Hey thanks for the reviews everyone and thanks to htbthomas for beta-reading!
Nobody
Part Two
"Alright, we've established that he didn't have much of a social life. What about his family?"
"He was obviously adopted; no brothers or sisters. He grew up on a farm."
"Was he close to his parents?" the Psychiatrist asked without looking up. The pen flicked across the pages at varying speeds according to the answers the Patient gave.
"Very close. His Mom and Dad were the only ones he could talk to about his secret."
"They had a few arguments?" the Psychiatrist deduced from the previous answer.
"His father only wanted the best for him, but it was difficult sometimes. His mother worried for him a lot. They did not always see eye-to-eye."
"And he never knew his biological parents?"
"In a way."
---
It was hard not to listen in to the sound of his father's irregular heartbeat. He caught himself at it for the third time and chastised himself. But it was so hard to tell when he breathed so shallowly.
Jonathan's eyelids fluttered and Clark felt relief jolt through him. He wouldn't have to check that his heart was still pumping throughout the night after all.
"Dad?" Clark hurried to his father's bedside, followed closely by Martha.
"Sweetheart? How are you feeling?" Martha asked carefully, impulsively smoothing out the blanket on the bed.
"Are you still here?" Jonathan croaked in a sleepy voice that held both gratefulness and disapproval. "I think you need to go back. Back home and get some rest."
Clark frowned but said nothing, taking in the picture of his strong father looking so weak against a bleak hospital bed.
"Hey, Clark, don't worry about me, son. It's gonna take a whole lot more than a heart attack to keep your old man down."
Clark mustered a weak half-smile in response, which soon faded. "I just feel like this is all my fault," he confessed. Martha shared a look with her husband that didn't escape Clark.
"Hey, come here," Jonathan motioned with his hand. Clark took it, careful to avoid the drip inserted in the back. "Look, there's a lot of things that you can do… but causing cardiac arrest is not one of them." Jonathan told him firmly.
Clark hesitated, soaking up the reassuring words but finding them meaningless. "Last time you were at the doctor's, they said you had the heart of a twenty year old, just before I went to Metropolis-"
"If you're suggesting that your biological father has anything to do with this-" Jonathan interrupted.
"He gave you powers to bring me home that no human was meant to have and I don't think your heart could handle it," Clark cut Jonathan off this time, raising his voice slightly to let him know he needed to finish.
"Clark, no, there were other factors," Martha jumped in quickly.
"If I hadn't put on that ring and abandoned you and Mom when you needed me most you wouldn't be lying here in this bed," Clark disagreed. Why couldn't they understand that he was right? They'd be arguing until the cows came home and still his parents would insist that black was white.
"As hard as this is for you to believe, not everything that goes wrong in Smallville is Clark Kent's fault," Jonathan said with a pointed stare that told Clark not to complain.
---
Water cascaded down the back of his shirt but he did not complain. His eyes were fixed with an eagle's intensity on the small group of people gathered around a freshly dug grave. The rain turned the grave soil to mud, it slopped wetly over the coffin lid, sounding like a twisted parody of a waterfall rather than the echoing pounding noise writers liked to describe in books.
Clark watched as Martha stepped forward and laid a single white rose on the grave. Its stem took on a brown hue as the hammering rain splashed mud onto the immaculate petals.
The priest turned the page and continued reading in a dull monotone. Clark listened in. The priest shut the black book with a final snap that made Clark jump. He turned to leave before anyone could spot him.
Then a sudden morbid curiosity caught and held him in place. He looked back at the small ceremony. Squinting, he let his gaze sweep over the coffin. With a jolt of disgust and guilt that he hadn't felt in a long while, he sadly turned to leave again.
For the first time he felt the rain pooling uncomfortably in his shoes. His father was six feet under because of him. Guilt wracked his heart and mind, an agony so strong he knew he could not overcome it alone. He reached into his sodden shirt pocket. A red stone glinted dangerously on his finger when his hand withdrew. He sucked in a harsh breath at the rush, the pain flooded away and his eyes glittered dangerously, and suddenly Martha had seen him. And suddenly she was running, and standing in front of him and he watched as her tears of sorrow turned to happiness.
She drew him into a wet hug, laughing incredulously through her sobs. "Oh, Clark, I'm so glad you came! I knew you'd come for Jonathan!"
He twisted away. "My name is Kal."
Disappointed but not yet crushed, Martha hurried alongside him as he strode away, occasionally touching his arm like an annoying bluebottle.
"Clark, honey, you need to come home. I'll get you cleaned up and we can warm up over a hot cup of cocoa-"
"My name is Kal," he repeated coldly and walked faster. Martha fell behind, arms still outstretched in a desperate plea.
"Clark!"
"MY NAME IS KAL!" He roared back, then disappeared in a blur of black.
---
"Ah. Then it's safe to say he didn't have many meaningful relationships?" the Psychiatrist continues.
"Not meaningful, but he did have one special relationship."
"It didn't last long?"
"It lasted on and off for years. But they were wrong for each other." The wisdom of hindsight made the Patient's words strong.
"How so?"
"It was more about the angst than the love. She realised that, and tried to get out more than once."
"He didn't force her to stay?" the Psychiatrist asks hesitantly. The Psychiatrist's profession meant not a lot was seen of the good side to humanity, and the Psychiatrist had learned to expect the worst.
"Oh no… something always drew them back together. Something of an unhealthy fixation."
---
The machines ticked and whirred incessantly, the drip forever dripped, and finally Lana stirred. Clark breathed a quiet sigh of relief, despite knowing that she was fine - well, mostly.
"Hey," he said softly, leaning closer in concern when it took her a few seconds to focus on him.
"How's Lex?" she asked weakly, with only the dregs of consciousness keeping her awake.
"Lex isn't doing so good," Clark told her grimly, his expression twisting sourly.
"I'm sorry. I know how much you wanted to help him." Somehow she always knew what he was thinking. He nodded and hastily changed the subject before they could wade into dangerous territory.
"Um… the doctors say that you're doing better," Clark began, in an attempt to be optimistic.
Lana grimaced and dragged the mood back down. "I almost died, Clark."
Wishing he'd thought to talk about something more mundane, like the weather for instance, Clark answered quietly, "I know." He didn't know quite how to respond to such a statement.
"I always thought you were being paranoid," Lana said cryptically.
"About what?" Clark prompted delicately.
"That being around you is too dangerous," she was obviously aiming to continue in the same vein for a while. Clark didn't think she could make him feel any more guilty if she tried. "But it's true."
The vice clutching his heart squeezed painfully. "Lana-" He started to apologise.
"It's ok, Clark. I know. You were only looking out for me," The vice opened a little to let him breathe. "But you're right," Teetering between closing or opening fully, Clark awaited his verdict like a man on death row. "I think I have to stay away from you."
The vice closed and locked with an especially cruel wrench.
---
Her wide doe-brown eyes were the same, as was her hair, her dress-sense, her attitude. Lana looked into Clark's eyes and saw that absolutely everything about him had changed. There was a fire somewhere in the depths of his cold blue eyes that fought tooth and nail to be let out.
"Clark!"
He paused only at the unfamiliar name, took her in with one glance, then continued walking.
"Kal!" Lana tried instead, hating the way the name felt on her tongue.
"What are you doing here?" he asked disapprovingly as he walked. Head held high, shoulders thrown back, his walk carried more arrogance than Lex Luthor's ever had. Lana had to trot just to keep a few paces behind him.
"I came looking for you. I'm the only one left to look for you. Everyone else is…" she trailed off uncomfortably and her pace faltered. Kal whipped round to face her.
"Dead?" he supplied and laughed a harsh laugh. Lana flinched. "What's the real reason you're here, Lana? Come to persuade me to go home and rebuild the town? To try to fix the mess that's my life? Or is the real reason in that lead box in your pocket?"
At his last words Lana flinched again and finally met his eyes. She shivered at the contrast she saw there. So cold yet so fiery at the same time. For a crucial minute they stared at each other, each coming to realise how much they'd both changed after all. Then Lana moved.
Her hand darted into her pocket and seams ripped as she withdrew the small box. Her fingers fumbled frantically on the catch as she thrust it in front of her. The trouble was, Kal moved at the same time, faster than she could ever hope to be.
He held the box high above his head, tauntingly out of her reach. For a second Lana thought he would laugh condescendingly at her then walk away as only he could do. Then he stared intently at the box in his hand and the lead melted. It bubbled over the meteor rock within, a ghastly black steam escaped and the lead-covered meteor rock dripped slowly into a harmless puddle on the ground at Lana's feet.
Then Kal returned his attention to her, stepping over the molten mess he'd created. A strange mad anger danced in his eyes as he advanced.
"So you thought you could bring me down with one little meteor rock? Wherever did you find it, I wonder?" The words were phrased as a question but his tone suggested otherwise.
His face darkened and he dropped the patronizing act. "I don't make mistakes, Lana. Mistakes are for the weak, for human beings. You see, you think you know me, you think you can understand me, because on the surface, I look like you. I'm nothing like you, Lana.
"Maybe once upon a time, I was naïve - I made mistakes. Rest assured, those mistakes have been eradicated. All mistakes must be corrected." An ominous pause followed, then, "I made a mistake in trusting you."
It was over in a matter of seconds. Lana screamed until her vocal cords tore and then she beat her fists on his chest until she had no energy left to spare. The molten lead still on his hand shot fiery pain in the shape of a handprint in her neck, his strong body crushed hers easily and pinned her to the floor. Oxygen turned to liquid in her lungs. There was no struggle, no chance to defend herself. There was no one there to watch her die.
Kal stood and surveyed his handiwork for a second, then walked away as only he could do.
---
"But he played the hero growing up?" the Psychiatrist asks in an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere.
"He tried his best."
"He didn't always succeed?"
"I think you know the answer to that question."
"Alright," the Psychiatrist admits. This Patient was sharper than previously anticipated. "So he had many enemies?"
"He had many problems, but just the one enemy."
"He didn't win?" It was the obvious assumption, but the Psychiatrist is puzzled by the Patient's reply.
"He lost a battle but the war is not yet over."
---
Absently tracing his fingers over the yellowed page, Clark stared at the black and white picture of Naman and Sageeth with fierce concentration, as if willing it to speak to him.
"Surprise," a voice said from nowhere. Clark glanced over the top of his book to find Lex watching him with fascination. Clark looked back at his book as if Lex wasn't there. Knowing that your best friend could turn out to be your greatest enemy wasn't wonderful for the relationship.
Lex didn't let the unusual silent greeting bother him. "You know, I've been thinking a lot about this prophecy." He took a step closer to peer over at the picture Clark was staring so intently at. "I've got a new interpretation. Wanna hear it?"
"Sure," Clark replied uncomfortably.
"May I?"
Clark suppressed the mad urge to stow the book safely out of sight and mind and instead offered it to Lex.
"This Naman guy is supposed to come from the stars, have the power of ten men and shoot fire from his eyes, right?" Lex drifted over to the barn's solitary window as he spoke, seemingly entranced by the hieroglyphics.
Clark stood up nervously behind him. "It's just an allegory, Lex," he reminded him before his friend could get carried away.
Lex glanced up, out the window to the night sky. A single star winked and flashed at him. "I know," he reassured Clark, but the tone of his voice did not encourage confidence that he was back down to earth. "But if one person could do all that, he would be a formidable enemy."
Clark's eyebrows drew together at that last statement. That was far too close to home, even allowing for Lex's superior intuition. Something about the way Lex spoke raised the hairs on the back of his neck. As if Lex longed for such an enemy, an enemy that wasn't his own flesh and blood.
"He could conquer the world," Lex steamrollered on, oblivious to Clark's growing unease. Abruptly, he shut the book with a snap and whirled to face Clark. "He could become a tyrant if no one kept him in check."
Pouring all his concentration into not giving himself away, Clark hoped he'd kept a poker face.
"So I've been thinking. Anybody who'd be willing to fight him, would have to be pretty brave. Clark," Lex moved to recapture his friend's worried eyes, "Did it ever occur to you that maybe the hero of the story… is Sageeth?"
---
For the hell of it, he thought he'd burn down a city today. Maybe L.A. New York. Metropolis had been razed years ago upon his first rise to power - played host to the moment when he embraced his destiny. None of that 'stones of power and symbols on a cave wall' shit. True, Jor-El had intended for his son to rule as he ruled now, but Kal made his own rules.
So it was with no thought that he stretched luxuriously and climbed out of bed. He hummed to himself as he took a shower and pulled on a black silk shirt. He wondered briefly if he'd ever see… what was her name? Melanie?… again as he jogged down the stone steps. He laughed sardonically when a familiar voice halted him in his tracks.
"Having a nice day, Kal?"
Kal turned and smiled pseudo-friendly at Lex. Spreading his hands as if to agree his smile widened. "It would appear so, old friend. It's funny, I thought you'd be half-way around the world licking your wounds by now."
Smiling mirthlessly, Lex strolled closer. With his hands thrust into his expensive pockets he was the picture of casual confidence. Inside his heart pounded like a jack-hammer against his bruised ribs.
Kal's eyes flicked searchingly over Lex as he came closer. Shocked that Lex would do something so stupid, his hands clenched into fists and he focused his gaze on Lex's left pocket. Lex suddenly swore for no apparent reason and yanked his hand free, hissing in pain. A small lead box flew from his pocket and rolled across the tarmac until it clunked gently against Kal's foot. Lex cradled his hand against his chest, sparing only a moment to inspect the perfect smoking round hole in the back of his hand.
Kal made a show of stooping to pick up the lead box as if it was made of glass, then tossed it perversely into the air with one hand. "Lex, Lex, Lex, I thought you were above this!" he exclaimed, sounding eerily akin to Lionel Luthor. "Now Lana I could allow for… but you Lex, well, I thought you knew better."
"Sorry to disappoint you, but I guess we humans are all alike," Lex spat venomously, the pain clouding his previously calm façade. Kal nodded idly, watching the lead box's up and down flight rather than Lex. "What about Lana? And Chloe? Pete? Martha? Jonathan?" Lex shifted into a different gear to get a rise out of the alien.
"Dead, insane, dead, missing annnnnnd dead," Kal reeled off emotionlessly, then looked challengingly at Lex with no trace of humour.
"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?" Lex asked sarcastically. He couldn't feel any blood soaking his shirt yet but it hurt like hell.
Kal's eyes narrowed angrily. "Cut the crap, Lex. Why are you here?"
"You need to be stopped," Lex hissed.
"Uh-huh, and this is the part where I say 'I suppose you'll be the one to do it,'" Kal stated his intent for him, letting the sarcasm twist the words into a different purpose. A rush of air and Lex was dangling five feet off the ground. Kal's steel-hard fingers dug into his neck so far that he found it impossible to speak.
"If you think you can stop me-" Kal began with a snarl, in a flat, angry monotone that told Lex he was hopping mad. Lex raised his arms but made no attempt to free himself. Instead he made a strange gesture to the air with his left hand.
There was a sound like a car backfiring and a hiss of air, then Kal threw Lex away from him like he'd been bitten and stumbled backwards in agony. Lex landed heavily on his back with a grunt.
Between them the road was cracked and pulsing with a sickly green light.
"No…" Kal turned to run from the inch long kryptonite bullet imbedded when there was another noise like a car backfiring and a second green bullet lay in his path.
Lex pulled himself to his feet and strode, once more with his façade of cool confidence, closer to Kal.
"Ten men," Lex spread his hands in imitation of Kal's former bravado. Kal followed his gaze to the surrounding buildings, and saw the ends of ten sniper rifles poking out from various cracks between windows and doors. "Ten green bullets," Lex continued grandly, as if explaining his designs on a new company to a board of directors. "How many green bullets will it take to kill you, Kal? I'm not sure, but I don't think it's that many," Lex finished with a triumphant smirk.
"Lex…" Kal said helplessly. The poison in his veins was crawling up his neck, like snakes under his skin. He swayed ominously. "Lex, please…"
Smirking at the power he held over the most powerful being on the planet, Lex carried on oblivious to Kal's pleas. "To quote a former enemy, 'You don't go in with one plan, you go in with ten.' That's how you win the war, old friend."
Lex hesitated only to savour the moment, then raised his left hand, the hand with the freshly burned hole in it.
Green agony slammed into Kal's heart, Lex became a million laughing faceless people and the tarmac was suddenly burning hot against his ice cold cheek.
---
"This somebody, what does he think of his life now?" the Psychiatrist asks curiously.
"Well that's easy." The Patient steps from the darkness and presses his hands against the dividing glass wall. The sting of green electricity burns his palms and sweat breaks out on his forehead, but his voice does not waiver.
"I rather wish I had died that day." A sad smile momentarily crosses his face, then he withdraws into the darkness again.
The Psychiatrist slowly rises and turns to leave when his voice stops her.
"I never did catch your name."
The Psychiatrist pauses and looks back. "Lois. Lois Lane."
"Goodnight, Ms. Lane," he says fondly.
Lois smiles faintly, and presses one hand to the glass. "Goodnight… Clark."
Fin
There you have it. There were some good guesses as to who the Psychiatrist and Patient were, but I'm actually glad nobody guessed correctly. ;)
Please review!