Description: This is a brief follow-up tying together some my previous vignettes: Ants at a Picnic, A Lovely Smile and The Ring. In this story, Lex Luthor had a brief flirtation with Lois, but she saw through his façade and married Clark instead. For that reason and many others, the billionaire was determined to permanently remove Clark from the landscape of his life.

But there is someone from Clark’s past who *clearly* has a problem with Lex’s machinations…

Thanks to my trio of betas; Andreia, Bob and KenJ. Andreia has been a consistent and helpful cheerleader ever since I began in this fandom. Bob points a sharp stick when I wander out of POV. But a special shout out to KenJ for his able assistance in *all things* regarding ordnance and medical. Special Honorable mention to Anti-K, she looked at the rough draft and got it back to me ASAP, despite a tight work schedule.

As always, here is the following legal disclaimer: The characters in this story are property of DC, December 3rd productions and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended. I have merely borrowed the characters for a small bit of time to play in their universe.

And now …

PART ONE

It was a pleasant late spring afternoon; Lois and Clark were sitting in a large steel and glass atrium auditorium within S.T.A.R. Labs’ vast complex of buildings. Copious amounts of sunshine spilled into the space, thanks to ten foot high windows. The light was necessary to create an outdoor environment for the hundreds of lush plants and flowers softening the auditorium’s hardscape. The air was fresh and sweet, laced with the fragrance of flowers. Today they had been invited by special invitation from Dr. Klein to a lecture by Professor Abrihet Senai, the Nigerian princess who in years past had taught Clark the deceptively simple art of ballroom dancing. But this afternoon she was utilizing her talents on a decidedly different stage; as the Sorbonne’s guest lecturer on sword metallurgy and its application to modern science.

Abrihet, the assistant professor of French Medieval Studies at the Sorbonne, had come to Metropolis a few days ago to lecture at S.T.A.R. Labs on her research and the intriguing theories that had resulted. During the VIP guest tour she had met Dr. Klein and over the course of several lively conversations, realized they had a mutual acquaintance. She had mentioned knowing Clark Kent years before in Paris. One brief call by Dr. Klein reunited Abrihet with her former student and arrangements were made to meet for an early dinner following her lecture.

“Please, bring your lovely bride Monsieur Kent; I want to know who it was that captured the heart of my best pupil.”

Clark’s chuckle came softly over the connection, “It’s been years since we were teacher and student! Please, call me Clark.”

“Tres bien! I am Abrihet.” Madame Senai’s personality fairly bubbled over the phone. It was good to hear the gentle tones of her voice, overlaid as they were with Nigerian and French accents. Her compassion and patience had been essential in encouraging him to learn to dance ballroom style. The consistent discipline required had helped to smooth out the last of his adolescent awkwardness and hone his super abilities.

It seemed that her congenial personality and brilliance had also managed to captivate Bernard Klein. The bashful scientist had called Clark later that evening wanting to know what men’s shop to visit in order to purchase a reasonably priced suit, fashionable enough to wear at a scientific lecture and perhaps a private dinner for two?

Bernie had taken Clark’s and the salesperson clothing advice to heart. He appeared hurrying down the aisle just as Abrihet took her seat with other lecturers on the stage. Gone was the rumpled white lab coat, stained tie and worn tan loafers. In their place were garments that would make a Wall Street banker nod with appreciation. He wore an expertly fitted dark grey suit with a finely textured white dress shirt all neatly pulled together by a burgundy tie - which just happened to match the beautiful jacket and skirt Abrihet was wearing.

Bernie’s co-workers as well as the Kents looked at him in equal parts amazement and respect. The gentle scientist blushed red up to his ears; normally, unless the subject was of intense interest to him, he rarely attended on-campus lectures. Usually he would sit and listen in the privacy and quiet of his office while eating a chicken salad sandwich on whole wheat toast. He quickly sat down next to his friends and paid respectful attention to his colleagues and other guest lecturers. Warm sunshine spilled over Abrihet when she finally stepped up to the lectern and began speaking. Bernie leaned his long body forward in his seat, eagerly taking in every word.

“ … and that Mesdames et Messieurs concludes this afternoon’s discussion on the ancient techniques of sword making and their impact upon France’s industrial infrastructure today. Thank you for letting me share a brief moment of …”

The unexpected tinkling of broken glass and a sharp cry of pain from one of the members of the audience was closely followed by the muffled report of a rifle at some distance sounding like a car backfiring. What happened next was a maddening cacophony of sound, motion and panic. Members of the audience, hearing the shot ran like frightened geese for whatever protection or egress they could find.

The central rear exit doors burst open; two overweight guards, shocked out of their normal complacency by the noisy alarm of the guests, ran into the room with their weapons drawn, frightening more people and adding to the general confusion.

Lois’ hands moved quickly to her ears, in an effort to protect them from the terrible sounds. She hastily turned to Clark, fully expecting to see an empty chair and hear the familiar whoosh as Superman flew into action. But instead a shocking sight assaulted her eyes. Her husband of two months lay supine against the chair, a bright, red plume of blood splashed against the white of his favorite shirt expanding eerily across his chest.

“Clark!” she screamed. Despite her trembling hands, Lois attempted to pull Clark’s still form to her side before his limp body could slide to the floor. It was a near impossible task, his body mass was heavier than it appeared.

Bernie, standing a few feet from Lois gestured wildly to the guards. Once he got their attention he pointed at Clark and shouted, “Call the police and an ambulance! This man’s been shot!”

Hot unshed tears had obscured Lois’ vision to the point that she could not make out who was standing near her. She had managed to lay Clark’s head in her lap, and his voice was feeble and reedy. “Lois … honey, tell the guards … no … doctor. The bullet must be made of …kryptonite. It’s gotta come out …we … we … have to trust Dr. Klein to do it ….here.” He took a brief shuttering breath, collapsed and slid into unconsciousness.

She nodded her head vigorously, which forced the tears to flow ever faster down her face. She tried twice to speak to her husband, utter some words of encouragement, but nothing ushered past her lips.

Abrihet made her way through the thinning crowd toward the little group surrounding Clark, clearly frightened. Her dark eyes were riveted to the red stain on his chest. She *knew* this was impossible, after all, he *was* Superman, an invincible being from another planet, *ordinary* bullets should have no effect on him. She spoke, barely recognizing the strained tones of her voice, “Lois, mon ami … Clark?”

Lois, aware she had to protect Clark’s secret, said the first thing that came to mind, “We … we have been getting threatening phone calls lately because of an expose Clark has been working on. Oh Abrihet, he’s alive ….but the slug … it has to be removed."

She then turned from Abrihet and looked at Bernie beseechingly, communicating that as Superman’s ‘physician’, he had to do something. "Please don’t let my husband die!”

Bernie, normally a retiring person, took one look into Lois’ frightened eyes - gone red and swollen from tears - and stepped outside his safe cocoon. He was completely surprised at the sharpness of the commands that issued forth from his mouth. Turning to one of the guards he said, “Matthews, does your security station have a *complete* S.T.A.R. Labs issue medical kit?”

Matthews, a man with large cauliflower ears and hands the size of meat hooks, was a little taken aback by the normally reticent Dr. Klein’s demand, and so merely nodded his head.

“Good. Bring it here immediately.” The man did not have to be told again -- he ran up the aisle as fast as his bulk could carry him without interference, the atrium was now empty accept for the tiny knot of friends surrounding Clark’s body.

The other guard, named Fusco, looked up from his radio and said, “The police and paramedics will be here soon.”

“Very good. Now let’s move these chairs back, I need room to remove that bullet.”

Fusco stared up at him, a quizzical look on his round face and said, “Why not wait for the paramedics? They’ll be here in a few ...”

Bernie ignored anything else the guard said, his mind was focusing on other matters. His heart pounded so wildly, he was sure Clark, despite being unconscious could hear it. While he waited for the kit to arrive, Bernie evaluated the wound. Lois was correct; the slug had to have been made of Kryptonite in order for it to have harmed Clark. Opening his shirt he saw the location of the wound and realized that an inch or so lower and slightly to the right and the shot would have been instantly fatal. <There isn’t enough blood to indicate that the aorta had been hit and the color is too dark for it to be a lung.> Looking up he saw where the bullet had come through the atrium window. It was high up in a curved section of glass. <Either the bullet was deflected slightly when it passed through the glass or the distortion caused by the curvature of the glass threw his aim off.> It was problematical if he could do it without more kryptonite, fortunately that would not be necessary. He would have to use the entry wound as his access.

This entire situation was unnerving, the *last* thing he wanted to do was use a scalpel on another human being. There was a reason why he did not practice medicine. But his friend’s life – and his secret identity were hanging in the balance. He had to try. Pushing painful memories from the past aside he turned to the guard and snapped, “The paramedics will never get here in time. That horrible piece of metal has to be removed now! Ah, here comes Matthews. Let’s move these chairs.” Without another word, Dr. Klein pulled off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

Quickly, the aluminum and plastic chairs were moved and Clark was eased off his chair and laid down on the carpeted floor.
Matthews huffed out, “Whew! He’s a *lot* heavier than he looks!”

Before Lois could say anything, Abrihet intervened, her voice unusually sharp, “Mr. Kent lifts weights, his muscle mass takes up less space, but weighs more than fat.”

Both guards took that as an indirect jab against them. Fusco, getting a little pale, turned to Bernie who was opening the med-kit and looking over the instruments. “Ah, Doc, you don’t need us anymore do ya? Maybe we should wait outside and ….guide the cops and EMTs in here?”

Without looking up from his task, Bernie muttered, “That’s an excellent idea. Please take Prof. Senai with you.”

The black woman shook her head; the elegant braids swayed slightly, “Nonsense! I will assist you in removing the bullet. After all, this procedure will be done without anesthesia, Lois needs to hold him steady. Her husband is a rather *unique* individual with very *specific* needs.” She glanced from Lois to Bernie, letting the full meaning of her words sink in.

Lois, momentarily shaken, understood her meaning, nodded. “She’s right Bernie, let her stay. We … *he* is running out of time.”

The guards, relieved not to watch such an operation, walked rather quickly up the aisle leaving Dr. Klein to his task.
As soon as the door was closed behind them Lois whispered,

“Abrihet … How did you know?”

Abrihet smiled a little sadly, her golden earrings tinkled.

“He and a certain ‘High Flyer’ share a rather lovely smile. But we can speak of that later. Years ago, I escaped from Nigeria with the aid of a few trusted friends in order to avoid a detestable marriage. My betrothed was a powerful man; if it became known they had helped me, he would have been very hard on them. Their identities, even today cannot be revealed. So you need not fear, *his* secret is safe as well.”

Through fresh tears, she looked into the older woman’s dark compassionate eyes and saw more than a former dance teacher and professor; she saw a woman who had traveled night dark roads alone and yet emerged with her humanity firmly intact. This was someone she and Clark could trust with their lives.

Abrihet reached out a hand and Lois grasped it tightly in hers despite the fact that it was smeared with her husband’s still warm blood. When she spoke, her voice was soft, yet strong, “Thank you … thank you from both of us.”

Just then Bernie let out a disgusted snort as he reviewed what was in the kit. This was *not* a S.T.A.R. Labs issue medical kit that all security guards were supposed to have at their stations. The contents within only held supplies suitable to bandage a minor burn, an abrasion or minor cut, however, it would be wholly inadequate to his needs. He was going to have to improvise. He pulled out some foil wrapped prep pads. At least they would be useful for sterilizing what he would have to use. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a Swiss Army Knife. Of its multiplicity of blades, of all things he pulled out the saw blade. Looking around he saw Lois’ ever present caramel colored briefcase on the floor. He asked, “Lois, do you have a pair of tweezers in that thing?”

A question in her eyes, Lois brought herself back from where she had gone in her worry for Clark and thought, “Yes …yes, I do. Why? They aren’t very big.”

“As long as they will open half an inch, they’ll do. Pl ..please get them out.”

As she reached for the bag, Abrihet said, “I’ll get them. You hold your husband.” After several seconds rummaging around in the bag, she handed the requested implement to Bernie.

He wiped it down with the alcohol pad. Once this had been done he took a deep breath, wiped the beads of sweat that formed on his upper lip and said, “Okay, here we go.”

Using the tip of the saw blade he gently probed the wound. When he felt something solid he moved the blade around until he could feel the edge. He pushed the blade in farther along the side of the slug. Once he felt that the blade was resting next to the slug, he turned it slightly so that the teeth of the saw were against the slug.

At that moment, Clark jerked from the pain and somehow, despite being unconscious grabbed Lois' hand.

Gently, trying not to hurt Clark any more than necessary he used what little purchase he had on the slug with the teeth of the saw to coax the slug out. It was a tedious process but he could feel the slug slowly moving back out the way it had gone in. Eventually it was close enough to the entry wound so that the green glow could be seen through the blood.

He heard Lois sharp intake of breathe and Abrihet’s gasp of amazement, but firmly pushed those sounds from his mind. Concentrating on Clark’s reaction to this unexpected surgery. Surprisingly, after his initial probe and despise undergoing an extremely painful procedure; the young man did not make another sound.

Bernie continued to pull with one hand while he reached with the tweezers in the other hand, plunging them into the wound and finally grasping the end of the slug with them. Between the saw and the tweezers, Bernie finally managed to extract the slug. Once this was done he grabbed a gauze square and slapped it over the wound to staunch the flow of blood.

Last edited by Morgana; 08/01/14 08:54 PM.

Morgana

A writer's job is to think of new plots and create characters who stay with you long after the final page has been read. If that mission is accomplished than we have done what we set out to do, which is to entertain and hopefully educate.