Thank you for reading and for waiting! I'm hoping I'll be able to finish it this time. Enjoy!

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Clark woke on his bed hours later with a painful throbbing in his head and an ache running through his body. He rolled onto his back and groaned aloud, his muscles tight and sore, not at all relaxed or refreshed like normal after sleeping off the effects of the tank.

Yawning, he rubbed his eyes and winced at the sharp pains in his palms. The cuts made by his fingernails had yet to heal and had yellowish bruises forming around them. He sat up and the room began to spin so wildly that he had to lie back down and throw his arm over his eyes to keep from vomiting. The pounding in his skull grew; he broke out in a heavy sweat and the small trembling in his hands quickly spread throughout his body.

After a few minutes, the dizzying sensation behind his eyes stopped but the cold sweat and tremors remained. He pulled his blankets over his shoulder and tried to relax so he could sleep again, hoping he would feel better and his cuts might heal after more rest.

He thought of the memory of his birth mother and was comforted by the love he felt from her, but it also brought the painful reminder that he was away from his true parents, who loved and raised him. It made him sick to think that they didn't know where he was or why he was gone, to think about the fear and worry they must be carrying.

He fell asleep to the memory of joking with his dad while they fed the cattle the morning he found himself here. It was the last memory he had of him.

-

A hand shaking his shoulder woke him later, "Mom?" he mumbled.

"Not quite." The voice definitely did not belong to his mother and it brought him back to the harsh reality of where he was. Dr. Garner spoke again, his impatience showing, "Get up, Clark. You've slept long enough."

Clark sat up slowly, his muscles still aching, and he tried to stand but a wave of dizziness and nausea rolled over him and he practically fell back onto the bed. He put his head between his knees, took a deep breath, and tried very hard not to throw up.

"What's wrong?" It wasn't said with concern so much as annoyance.

"Uh," was all he could muster.

"I don't have all day and I will not play your games. Get. Up. Or we will get you up, understand?" he motioned for the men behind him to come forward.

"I think I'm sick." He looked up briefly at the men then to Garner.

"You don't get sick," he said, noticing the dark circles and worn look in Clark's features.

"Meteor rock makes me sick, you idiot," Clark snapped and held his palm out.

Garner smirked, his expression a cross between irritation and amusement. Clark's behavior angered him but he had to appreciate a guy who didn't bullshit. He grabbed Clark's wrist and examined the cuts. The yellowing bruises had begun to turn purple and the cuts were swollen. Clark winced when he pressed on one of the cuts, nearly tearing it open again.

Dr. Garner made an aggravated sound, said "damn it," dropped Clark's hand, and then left without another word.

Clark breathed a sigh of relief, hoping they wouldn't return for the day, or at least for a while. He lay back down and curled into himself, willing his stomach to stop cramping and hoping he would heal soon.

------

Two days later Clark still felt horrible but Dr. Garner insisted he could 'handle it' and said he would not waste any more time waiting for a few scars to heal. At least, Clark thought thankfully, they decided not to use the larger cylinder tank and had dialed down the meteor-to-water ratio. However, the plan changed when Clark got halfway into the treatment room and threw up before passing out completely.

After that, it was decided that all treatments would halt until Clark had recovered fully, but they decided to test his intelligence. They put a small desk and chair in his room and gave him several assessment and intelligence tests, and also allowed him books and newspapers to read. Clark assumed they were watching him, to gain an idea of how fast he could read or even to see which book he chose. Dr. Garner seemed to want to know everything about his mind and thought processes. And while it was scary Garner didn't show as much care for his physical state, Clark was at least grateful that he wasn't bored brain-dead anymore.

It took only a few more days of rest, medicated bandages, and one not-so-pleasant colonic procedure for the cuts to heal and the kryptonite that had entered his system to leave. Although Clark felt a great deal better, the occasional mind-melting headache would hit and leave him wishing for his head to just explode already. Dr. Garner hastily dismissed his concerns about the headaches because when he saw that Clark had healed, he literally restarted treatments just minutes later, eager to make up for lost time.

------

Dr. Garner's projects had always taken up a large part of his life, but this particular one felt like it was consuming all of it; he practically lived in his office now. It wasn't that he minded really, he knew this would take a level of commitment that none in the past had, but Molly was constantly berating him to spend a night at home with her. And who was he to refuse a beautiful woman?

He filled her wine glass, placed the bottle in the cooler then sat across the table, "This looks great." She smiled back and he marveled at her beauty, that she could look this graceful and delicate while eating.

They ate in silence, occasionally smiling at one another, their relationship still in the 'I can't live without you!' phase. In the past, he knew she had feelings for him but they kept things strictly professional. He needed her skills and she needed his protection and support. As they say, why fix something that isn't broken?

It wasn't until he came out of his coma, and of all his colleagues and so-called friends, Molly was the only one who helped him recover, that he realized he was ready to fix whatever wasn't broken. Plus, it wasn't often for a brainy brunette with legs that didn't end to desire a man like him.

"I read your recent reports," Molly said behind her glass of Merlot.

"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow and she nodded. "And?"

"They were… interesting."

He set his glass down, "If you have something to say, just say it."

"Well, it's none of my business, but don't you think you are being a bit reckless?"

"Reckless?" he laughed. "I hardly think my research is reckless. Do you realize the benefits the scientific community could gain from this?"

"I do, but you've rushed it. You let your impatience get in the way and look what happened."

"I found what I was looking for, that's what."

"At what cost? Sure, you got information you would have reached eventually, but Clark got sick because of it."

"There are always setbacks with a project of this magnitude. It wasn't something he couldn't recover from."

"What about the headaches?"

"Side effect."

She scoffed, "You have got to be kidding me? It said clearly in your report that they are debilitating. That is more than a side effect and you know it. Stop minimizing the severity of this, I know perfectly well what you're doing."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. You're ignoring his symptoms because you're scared."

"Scared?" he barked a laugh.

"Let me finish," her gaze was intense. It was obvious she was becoming angry with him. "You're ignoring the signs that the meteorite is affecting him on a long term basis and it's foolish. Before you even started, you were concerned about the repercussions of long- term exposure and now it's happening, and you're scared it will ruin the entire project. Stop rushing and stop pushing him beyond what you know his body is capable of."

"I am not rushing or ignoring anything. Clark is playing up the intensity of the headaches and I'm not falling for it."

"You don't know that."

"He's an alien," his voice grew louder; "You know what he's capable of. If it weren't for his weakness to the meteorite he would have killed us all and escaped by now. We cannot trust him."

"That is not true. Call him an alien all you want but you know his past; he is not some little green monster who wants to harm us. And don't think you can justify what you're doing with me."

"Molly," he said calmly, "it has been debated for centuries whether we are alone in the universe and I have the answer. That is not something I am willing give up over a few headaches."

"I'm not asking you to give up your research."

"Why do you care so much?" he shot back, "He's just another experiment, just another fre-" he shut up, but too late. She glared at him then looked away. She had been called a freak her entire life and it hurt to hear him use it, even if it wasn't aimed at her. He knew how much she hated that word. "Damn it," he whispered to himself, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

She turned back and said calmly, "It doesn't matter. I know you can't understand why I sympathize with Clark but-"

"For Christ's sake, will you stop acting like a child? He's an alien!"

She glared again, continuing, "but I want you to know I do realize your research is important," she stood and gathered her plate and glass, "but I know first hand what meteor rock can do to people and all I'm saying is, be careful before everything you've worked for dies in that tank." She walked to the kitchen and said over her shoulder, "And I promise to conduct myself strictly in an adult manner from now on."

He watched her leave and knew what his night would entail, so much for a peaceful evening away from work. Maybe if he apologized now she would…

The bedroom door slammed. "Shit." He was screwed.

------

Clark couldn't pinpoint exactly when it started but gradually he began to forget things that, being a super powered alien and, well, young, he should not have forgotten. At first it was small things, like waking up confused, not knowing where he was or the entire first half of a book he read only a day before. But over the next few weeks, the small things became frighteningly large.

The loud clank of the door woke him and Dr. Garner came in, "Good morning Clark," he said almost too pleasantly.

Clark rolled over to face him and asked groggily, "Can't we wait another day? I need more rest." Each day he felt more exhausted than the last. "I'm so tired."

"You've had two days of rest," Garner said, annoyed. "Do we really have to go through this bull every treatment day because frankly, I'm getting sick of it."

Clark's expression twisted in confusion. He sat up and rubbed his face, "What are you talking about? The last treatment was yesterday."

His aggravated look turned to surprise then quickly cleared. He stared at Clark for a moment, putting things together. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Um… coming back here after the treatment," he said, yawning. He was so tired.

"That was two days ago."

"No it wasn't."

"I think I would know. You don't remember anything you did the last two days?"

Clark looked perplexed and said warily, "No," he put his head in his hands, thinking, "nothing."

"Hmm."

Clark looked up, "You're sure?"

"Positive," he said flatly, turning to leave. He stopped at the door, "You know Clark, deception can be fickle. You can use it to get everything you've ever wanted, but it can also ruin your life and cause an unbelievable amount of pain."

Looking at him, Clark said firmly, "I'm not playing you."

"You better not be," he said, with a threatening look, then left.

Clark fell back onto the bed, feeling like he could sleep for another ten hours, and sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I wish I was faking."

There was no denying he was scared; this wasn't some small memory lapse. Two days. How could he be missing two whole days? He tried to remember something from them, even the smallest detail, but in his mind it was as if they never happened. Thinking it over, he was fairly certain of the cause, when one underwent experimental mind invasion on a near-daily basis, it wasn't hard to put two and two together.

It had to stop before he lost too much.