AN: I understand that some people have had a fairly negative reaction to my introduction of Batman in the last chapter. Unfortunately, Bruce Wayne plays a small but very important part in this story. For those of you who hated it, I'm sorry to say you'll be seeing a bit more of both Batman and Bruce in coming chapters.
Luckily, in comparison to the actual length of the story, he'll be playing a miniscule role.
That said, enjoy the new chapter:)
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The next day, Smiley goes out to check her P.O. box for the modelling cheque. She hasn't said much of anything to Clark since they fled the scene, and Clark is getting a little frustrated. She didn't refuse him when he took her to bed, but it's something he doesn't feel comfortable gauging her emotions on. He remembers the frozen fear she exuded when confronted with the death of her attackers, but this is more along the lines of anger and maybe irritation.
Her face seemed set in stone when he asked her what she wanted to do over breakfast. His questions are a concession he hates to make, but she's no fun this way. He had to drag her destination out of her, and he held his tongue when he wanted to ask about the man she shot in the bank. He resolves not to think about it anymore, instead, he confronts the problem of imminent boredom.
He turns on the radio, but he can't find anything but the same meaningless snivelling pop and rock they spouted off in Smallville and Metropolis, so he switches it off. He goes to the kitchen, but there is nothing but the leftover bagels and cream cheese Smiley picked up for breakfast, and he's not really hungry anyway. He finally decides to watch TV, so he flops down on the couch and flicks it on.
A reported appears on the screen, clearly in a helicopter. There are other helicopters hovering in the air in the background. She's shouting something into her microphone, but he's not interested in whatever disaster is happening. He changes the channel, but no matter what channel he goes to, he's faced with the white, painted faces of reporters acting serious through the whipping wind and chopper noise. Something catches his eyes, though, as he's flipping through the channels, a flash of familiar colour and shape.
"-a rescue 'copter arrived on the scene only three hours after he was found, and we're here with the man who discovered him. This is Mumba Mochama." The reported holds her microphone out to the tall black man in colourful clothes. He looks excited, and eager to speak with her. "Mr. Mochama, How exactly did you find Lex Luthor?"
"Well, my wife and I had arrived on the island two days before, and I was exploring a bit! The man told me the island was completely uninhabited! Of course when I saw him lying on the beach I was completely shocked! Then I called the coast guard right away!" Clark feels sick. The man continues to answer questions with obvious relish, and Clark can't do anything but stare. He at once is filled with a smoking rage, and he's not sure if he's angry with himself or Lex or the man on the TV.
A rain of fire seems to fall on his chest almost instantly, and he screams in pain, ripping open his shirt to reveal the scar that had disappeared almost immediately after the last attack. It's glowing; a blinding red, and he can't do anything but writhe on the floor, trying to soak up the cool of the wood panelling. As he wrenches the ring off his finger, he feels a soothing balm cover his chest before everything goes black.
When he wakes up, the same news broadcast is still on, The same reported is telling her enthralled viewers that they'll soon be meeting an expert who's going to tell them how exactly he could manage to survive. Clark stares up at the ceiling, letting the sounds of the TV and the street wash over him. He's a jumble of nerves and fears. It seems like the longer he wears the ring, the harder it is to think about going back to Smallville. Or calling home.
So he just keeps staring at the ceiling, counting the stucco points and thinking about nothing. He looks over at the ring, feeling the urge to put it on no matter the pain it might bring him. He wants to take the relief and deal with the guilt later. He steadfastly refuses to think of the robbery. . . And the guards. Instead of the usual agony of despair that always seems to swallow him after he's taken the ring off he feels a steady, thrumming numbness that reverberates through his whole body.
If he thinks about it, it's not such a chore to just put the ring back on. He doesn't even feel the urge to phone home, although he does want to know how Lex is doing. He wishes they had had shown footage of him on TV, shown that he was OK.
Getting up, he leaves the ring lying on the floor, ignores it. He crosses the room and walks past the phone. He leaves the apartment, not even bothering to lock the door on his way out. Claire calls out a greeting from the front desk, but he doesn't reply. He's not sure he could speak if his life depended on it. He feels strangely detached from it all, as though he were floating above the city, watching all the people walking around
He killed two men. Two men. Men who probably had families to go home to, and futures. They were gone forever. The thought doesn't affect him the way he expected. For the first time in over three months he stumbles on a crack in the sidewalk, knocking into someone and jostling a hot cup of coffee. He doesn't really even notice, just keeps walking. Clark walks and walks for a long time.
When he finally stops he doesn't really know where he is. The sounds of the city are long gone, and he is surrounded by farmland, and the quiet is too close to Kansas to really be a comfort.
She sits on the bathroom counter with her forehead resting against the mirror. Her mouth is stretched in nearly silent, gasping sobs. Her eyes are a flood of saltwater and makeup, and the tears and mascara stream down her face. She is the very picture of a broken heart and Clark feels her in his soul. He feels every clench of fists and every hitched breath as if it were his own.
She doesn't see him right away, but when she does, she immediately stops crying. It is through some enormous strength that, although her chin wobbles and her lips purse and she takes a few final gasps, she rubs away the tears and they stop coming. But this is the very, very last thing Clark wants. So he scoops her up in his arms and holds her, whispering nothing and everything into her ear and carrying her to the bedroom. He places her gently on the bed and realises that somewhere along the way she has started to cry again.
She tries to hide her face as he lies down next to her, but he doesn't let her. He looks into her eyes and sees a deep sadness in her, the same sadness he sees in himself, and he pulls her to him. He holds her and breathes with her and before he knows it he's crying with her too.
It's not long before Smiley is sound asleep. Clark can do nothing but lie there, curled into her, staring into the darkness.