Authors Note: Thank you for all of the reviews I have recieved thus far. They have been extremely helpful. Allow me to clear up a few details that have been brought to my attention. In this story, Clark did in fact collect the three stones of power, but instead of using the single stone they created, he laid it to rest in the secret chamber of the caves where it now waits. He never went to the snowy area that he went in the last episode of Season Four. In addition, I have decided that the Kent Farm was not destoyed in the meteor shower, and that Jason Teague actually died when Lionel shot him and he toppled head first down a cliff. I think it was a little odd how the writers had him survive that little event, so I changed it. I hope that I have cleared up everything that may be confusing you, and if you have any other questions, let me know. Enjoy.
I can't believe it, no matter how much I want to, but the proof that God does exist and that he does occasionally listen to prayers continues to lay sprawled in front of me like a rag doll, the irregular rise and fall of her chest the only movement as she desperately clings to life. I am frozen where I sit, my mind racing almost as quickly as my pulse. Time seems to stand still and I can practically feel the earth's rotation ceasing, as if this abnormal chain events has suddenly hit the emergency brake somewhere in the cosmos. Every detail of my surroundings is etching itself into my brain the way a brand burns itself into the hide of a cattle; painfully and forever.
In this moment, I know I will never forget the way the completely motionless blades of slightly browning grass look so sinister against Lana's abnormally pale complexion, like rusting daggers laying in the whitest of snow. Like purity and evil resting together in a moment of peaceful chaos. Two opposites repelling in a world where opposites attract. I know I will never forget the utter stillness of the windmill as it watches over us, a solemn guardian in a place where it no longer matters.
Footfalls in the distance have the effect of a slap to the face, and I am instantly brought out of my odd state of meaningless reflection as I swing my head around in search of the source. I can see Pete struggling to keep up his unusually fast pace as he sprints toward us. I turn back to Lana as a sudden gurgle erupts from her throat and once again pushes all other thoughts out of my head with a swiftness that even I cannot fathom. The gurgle is slowly changing, first to a gasp, then to a hacking cough that sends blood flying, splattering her face like an art project gone horribly wrong. Panic takes the place of the numbness that was there a moment ago, and I am reaching for her, lifting her head in an attempt to clear her airway.
Pete is behind me seconds later, breathing heavily as he attempts to speak. "Clark...what...h-happened?" His exhausted wheeze breaks his sentence after each word. "W-who..." He stops as recognition flashes through his eyes and his jaw drops. I know I should let him stare, let him process, but there is no time. She is dying in my arms, I can feel it, as if her life force is something tangible that I can feel slipping through my fingers with each second that passes. That can't happen. God, don't let it happen.
I gently wrap my arms around her and stand, holing her protectively against my chest as if to ward of death itself, while Pete remains dumbstruck to the point that a thin ribbon of drool is slowly making its way down his chin as his mouth opens and closes wordlessly. He will be of no help to me now.
"I'll meet you at the hospital." In my voice is an unexpected layer of calm overshadowing my intense feeling of dread, and his incoherent nod is all I need as I speed away furiously. I am pressing my lips to her temple as I run, moving them in a silent plea that is nothing more than fragmented desires. Don't die Lana, please don't die. I have so much to tell you, to show you. Don't leave me. Her skin is cold and clammy against mine, but there is no time to dwell on it as the Smallville Medical Center comes into view. In the next instant, I am in the lobby, yelling as the mirage of calm vanishes along with the faint glimmer of light that is my sanity.
"I need help! I need a doctor!" A dozen pairs of eyes fall on me, and I feel their bewildered fascination that causes them to hesitate ever so slightly before running toward me. Everything is suddenly moving far too quickly for me to follow, and someone is carefully removing Lana from my arms and loading her onto a stretcher that seems to have appeared out of nowhere. My heart is pounding in my ears violently, and I find myself wondering if people from Krypton are susceptible to heart attacks. If so, heaven help me.
It has been three hours since I rushed into the hospital with Lana, limp and bloody in my arms, and unfortunately, not much has changed since then. The only sound in the room is the unsteady beeping of the machine monitoring the elusive beating of her heart, and each time it pauses for longer than it should, every muscle in my body tenses and I prepare to rum from the room screaming, only to relax when her heart starts up again. Her hand is soft and cool in mine as she lays motionless, the usually white sheets of the bed stained red in a circle surrounding her, the blankets covering her a rare shade of pink as the blood seeps through bandages the way water seeps through a leaky dam. The room is clinically cold; nothing hangs on the walls, nothing decorates it to take the attention away from the person lying in the middle of it.
I have always hated hospitals, even though I have never had the opportunity to stay in one, a perk of being from another planet. I have, however, visited this place on more than one occasion, whether it had been for my parents, for Lana, or for Chloe, and not once has the experience been particularly pleasant. Too much death resides here, and whenever I pass through its doors, it clings to me the way Lana's perfume clings to my clothes after I spend the day with her. Humans may think that they fight death in these places, but I know the truth; it is not an entity that you can battle, at least not for them. No, it continues to smother those who get near it with a subtle intensity that is neither noticeable nor abnormal, and I can smell it. It is all around Lana as I guard her, and that thought alone makes me tremble.
The door opens quietly, and my father walks in slowly as if bracing himself for an explosion of impossibility. He is not disappointed as his eyes find their way to her face, confirming that she has indeed come back from the dead. He exhales in relief, and that is when I know that he doubted me. He thought I was insane, which I admit, I was when I called him.
"I told you it was her."
He walks toward me without taking his eyes off her face, and places his hand on my shoulder. "I know you did, son. I just didn't believe it." Silence, then, "How did you find her, Clark?" Suspicion laces his tone now, and it crosses my mind that my story of how I happened to stumble upon her in Chandler's Field is really not that believable. I am, however, reluctant to mention Jor-El's name in the presence of my father, considering the events of these past couple years. They aren't exactly on friendly terms, you see.
"It was just a feeling." The lie comes out with difficulty. "I don't really understand it myself. Heightened intuition I guess." His scowl stops me cold.
"So, this has nothing to do with Jor-El, then?" His eyes seem to be saying, Don't you dare lie to me, Clark. It is slightly intimidating, even to me, the man who can lift tractors over his head with one hand.
"Does it even really matter?" The words are barely out of my mouth when he snaps at me.
"Of course it does! Do you think Jor-El would deliver her to you out of the kindness of his heart? That there isn't going to be a price?" His eyes are glazing over and I can tell he is thinking of his own experiences concerning my biological father's 'kindnesses'. It had cost him not only his health, but the promise of my future. "I thought you had more integrity than that, Clark."
Shut up. "Dad, I didn't make a deal with him, if that's what you're thinking. He told me where to find her, so I went." I turn away from him and brush Lana's hair away from her eyes. "And that's all." Of course, I had already thought of the fact that there is going to be a catch; everything Jor-El does has a catch. I just don't appreciate my dad treating me like I'm still five years old. I continue to play with Lana's hair, if for no other reason than to avoid my fathers disapproving stare. It has an almost magical quality as it slides through my fingers, as silky as ever, and I place is behind her ears out of habit, though she usually does it herself, but I stop suddenly when I notice a peculiar mark on her neck, just below her earlobe. To the untrained eye, it could be just another burn, but I know better, and judging by the look on my dad's face, he does too.
It is far too precise to be a random wound; the lines forming its shape are thin, deep, and charcoal black, as if someone had been drawing on the sensitive skin of her throat.
"Clark, is that what I think it is?" My father's voice is grim, and when I nod, he speaks again. "What does it mean?"
"It's the Kryptonian symbol for 'vessel'." My finger is tracing circles around the mark, soothing the red, irritated flesh surrounding it. Murderous rage is flowing through me now, but I don't allow my father to see it. He hurt her. I'll kill the son-of-a-bitch. I permit my finger to touch the symbol slowly, uncertainly, expecting it be smooth, like the tattoo she had earlier this year. Instead, I can actually feel the grooves in her skin where Jor-El used his power to engrave his will into her, but that isn't all I feel. As soon as I make contact with it, a surge of energy courses through me and directly into her. I hear the heart monitor beeping rapidly before I fully comprehend the sound, but my focus is on the connection between myself and Lana that I can't seem to break. It is as if my finger has been super glued to her neck, and no matter how viciously I try to pull away, I remain touching her as the energy continues to flow between us, blocking out all other sights or sounds.
I am blind, deaf, and dumb as I feel her begin to convulse against me, her body rising and falling in spastic jerks that vaguely remind me of the jitters. Now I feel the pain, incredible pain, as if my veins are filled with liquid Kryptonite and I am crying out. Darkness clouds my vision as I scream, and I hear someone else screaming as well. Lana's pained screeches are the last thing I hear as my world suddenly goes black.