-

Strength, speed, invulnerability, and weakness to meteorite were the extent of Dr. Garner's knowledge of Clark's alien-ness. He knew there was a possibility of more abilities or alien quirks, it wasn't like Clark was forthcoming about the subject, but never did he anticipate this. He leaned against his stool in front of the monitor; his eyes focused on the screen, his mind and heart racing. The excitement he felt ran through his bones, making him jittery and, dare he say, giddy like a schoolgirl. Just thinking of the possible advances this ability could provide were enough to cause a bright smile to spread, something his technicians found unsettling.

Since the virtual reality was formed directly from Clark's memories, they were from his point of view, as if seeing through his eyes. Lawrence was used to this perspective by now, but the shock of seeing Clark's childhood friend suddenly become a sketch out of a biology book and then a concrete wall disappearing as if it were never there at all, was still with him.

It was in that moment that he realized what he really had in his possession. An extraordinary being with extraordinary 'powers', that belonged to him. It was all his.

Sure, Clark was the cause of most of his problems. He idly rubbed his neck, remembering when Clark foiled his experiments on the young boy, Ryan, and then their encounter after he began treating Lex Luthor. It had been an easy choice to give up Lex's mind for Clark's. Lionel had made it clear that Clark Kent's brain was something to be explored.

And while that cost him a year of his life, the benefits he would reap now would be worth it. They would be extraordinary, like Clark, that much was for sure. His research would be praised, not only by the scientific community, but by the world. They would give him a Nobel Prize. The history books would hold his name and picture. Tell of his brilliance and perseverance. That he dedicated his life to bring this knowledge to his people.

Dr. Lawrence Garner. Philanthropist. Genius.

A loud clank brought his attention back to reality. His smile vanished on the surface, but knowing his fantasy would someday become his reality, it remained just below, a smile full of confidence. He finally pulled his attention away from his destiny when the clank became clanks and the technicians started scurrying around him. Clark, back in the cylinder tank, was shaking, causing the metal platform to bang against the glass.

"Doctor, should we pull him out?" an assistant asked from behind him.

"No."

"But sir."

"I said no." He pressed a button and spoke into a microphone at his controls, so Clark could hear him through the speakers. "Clark, listen to me. You have to calm down. Take slow breaths and focus on my voice."

"Go… to… hell." Clark's voice came back in gasps through his earpiece.

His smile returned. Alien, superpowers, and nearly broken necks aside, Clark was by far his most entertaining project. The kid had tenacity. He kept things fresh. He bit back. Lawrence respected that in a man, so he could respect that in this alien as well.

"Take me to another memory, a recent event where you used your…" See-through view? Clear vision? X-ray sight? What did one call seeing through solid objects?

The clanging sound stopped, causing him to forget his thoughts and look up. Clark had passed out. "Damn," he said, thoroughly disappointed he could not continue investigating the ability. He sighed, pulling his earpiece out, "Alright, pull him out." The next few days would be crucial in his research. He would have to devise some tests to find what range this vision had and how Clark controlled it. Yes, it would be a lot easier to deal with Clark's attitude now. What was a little 'tude in the scope of brilliance?

-

When he was eight, nearly everyone in his class got chicken pox. He remembered feeling left out, like there was something wrong with him for not getting them. Later when he asked what it was like, Pete told him, miserably, that he itched constantly and that his skin hurt so much he thought it might fall off. At the time, Clark said 'coooool' and 'ewwww' but now he wondered the same thing. If he itched his skin hard enough, would his invulnerability give in to his own strength and let his skin fall off? Because it sure felt like it would.

The last few treatments left him feeling… itchy. His skin was red, dry and peely; like the top of Chloe's nose looked when she got bad sunburn. Except this was everywhere. He woke up to a twitchy feeling on his chest that eventually spread into a burning itch.

Near the end of his first day of itching, Clark started to laugh; it wasn't hysterical or even very humorous, it was a low desperate laugh. All of a sudden, his situation seemed ridiculous. Everything that had happened; waking up in this place without any memory of his arrival, soaking in his poison, losing his memory, feeling utterly sick on a daily basis, killer migraines, and now, to top it all off, his skin decided to revolt. Could things get worse? With a loud laugh he decided they could and probably would. What next, he mused. Male pregnancy? Gangrene? Baldness? Gang rape? Syphilis?

Okay, maybe he was a little hysterical.

But wasn't it about time he became hysterically hopeless and gave up? Tell Garner everything he wanted just to make the madness that was now his life end? It wasn't the best of solutions but considering his state of mind, Clark didn't think it was too bad.

No, he wouldn't do that. No matter how much he thought about it, or fantasized that it would make things better, he knew it would only make them worse. And he knew, really knew, in the feel-it-in-your-bones knowing way, this wasn't his destiny. As much as he hated that word and everything it meant for him, he couldn't help but live for it now.

So he did what every otherworldly hostage would do. He played nice -well, kind of nice- until the big D word came around to change things.

"You're up late."

Clark had been so deep in his thoughts he hadn't heard the door open. "Yeah, well, that's what happens whe-" he stopped as he looked up to see Molly Griggs, not Dr. Garner. That was new. "What are you doing here?"

"You remember me?"

The wheels turned and the light bulb clicked. He had tried to figure out how he came to be here numerous times, but each time he came up empty handed. Why hadn't he realized this sooner? The very last memory he had of home was checking his email before school. Of course Dr. Garner would use his crazy computer chick to make a crazy computer brainwash to lure him. It was the cleanest, easiest way to capture Clark. He remembered Garner's words to him, "You came here of your own will." It really was true, in a way. He walked right into their trap.

He started to laugh again. Syphilis? No. Brainwashed? Check.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'." She stood, arms crossed, a few feet from where he laid, sprawled on his bed. She noticed red scratches covering his arms and the somewhat mad look in his eyes. She wasn't afraid of him but his laugh was disturbing. She stepped closer and asked, "Hey, are you okay?"

Clark stopped laughing then sat up and gave her a cold look. "Do you really think I could be okay?"

Molly was taken aback by the look he gave her. "Right. Sorry." She had been on the receiving end of icy stares before, but his was filled with such anger, such pain. Maybe she should be afraid of him.

"So, what? Garner's got you in his pocket? Or are you a freelance brainwasher now?"

"No… I…" she stumbled, realizing he was right. "Yeah… something like that."

He was about to retort something snide but thought better of it. For whatever purpose, she had come to see him in the middle of the night, possibly without the doc's knowledge. Maybe she felt guilty? If that was the case, he could use her guilt to his advantage. He dropped his head and rubbed his neck, ignoring the itch, and did his best 'defeated' look. He sighed, "I'm sorry… I didn't mean… it's just…" he sighed again. "I'm so tired."

It worked. Her eyes softened and she looked entirely guilty. "No, it's okay. You have a right to be angry with me."

Clark let his eyes water (thank you freshman drama class) then looked away in embarrassment. Manipulation at its finest.

"Is that…" she stepped forward, motioning to his arm, "…do you have a rash or infection?"

He hadn't noticed he was scratching but it actually worked for what he was doing. "Yeah."

"Is it from the treatments?"

He shook his head 'yes', "I think so." Now she looked annoyed, but not with him. Score: Clark 1 Garner 0.

"Is it bad?"

He pulled up his shirt, showing his marred skin… and muscles. He wasn't as ripped as he had been, but muscles were muscles. He made sure to flex. "It's unbearable." When she reached out to touch his chest, he flinched away and pulled his shirt down. "Sorry… it just hurts too much." She stepped back and nodded. "Do you think… could you bring me some balm or lotion?"

"Oh, uh, I don't know. I'm actually not supposed to be here." Clark started scratching his leg and put on his 'ouchy' face. His mom could never resist it; he hoped it had the same affect on all women. "I'll see what I can do." She smiled, a little uneasy.

"Thanks," he smiled back, keeping his 'ouchy' face intact. "Why are you here?"

"Hm?" She seemed caught off guard.

"You said you weren't supposed to be here so I'm just wondering why you are."

"Well," she shifted her feet, "Honestly, Clark, I'm not sure."

"Oh."

"I guess I wanted to talk to you about Lawrence."

"Lawrence?" he feigned ignorance. First-name basis with the doc, huh? Perhaps they were more than business associates.

She quickly corrected herself, "Dr. Garner, I mean," she flushed. Clark nodded but stayed silent. "I know you won't believe me but he's not as bad as you think. He's a good man; he just gets caught up in his work and-"

"You came here to defend him?" Clark cut her off. It wasn't going to help his plan of manipulating her to his side but he couldn't control it. She really had the audacity to come to him and say those things? He could already feel his anger rising.

"No… yes. Listen, he knows what he wants and he won't let you stand in the way. In fact, you're his ticket to fame, fortune, and notoriety."

"If this is your way of defending him-"

"It's not. He's not going to stop, nothing will stop him, so maybe you should make things easier on yourself by complying more."

"Don't you mean, make things easier until I die and he can dissect me?" He stood up and she stepped back. His voice was full of hostility. "If he doesn't kill me himself, the meteorites will, so don't come here in his defense and tell me he's a good man. You know damn well what he is. What kind of person could do this?" He fumed, on top of everything else this was the last thing his night needed. "I mean, look at me! You're seeing first hand what he's doing and all you can do is defend him!" A sudden wave of dizziness washed over him, a telling sign of an encroaching migraine. He sat back down and sighed. "I shouldn't have expected anything more from you," he spoke quietly, putting his head in his hands and closing his eyes. "You tried to kill Chloe, tried to make me kill her. You killed her editor."

"I…" she started but stopped, unsure of what she was going to say anyway. There was a horrible feeling in her gut. Guilt? Anger? Sadness? Maybe a mixture of all three?

"Go," he said through gritted teeth, a sharp pain beginning to resonate behind his eyes. "Please… just go."

Without another word, Molly turned and left, leaving them both confused and frustrated.