"You're doing great, Clark," Allison said, brushing his hair back for him. "Do you want to lie back down now?"
Clark shook his head. He didn't really think he could explain, especially since he didn't really think he could talk, but this posture felt right.
"It's okay," James said. "Whatever position seems easiest." He reached under Clark to feel his throat and jaw. The place where the kryptonite bullet had landed earlier was just a little lump, and it didn't hurt anymore. Wilson's hands were gentle, as were Dr. Cameron's hands on Clark's back. Lex's iron grip on Clark's forearm was quite the contrast, but it was all comforting -- having people around him, caring, while this was happening to him. Clark affectionately bumped Lex's shoulder with his forehead, and then it was time to heave again.
Oh, that was different. Clark felt his jaw doing something -- something wrong -- and he opened his eyes. His chin was stretching out, and down, way further than it should have been able to go, and he was horribly reminded of that time he caught Jodi Melville crouched over Pete, so many years ago in Smallville. He sort of moaned -- the only sound he could make now. Lex was holding so tight to him that his hands were shaking, and Lex's breathing sounded sort of terrified, but Allison and James were both being very calm and matter-of-fact; it helped Clark keep from panicking.
"You're doing fine, Clark," Allison reassured him again, as the spasm passed. "Just remember to breathe."
"Nothing to worry about," James added, nimble fingers skimming lightly along and behind Clark's grossly distended jaw, then back along his throat. "It feels like the jaw is supposed to dislocate itself like this."
He doesn't know, though, Clark thought. This has never happened here, ever.
Lex must have noticed his building anxiety. "Clark," he said, and waited until Clark met his eyes. "Like an egg-eating snake." Lex half-smiled at him, and Clark knew he was remembering the same PBS nature show that Clark was, the same Sunday afternoon -- very possibly the day they'd conceived this baby.
He couldn't exactly smile, but he wanted to. The next instant, another fit of vomiting seized him. Something broke at the base of his throat, inside; bright blood gushed from his distended mouth, and things started to move. Clark's baby uncoiled and started pouring up his throat; he couldn't keep watching it, instinctively lowering his head to his hands and thrusting his huge chin forward to straighten the baby's path. He groaned as the baby came up into his mouth; he could feel its head against the back of his tongue.
And then it stopped.
Clark gagged and choked and tried to cough. The baby was stuck; Clark couldn't breathe; he started to writhe and twist, accidentally throwing Allison and James to the floor.
Lex grabbed him by the ear and held on. "Don't panic!" he ordered.
Somehow, Clark stilled himself, quivering on all fours like a frightened horse. Another wave hit; he gagged and gagged, and the baby didn't shift. He could feel its tiny struggles.
"Forceps!" James yelled, and Robert handed him something. James tried to use the forceps to grab Clark's baby, but he couldn't get a grip.
"Pulse ox down to 92," Allison said. "He's not breathing!"
"Clark can go almost three hours without air," Lex said quietly, "when he's well."
"Try to relax your throat," James said.
Clark tried; it just wasn't working. James gave Robert the forceps, and went around to push upwards against Clark's stomach. Robert couldn't seem to get a grip, either. The pushing made Clark try to vomit the baby up, but it wasn't working. Nothing was working.
"Get the kryptonite back!" Allison suggested urgently. "We'd be able to operate!"
"No," said Lex.
"Kryptonite should reduce his invulnerability; we can--"
"NO!" Lex yelled.
Allison shrank back.
Robert, still fruitlessly trying to work the forceps into Clark's throat around the baby's head, pointed out, "Remember the convulsions? We'd never make it, and the baby'd be crushed."
No, Clark thought, don't die! Baby, don't die! He thought it was struggling less than before.
House came in. "Did you guys hear about Cuddy and Foreman?" He took a split second to see what was going on in the room. "Cameron," he ordered, "close the blinds." She rushed to the window.
"Give me those," House said to Robert, and he handed over the forceps and gave way.
Clark instinctively shrank back, and he realized he didn't trust House like he trusted the others. There was no comfort in his touch.
"Relax," House grumbled. "I won't hurt him. Much." He hooked his cane on Clark's bed-rail.
Lex made Clark stay still -- even though Clark could have easily broken free of Lex's hands on his shoulders, the very fact that Lex was holding him there was enough to make him stay. Thinking about it, Clark knew that House was probably the only hope his baby had, but it wasn't thinking that made him stay there and let House put his hands in his mouth. They were strong hands, from years of bearing the weight his bad leg couldn't, and Clark found he was a little afraid of them.
House talked as he worked. "You've pretty much delivered the head. Rounded skull pushes its way past a lot of things. But the point of the shoulder here is caught... On what? you say. There's a spot of tissue here, that must have regenerated after the damage the kryptonite bullet did. That little bit of throat hasn't been effaced like the rest has, and the shoulder is jammed up behind it -- no way back, no way around, but the baby's been in the dark all this time; it shouldn't be invulnerable yet, and if I can -- ha!"
Clark felt a snap. The baby jerked. What had he done?
"Heimlich!" House barked to Wilson.
James stopped the gentle steady pressure he'd been exerting against Clark's stomach, and got behind him on the bed. He put both arms around him and squeezed sharply, driving his fists up underneath the center of Clark's ribcage.
Clark coughed, and the baby slithered out of his mouth and into his hands. He was covered with blood, and kicking weakly. There was a twisty little cord still dangling from Clark's mouth down to his son's belly. Chase elbowed in next to House with a blanket and some surgical scissors.
House stepped awkwardly back. "Broke the clavicle," he explained to Lex. "It happens often enough in childbirth. Chase'll bandage it up. It'll heal."
Clark looked down at his baby. Robert put the blanket partly around him, tied off his umbilical cord, and tried to cut it. It was too tough. Clark took two deep breaths, and then threw up again. This time, it was a thing about as big as his hand, that looked like a piece of raw liver. It was attached to Conner (When did he decide on a name? Clark wondered) by his umbilical cord.
Without thinking about it, Clark leaned down and bit the cord through, just where Robert had tied it. Then he collapsed onto the bed, on his side, carefully not squashing his son. His jaw was back to normal size, but it felt very sore, as did his throat. He was tired.
"May I?" Robert asked, hesitant hands not quite touching the baby. Lex nodded for him, and Chase took Conner away, just to the other side of the room, and started cleaning him and checking him over.
Lex leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. "You did good, Clark," Lex whispered. "He's beautiful."