He had to think. He couldn't use his abilities so he'd have to think. He'd saved Lionel's life and had lost count of the number of times he'd saved Lex's. But he didn't think that trying to appeal to Lionel's sense of gratitude would work.
*Don't start with a weak argument. Works in debate, works in getting out of grounding.* Pete's voice. God, if only this were about getting grounded. The thought of Pete brought another voice to his mind. *He's scared that the same thing will happen to you.* Ryan's voice. Ryan, who had been locked up in a lab. Who might not have died if he'd gotten a doctor earlier on who was interested in helping him, not exploiting him.
Another voice, Lex's. Talking about Machiavelli and how to deal with powerful people. *Shape events in such a way that makes what the powerful want bound to what you want.*
"My mom. Please. She'll be worried." Lionel, who had been apparently pleasantly absorbed in his own thoughts, turned and looked at him.
"Probably more than worried, Clark. But I'm sure there will be some way or another to comfort her. Pleasant distractions dull the edge of loss and she'll find many more young people to nurture." He sounded as offhand as if he were talking about getting another toy for a child who had lost one.
There was a sound of footsteps and he prayed desperately that it was somebody, anybody, who would help him, either knowingly or unknowingly. If he just said that he was feeling sick and asked whoever to help him get up to the surface...
Two men in, oh, God, in lab coats. Each of them was wearing a ring with a stone twice as big as Lana's. He felt like the mouse in that poem for English, whose nest the farmer had destroyed with the plow, and was just crouching there, shivering, not knowing what was happening next or how it would cope, just scared and confused. Lionel got up and the two men pulled him to his feet and draped his arms over their shoulders, bearing some of his weight.
He wanted to go limp, not to help them even by walking. But then they'd drag or carry him, like a sack of feed. No, easier to take those small, unsteady steps. He wanted the slow walk to the surface to be over with and he wanted it to last forever, to keep whatever was next from coming.
If only there would be somebody at the surface. Lex, he knew, would try to protect him. Lex wouldn't let Lionel take him away, not without a fight. Even if he had to tell Lex everything, he could expect at least some of the feelings Lex had for him, that closeness of a brother, to keep his curiosity from hurting or exploiting him. Or even just not wanting Lionel to win. Maybe if he'd told Lex, this wouldn't be happening.
The change from the dim light of the cave, where an occasional crack let in some sun, to the full brightness of daylight hurt his eyes. They took him to a dark SUV with tinted windows and one of them got in and hauled Clark up after himself, the other pushing from behind. Their rings were still keeping him weak, though at least he was a bit away from the burning pain of that bar of Kryptonite. The first man pushed him, not too roughly, into a seat so wide there were just two of them in a row and, almost making Clark laugh at the ordinariness of it, pulled out and latched the seat belt, then moved into the seat ahead. Lionel came in next and took the seat next to him, first placing the Kryptonite on the floor between them and then, after a glance at Clark, put it on the opposite side.
The ignition started and there was nobody to help. Clark looked out the window and then down. He didn't want his last sights of the world he'd known to be greyed by the tint. He wanted the real colors to be the ones in his mind and, closing his eyes, pulled them to the forefront of his memory. Every blue that was in the sky, every varied tint and pattern of green and browns in the fields, each shade from pure white to near-black of a cloud. He'd need them all. Even--he nearly flinched as it became vivid in his mind--even the pale gold of Chloe's hair, as soft and smooth as if it were made from the sun that gave it brilliance. He couldn't think why, but its glow almost seemed reassuring, as though a world that held that among its beauty wouldn't destroy him completely.
The vehicle slowed after what seemed like only a few minutes. "Clark," Lionel's voice said softly. "Clark, look out the window." Wondering what was going on, he opened and raised his eyes. They were on the road outside the farm. "There's still time to change your mind. You don't have to give all this up. I'd open the door and you could walk back into your house, be with your parents, go to your own room and sleep in your own bed, then get up tomorrow for an ordinary, normal day. What I want from you, the knowledge, the discoveries, would take less than an hour each day. Isn't giving up an hour better than giving up everything, everything and everyone? It wouldn't be selfish, Clark--think of the people you'd still be able to save. You've still got the chance to choose, but it won't come again."
He held the pen and notebook out to Clark again.
*Don't start with a weak argument. Works in debate, works in getting out of grounding.* Pete's voice. God, if only this were about getting grounded. The thought of Pete brought another voice to his mind. *He's scared that the same thing will happen to you.* Ryan's voice. Ryan, who had been locked up in a lab. Who might not have died if he'd gotten a doctor earlier on who was interested in helping him, not exploiting him.
Another voice, Lex's. Talking about Machiavelli and how to deal with powerful people. *Shape events in such a way that makes what the powerful want bound to what you want.*
"My mom. Please. She'll be worried." Lionel, who had been apparently pleasantly absorbed in his own thoughts, turned and looked at him.
"Probably more than worried, Clark. But I'm sure there will be some way or another to comfort her. Pleasant distractions dull the edge of loss and she'll find many more young people to nurture." He sounded as offhand as if he were talking about getting another toy for a child who had lost one.
There was a sound of footsteps and he prayed desperately that it was somebody, anybody, who would help him, either knowingly or unknowingly. If he just said that he was feeling sick and asked whoever to help him get up to the surface...
Two men in, oh, God, in lab coats. Each of them was wearing a ring with a stone twice as big as Lana's. He felt like the mouse in that poem for English, whose nest the farmer had destroyed with the plow, and was just crouching there, shivering, not knowing what was happening next or how it would cope, just scared and confused. Lionel got up and the two men pulled him to his feet and draped his arms over their shoulders, bearing some of his weight.
He wanted to go limp, not to help them even by walking. But then they'd drag or carry him, like a sack of feed. No, easier to take those small, unsteady steps. He wanted the slow walk to the surface to be over with and he wanted it to last forever, to keep whatever was next from coming.
If only there would be somebody at the surface. Lex, he knew, would try to protect him. Lex wouldn't let Lionel take him away, not without a fight. Even if he had to tell Lex everything, he could expect at least some of the feelings Lex had for him, that closeness of a brother, to keep his curiosity from hurting or exploiting him. Or even just not wanting Lionel to win. Maybe if he'd told Lex, this wouldn't be happening.
The change from the dim light of the cave, where an occasional crack let in some sun, to the full brightness of daylight hurt his eyes. They took him to a dark SUV with tinted windows and one of them got in and hauled Clark up after himself, the other pushing from behind. Their rings were still keeping him weak, though at least he was a bit away from the burning pain of that bar of Kryptonite. The first man pushed him, not too roughly, into a seat so wide there were just two of them in a row and, almost making Clark laugh at the ordinariness of it, pulled out and latched the seat belt, then moved into the seat ahead. Lionel came in next and took the seat next to him, first placing the Kryptonite on the floor between them and then, after a glance at Clark, put it on the opposite side.
The ignition started and there was nobody to help. Clark looked out the window and then down. He didn't want his last sights of the world he'd known to be greyed by the tint. He wanted the real colors to be the ones in his mind and, closing his eyes, pulled them to the forefront of his memory. Every blue that was in the sky, every varied tint and pattern of green and browns in the fields, each shade from pure white to near-black of a cloud. He'd need them all. Even--he nearly flinched as it became vivid in his mind--even the pale gold of Chloe's hair, as soft and smooth as if it were made from the sun that gave it brilliance. He couldn't think why, but its glow almost seemed reassuring, as though a world that held that among its beauty wouldn't destroy him completely.
The vehicle slowed after what seemed like only a few minutes. "Clark," Lionel's voice said softly. "Clark, look out the window." Wondering what was going on, he opened and raised his eyes. They were on the road outside the farm. "There's still time to change your mind. You don't have to give all this up. I'd open the door and you could walk back into your house, be with your parents, go to your own room and sleep in your own bed, then get up tomorrow for an ordinary, normal day. What I want from you, the knowledge, the discoveries, would take less than an hour each day. Isn't giving up an hour better than giving up everything, everything and everyone? It wouldn't be selfish, Clark--think of the people you'd still be able to save. You've still got the chance to choose, but it won't come again."
He held the pen and notebook out to Clark again.
