"I refuse to nearly have been killed by something named Maynard," Lex wrote, underlining the word "refuse" heavily.
"Napoleon?"
"Mmmm." Lex sounded non-commital.
"Clodzilla."
Lex snickered but shook his head. He paused, then wrote, triumphantly. "Bosch."
"Hmm?"
"Hieronymous Bosch. Great painter of very weird things." He rummaged on the bookshelves and pulled out a heavy folio of reproductions. Lana contemplated them in silence, turning the pages slowly and finally looking up.
"Does Chloe Sullivan know about this?"
He smirked. "Bosch, then?" he wrote, but she grabbed the pen before he could cross out "Maynard" from his previous note.
"No. Maynard." She underlined the word from his first note.
***
Clark forced himself to keep thinking. His superiors had never told him what to do if he were captured. The idea had never entered his mind, either. Nor had the idea of pain and weakness--the most he'd ever experienced was discomfort, and that only twice. Underwater, once, when bringing equipment down for a survey, and the pressure had made him feel heavy and leaden, and another time when he had been retrieving intelligence materials from a bombed enemy position and he had caught a collapsing beam with his foot, striking the ankle bone, which ached for a few moments. But even if that had been pain as he was experiencing now, he would have accepted it as the price for doing what he believed in.
This was the price of failure, instead.
He must have done something wrong. He was invulnerable. His only weaknesses could come from within, which was why it was so important for him to do his duty, always.
He'd failed.
The target was still alive, he was a prisoner, and a helpless one at that.
He jerked in surprise and lifted his head at a noise. The target and the young woman were outside the door, and he hadn't heard them coming. His senses were dulled, as well.
If they had been taught duty correctly, then perhaps they would comprehend the necessity of releasing him. He didn't have ordinary authorization to bargain with a target--if the target was one allowed to bargain, he brought him or her back to the authorities--but this was an emergency.
"You must let me go at once," he said, earnestly, trying to convince them not just with his words, but his voice and expression. "In return, I will explain to my superiors that you did so, and they will reconsider their evaluation of you as a threat to security and stability." He wasn't sure that he could promise this and be truthful, but he knew that they were men and women of integrity, who had devoted their lives to preserving what they all believed in.
"Who *are* your superiors?" The man raised an eyebrow.
"Those responsible for security and stability." That wasn't giving too much away.
"Why did they send you to kill me?" Clark had already given the target all the answers he needed for this, so he was silent. "How do I threaten them?"
"I wasn't given that information--it wasn't necessary. You must understand the necessity of releasing me. I've probably missed several important tasks already."
"What have your other tasks been?"
"You're not authorized to be told." He cringed at the almost sulky sound of his voice.
The man shrugged, then turned to the woman. "I think we've both had it for today. I'll see what else I can figure out." They turned to go, and Clark had to stop himself from shouting for them to come back, since he was afraid that it might sound like a plea.
***
Lex thanked the heavens for turtleneck shirts the next morning. His throat was a mass of bruises which showed, all too clearly, the marks of a hand. When he got to the factory, he was also thankful for email, as he sent off a request to an old ally in the Competitive Intelligence division of LuthorCorp.
He got his response within an hour.
"Dear Lex,
No, this isn't the oddest question I've ever received. It's not even in the top 100. Try harder.
Philip"
Printing out the sixty attached pages, he read them closely, with a deepening frown.
***
A/N: Thanks for the feedback!!!
"Napoleon?"
"Mmmm." Lex sounded non-commital.
"Clodzilla."
Lex snickered but shook his head. He paused, then wrote, triumphantly. "Bosch."
"Hmm?"
"Hieronymous Bosch. Great painter of very weird things." He rummaged on the bookshelves and pulled out a heavy folio of reproductions. Lana contemplated them in silence, turning the pages slowly and finally looking up.
"Does Chloe Sullivan know about this?"
He smirked. "Bosch, then?" he wrote, but she grabbed the pen before he could cross out "Maynard" from his previous note.
"No. Maynard." She underlined the word from his first note.
***
Clark forced himself to keep thinking. His superiors had never told him what to do if he were captured. The idea had never entered his mind, either. Nor had the idea of pain and weakness--the most he'd ever experienced was discomfort, and that only twice. Underwater, once, when bringing equipment down for a survey, and the pressure had made him feel heavy and leaden, and another time when he had been retrieving intelligence materials from a bombed enemy position and he had caught a collapsing beam with his foot, striking the ankle bone, which ached for a few moments. But even if that had been pain as he was experiencing now, he would have accepted it as the price for doing what he believed in.
This was the price of failure, instead.
He must have done something wrong. He was invulnerable. His only weaknesses could come from within, which was why it was so important for him to do his duty, always.
He'd failed.
The target was still alive, he was a prisoner, and a helpless one at that.
He jerked in surprise and lifted his head at a noise. The target and the young woman were outside the door, and he hadn't heard them coming. His senses were dulled, as well.
If they had been taught duty correctly, then perhaps they would comprehend the necessity of releasing him. He didn't have ordinary authorization to bargain with a target--if the target was one allowed to bargain, he brought him or her back to the authorities--but this was an emergency.
"You must let me go at once," he said, earnestly, trying to convince them not just with his words, but his voice and expression. "In return, I will explain to my superiors that you did so, and they will reconsider their evaluation of you as a threat to security and stability." He wasn't sure that he could promise this and be truthful, but he knew that they were men and women of integrity, who had devoted their lives to preserving what they all believed in.
"Who *are* your superiors?" The man raised an eyebrow.
"Those responsible for security and stability." That wasn't giving too much away.
"Why did they send you to kill me?" Clark had already given the target all the answers he needed for this, so he was silent. "How do I threaten them?"
"I wasn't given that information--it wasn't necessary. You must understand the necessity of releasing me. I've probably missed several important tasks already."
"What have your other tasks been?"
"You're not authorized to be told." He cringed at the almost sulky sound of his voice.
The man shrugged, then turned to the woman. "I think we've both had it for today. I'll see what else I can figure out." They turned to go, and Clark had to stop himself from shouting for them to come back, since he was afraid that it might sound like a plea.
***
Lex thanked the heavens for turtleneck shirts the next morning. His throat was a mass of bruises which showed, all too clearly, the marks of a hand. When he got to the factory, he was also thankful for email, as he sent off a request to an old ally in the Competitive Intelligence division of LuthorCorp.
He got his response within an hour.
"Dear Lex,
No, this isn't the oddest question I've ever received. It's not even in the top 100. Try harder.
Philip"
Printing out the sixty attached pages, he read them closely, with a deepening frown.
***
A/N: Thanks for the feedback!!!
