulders. "Does it matter, Lara?"
She nodded. "It's experimental. Vic doesn't know all of the contraindications but his major concern is trauma to the heart."
"As in a heart attack?" Jor asked.
"Yes. She's on a twelve hour injection cycle. If I give her another injection too soon, I risk flooding her body with too many nanites. Her body may not be able to safely handle them. A heart attack is only one of a dozen possible side effects, though."
Jor tightened his grip on Lara's shoulders when he felt her shudder. A silent but physical reassurance.
"If you don't give her the injection, she'll die?" Clark's question this time.
Lars's fingers moved from Diana's forehead and to the pulse at her neck, timing the beats.
"She'll slip into a coma if we do nothing, especially with this fever so high. We have to get it down. I'll feel better giving her the injection if we can first reduce the fever."
From the looks of things, Diana seemed to already be in a coma. But Jor kept his opinion to himself. No need to add fuel to Clark's raging fire.
"What can we do? Do you have something in your bag for fevers? Acetaminophen?"
Lara glanced over her shoulder at him "No, Jor."
Hell.
And the blasted castle was in the middle of nowhere. He supposed they could send Billy or one of the other Wayne guards on a medicine run. But how long would that take?
"What then, Mom? How can I help Diana?"
In a flash, Lara was on her feet and headed to the bathroom. A second later, Jor heard running water then an authoritative voice telling Clark to, "Get those sweaty clothes off Diana and bring her in here when you're done."
Lara exited the bathroom, face serious and eyes brimming with intelligence.
"The water is cold but I want it ice cold. Since we don't want to wake and worry everyone contact Diana's Furies. They're fast and discreet. Also, get that Billy kid. He can help with the heavy lifting."
Jor and Clark didn't stir, just stared at Lara for, apparently too long, because she clapped her hands with an impatient, "Move and be quick about it."
They moved.
Sitting on the marble floor beside the claw-foot tub, Clark watched his wife. Her breathing slow but steady.
Diana reclined in a tub full of cold water and pounds of ice. All they could find in the castle, which, to Clark's surprise, had been quite a lot. He'd added ice three times since placing her into the bathtub. She was so blue; Clark could hardly bear to see her like this. But her temperature was slowly, surely decreasing. That was something, enough for the vice gripping his heart to let up a bit.
It had been two hours since Clark had found Diana unconscious on their bed. Two hours thinking that he'd failed her. Diana not once stirring to life.
"She called me 'Mother'."
Eyes never leaving his wife's face, Clark nodded to acknowledge his mother's words and presence.
"She'd never called me that before." Lara's laugh was bittersweet. "She said it in Kryptonian, right before she stormed off. Frustrated with my nagging, I assumed." Lara released a long breath, sounding as weary as Clark felt. "Hippolyta is Mother. Martha Kent Ma. And Martha Wayne Mom. Where did that leave me? I didn't think there was room in her heart for a fourth mother. What was left for her to call me other than Lara?"
Clark did turn to his mother then. The pain and guilt in her voice as thick as the layers of ice covering Diana's cooling skin.
"Diana has enough love in her heart for all her mothers."
"I know she does."
"I don't think you do. You should have told her how much it bothered you that she called you Lara."
His mother's eyes drifted to Diana then back to Clark.
"It was petty. She'd known Martha Wayne since she was a girl and had been friends with your mother since your father's death. They all had history with her. A history that did not include me and was much longer, much deeper than anything we've shared."
Clark listened to his mother carefully, seeing, not for the first time, how much she'd lost when she and Jor left him at the Kansas City orphanage.
"She's your daughter as much as she's there's. Diana loves you. If she had known, I'm sure she would have—"
"That's just it. I know she would've called me something other than Lara, if I had requested it of her. Diana's considerate and sensitive in that way." Lara knelt next to Clark, her hand going to Diana's forehead. "But it wouldn't have meant nearly as much. After everything that has happened to her, me and Jor indirectly responsible, she still . . ."
Tears fell.
Clark reached out and put an arm around his mother's shoulders, giving her a tender one-arm hug.
"She loves you," he repeated in her ear. "As much as I do. We are family – for better and for worse. Never forget that."
Soft sniffles and a brisk nod was her only reply.
"I'll watch her. Go now. Your father has the answers you want."
"Do I want to hear what he has to say?"
"No."
Yeah, he kind of figured that.
"Does Diana know?"
"Yes."
"Do you know?"
Clark glanced down at Diana, then recalled her odd lack of enthusiasm at his announcement that he and Jor had found the formula. It had been a fleeting thought, so excited he had been to tell her his news. But he'd sensed a weird undertone in her reaction. Or rather, lack of reaction. It hadn't been a truly happy one, just tears that said she was pleased with his efforts, unsurprised by his success.
Tears I had misinterpreted as joy instead of the sadness they'd likely been.
"Then there's no need for me to leave her, if you know. Just tell me already."
Silence . . . then, "Very well."
"When Victor Stone and I were working on an antidote for the kryptonite poisoning, I spent a lot of time examining Diana's blood. You must understand, Clark, it was a long time ago when your father and I invented the poison. We did it under duress, and once created, we tried to forget what we'd done. So, I didn't immediately catch the differences."
"What differences?"
"Small things like how she reacted to the poison. Her symptoms weren't identical to what I remembered. I dismissed the differences I noticed and attributed them to my faulty memory. But the more I worked with Vic and studied her blood, the more convinced I became that I was dealing with an altered poison."
"Altered? As in not the same? As in the formula I found in your former home is worthless to her. That I wasted two weeks in that damn compound, playing nice with the Regent while searching for the wrong antidote."
Clark knew he was yelling, knew his mother was the messenger and not to blame. But he couldn't help it.
All this god damn time. And for what? Nothing. Diana is no less in danger of dying than she was when I left home.
"I'm going to kill him." The Regent. He would kill the bastard with his bare hands.
"That's what your father said. But you'll do nothing of the kind and neither will Jor."
Well, that's what Lara thought. Clark would kill H'el. His mind was already plotting the Regent's death. But first he would learn what he needed from the bastard in order to save Diana.
"H'el worked with me and Jor on the poison, that's what we all forgot. He's a capable biochemist in his own right. At some point, he must've altered the original formula. And it's that altered poison, I believe, was given to Diana when she was kidnapped. It was enough like the original to trick me and your father. Which, Jor assumes, was H'el's intent."
That meant Regent H'el was even more calculating and cruel than Clark had thought him. Which also meant he would reap all that he'd sown. Clark would make sure of that.
He's been playing us all for fools. The house was probably even a ploy. To make us think someone didn't want us to find the antidote Diana needed. And to waste even more time after we happened to stumble upon it, searching for the ingredients to concoct the antidote, to learn later that it was all a pre-meditated hoax. And I fell for it – hook, line, and sinker.
"I'm going to make him give me the other antidote, even if I have to beat the truth out of his lying, conniving body."
"You can't do that, Clark. You can't run off to Krypton and assault the Regent and think there will be no legal consequences. That's not the right way to go about handling this situation. It's not the way Diana would go about it."
No, Diana wouldn't attack H'el outright, but when provoked, Diana had no qualms about using force.
But you can't leave right now, no matter how much you want to. Krypton is counting on you and Diana to push through the proposal with the delegates. Dammit.
"I won't let H'el get away with what he's done."
"He won't. But you have to be smart about this. Right now you're making decisions based on fear and anger. Not a good combination for plotting a man's downfall. Give it a bit more thought. Once you do, you'll come up with a better plan. For yourself. For Diana."
Lara was right. His mother often was.
"Has Diana's temperature come down enough for you to give her the injection?"
As he posed the question, Lara was taking Diana's temperature. Her calm, deliberate movements belying her own fear and anger.
"Yes. I think so. You should get her out of this tub, dried off and into bed. Once you've done all of that, I'll take care of everything else." Using the edge of the tub for support, Lara stood. "There are people in the outer room. While I'm in with Diana, you might want to have a word with them."
Clark knew who waited in the other room. The only people other than Jor and Lara who knew of Diana's current health crisis.
Billy and the Furies. Perfect. Just the people I need to speak to.
Twenty minutes later, Clark stood in front of the man who'd let H'el's goons kidnap his wife and three women whom Diana trusted with her life. And he was about to ask them to set aside Diana's orders in exchange for his own.
Once Diana learned of this, she would be royally pissed. No one commanded her Furies to do anything but her. And while Clark was reasonably certain he could convince Billy Batson to take on the mission, he couldn't say the same for the Furies.
"How is she?" Shayera asked.
"Temperature is down, almost back to normal. Mom is in with her. After the injection, Diana should be fine."
"For now."
"Yeah, Billy, for now. That's what I wanted to talk to the four of you about."
"You have a plan for saving Diana?" Jor asked from somewhere behind Clark. "We've been sitting here for the last hour wracking our brains for a solution. Unless we're willing to do the unthinkable and torture the truth out of H'el, he won't give us what we want."
That sentiment was only his father's, because Clark knew damn well the Furies were completely capable and willing to torture a man for the answers they sought. Which, in truth, wasn't completely different from Clark's plan.
"I know the four of you take orders from Diana and not me but—"
"Does your plan involve the man responsible for her kidnapping?" Billy asked, hands balling into mighty fists.
"Definitely."
"Does it involve us finding the real antidote and putting an end to this kryptonite nonsense?" Helena's crossed arms were just as forceful, just as eager to do something violent as Billy's fists.
"It does, but it's dangerous. If you guys are caught—"
Zatanna snorted with insulted pride. "We've never been caught, and we won't start now. Just tell us the plan already, Clark."
"But what about Diana's orders?"
Surely it couldn't be this easy. Nothing with the Furies were simple.
The snort this time came from Shayera. "We protect Diana, even from herself. I take it we're going to Krypton?"
"That's where H'el and the antidote are, so yes."
"We'll be back before the negotiations are over," Shayera continued. "We won't be breaking Diana's orders by going on this little mission of yours. Our charges are protected while they are in this castle. Diana's concern was when they left here and traveled to Krypton."
"Which means," Zatanna chimed in, "we have two days to get it done and be back here before Diana completely blows her top."
"Although," Helena added with a pitying smile for Clark, "I suspect we won't be the ones she'll be angry with, especially if we're late, throwing her well-ordered plans off by a day or two."
Yeah, well, Clark would cross that bridge when he got to it. An angry Diana was preferable to a dead one.
"And you want us to take the screw up?" Shayera asked, her tone put-upon and not at all kind.
"Billy's the brawn; the three of you are the stealth."
Helena rolled her eyes. "There you're wrong, Clark. We're both. But the kid is a stereotypical diversion, which the Furies can appreciate and use to our ends. I assume that's what you meant."
"It is. But Billy deserves the chance to be the man Diana thinks him to be."
Clark couldn't believe he was actually contemplating putting his wife's fate in the hands of one Billy Batson. He still didn't trust the guy, but Diana did. So, in essence, he was trusting Diana. Yeah, it was a convoluted way of thinking about it, rationalization at its best. But Clark would have to go with it. If the man wished to prove himself to Clark and Diana, then he could damn well start with this mission.
"I won't let Dr. Kent down again."
"You better not, Batson. Or so help me god, Helena, Zatanna, and I will leave your corpse for the vultures to find and feast off of."
The too-real threat seemed to harden Billy's resolve, for he only nodded to the Fury.
"Okay, son, now that you have our attention, sit down and tell us your plan."
He sat.
They listened.
An hour later, the suite was empty, except for an exhausted Clark and a sleeping Diana.
Pulling off his clothes, Clark climbed into bed with his wife. He cuddled up next to Diana, carefully hauling her against him to warm her still chilly body.
Within minutes, he'd fallen off to sleep, dreaming, as he so often did, of Diana.
This dream had taken on a decidedly erotic nature. Diana lay atop him, peppering his face with sweet, delicate kisses.
In his dream, she wore nothing, not even the black, silk nightgown he'd put her in after the icy bath. She was warm and lush above him; soft breasts and taut nipples pressed to his bare chest, which—yes—she was now kissing and licking, moving downward until she reached his throbbing erection.
Clark had had his share of sex dreams about his wife, but none of them had ever felt this real, this good, or this close to sensual perfection.
Even the moans coming from Diana sounded genuine. The way she stroked him with her tongue, the way she held him between her lips, and the way her hand pumped him in time with her deep sucks were all so amazingly real.
Clark's hips bucked, unable to stop the response from his dream self, pumping ever so deliciously into his dream Diana's wet, hungry mouth.
"Ah, yes, just like that. Deeper. Yes. Yes. You're gonna make me come, baby."
He wanted to come, so badly. But not as badly as he wanted to be inside her when his orgasm finally hit.
It had been so long, Clark thought, dragging Diana up his body then rolling her onto her back. His own settled between her raised thighs. He may not be able to have his wife during the waking hours of the day, but here, in this glorious dream state, Clark could have her. If only for a brief time, if only with their dream selves.
So Clark did, thrusting into Diana with a desperate need that only his wife could satisfy.
She cried out – in a matching ardor that had Clark pumping faster, harder, seeking release from worry, from anger, from fear.
Nails raked down Clark's back, legs wrapped around his waist, and mouth sought his.
He complied, practically inhaling Diana's mouth in a temperature rising kiss. Their bodies connected on every possible level, Clark's dream self in a state of near orgasmic bliss.
Then he was shuddering, body exploding in a million lights of rapture. Hips rocked in and out, hands held Diana tightly as he drove into her, as deep as he could go, sliding over her sensitive clit with each powerful thrust.
Yes, yes, yes, she crested with him. Nails doing their worst, heels digging into his ass, mouth open on a ragged scream of decadent pleasure.
With a satiated grunt, Clark collapsed, rolling to his side and taking his dream wife with him. Who knew dream sex could be so fulfilling and exhausting?
He held Diana to him, caressing her back and listening as her breathing, like his, calmed and slowed. His hand wandered into her hair, and his final thought was a disturbing question.
Why is my dream Diana's hair wet?
TO BE CONTINUED
