Chapter 62:
Clark took long, quick strides across the pit, neck coiled tight and muscles clenched. God damn Henderson. He was almost blind in his rampage, Ralph jumping out of his way at the last second, following the sound of Lois' heartbeat unseeingly.
"Clark?"
Her hand landed on his forearm, stopping him short and informing him that he'd reached his destination, the heat of her palm searing through his crisp sleeves. He scrunched his eyes shut tight and told himself to breathe.
"Clark, what's wrong? What happened in there?"
"I can't—" he gestured broadly through the air, waving her off. "I need some air." Because he was so close. Luthor was all but in handcuffs. Nigel was gone. Lois knew the truth—
"Talk to me, Kansas," she intoned quietly, glancing over his shoulder at the cops in the conference room.
He shook his head sharply. "I can't. I- Air. I need to breathe."
"Okay. Why don't we go up to the roof, take a quick smoke break, and we can discuss it when you've calmed down?"
He pushed his glasses up slightly to pinch the bridge of his nose, the slight pain of his grip grounding him a little more in reality. "No. I just need a minute. I'm gonna take a quick... walk." He gracelessly reached around her and grabbed his jacket off her seat, pulled it on with sharp, staccato movements. This wasn't at all going to plan. He stormed away from her desk and to the elevator, ignoring the sound of her calling his name. He saw Henderson and Sawyer gathering themselves out of the corner of his eye, and the back of his mind told him not to draw so much attention to himself, in a voice that sounded like his father's. Another, fainter yet still familiar voice told him that he was stronger than them all, and that it didn't matter what anyone thought. That might makes right, that strength is power. He straightened his back and inhaled deeply until the elevator doors opened and he stepped in calmly.
He just needed some distance from it all, to clear his head. Maybe he'd fly to the north pole, scream out some of his frustrations, cut some ice caps down to size. Maybe he'd fly to space, get some perspective on the issues. Henderson didn't really know anything. All he had was the word of some bum on the docks, someone that could feasibly have been paid off by Luthor. He berated himself for not having seen this guy when he was dumping Nigel's body. He'd been so careful not to leave any fingerprints.
Clark shoved into someone's shoulder, spilling the man's coffee, as he brushed past him into the lobby of the Daily Planet, towards the entrance. "Hey, watch it— Kent?"
He could see sunlight, just out of his reach. He ignored the man, the sunlight drawing him like a tractor beam. He didn't have time for nobodies that recognized him from the paper or thought they met at some gala—
"Cl— Hey, Kal!"
He froze. Panic and sheer terror at the name rushed his system all at once, and he couldn't move. The sunlight was right there, and here he was as frozen as a block of ice.
"It's really you! Hot damn, are you a hard man to find. E’rybody thought you were dead."
Clark turned around to face the stranger and it took him a few seconds to place where he'd met the man and who he was. The name took another second to come to him. "...Ronnie?"
Ronnie grinned. "I knew you wouldn't forget me."
He rolled his eyes, a sick feeling in his stomach, and he turned back to push through the front doors.
"Hey, wait up!"
The sunlight washed over his face, and his skin tingled warmly like he was too close to a fire. He sighed. "I thought you were in jail, Ronnie."
"You would think that, seeing as you're the guy that put me there."
"I did not—"
"You sure didn't do me any favors. You outran me, s'all. Otherwise, our fates woulda been the same."
A grumble rolled through Clark's chest, and he made a decision to walk east, against the flow of foot traffic. "How did you get out?"
"Good behavior." Clark shot him an incredulous look and the man laughed and ran a hand over his shaggy, dark hair. "You got me. You really wanna know, though?"
Clark weighed that question. On the one hand, catching an escaped felon would probably earn him some points with Henderson, and he could use some points there. On the other... the less he knew the better. He weaved around a woman pushing a stroller. "Nevermind. Why are you here, Ronnie? And what do I have to do to get rid of you?"
He laughed again. "You got almost as much spit to ya as Jesse."
"Who?"
"Girlfriend. Helped me escape. You'd like her. You're both pretty vicious. And quick on your feet. Ha."
Clark growled and cut off the rambling. "Pineda."
Ronnie sobered, and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. "I've got your globe. Figured you'd want it back."
The face of his birth father seared through his brain, and he stopped in his tracks. He hadn't thought about that thing in years. The echoes of gunshots, the blood curdling screams, the coldness of his father’s voice as he spoke his parting words, passed on his plans for revenge.
”They'll never catch me alive.”
Fear zipped through him, followed closely by nausea, and Clark turned on his heel and walked back the other direction.
"Kent—"
"No.” He wagged a finger back at the man trailing him. “You don't bring that thing up to me ever again, understand? Destroy it."
"I don't know. It's got some pretty juicy stuff on there." He nodded his head at the Daily Planet building to their side. "Wonder what the press would think of it."
"And I wonder what Inspector Henderson would think of an escaped convict roaming around Metropolis," he snapped back, glowering.
Ronnie raised his hands defensively. "Hey, alright. Truce."
"I mean it, Ronnie. Destroy it."
"I'm not going to do that, but I'll make sure it stays somewhere safe."
Clark stood toe-to-toe with the man, a good few inches taller, and glared down the bridge of his nose at him. "I'm having a crap day, Ronald. Don't push me."
"Wouldn't dream of it. But I'm not gonna get rid of a precious family heirloom like that. You might want it one day. Pass it on to your own kid."
"No child of mine will ever be allowed to see that," he ground out tightly.
"Hey, I don't blame ya. Rough stuff, man."
”Jor-- please--”
“Shut up and die already, Lara.”
He squinted at the man, throat tight with anger and feeling accosted by the memories, and about two seconds away from launching Ronald Pineda into outer space. "Leave, Ronnie. Before we both do something stupid. Cops are just upstairs."
Ronnie laughed. "Cops can't catch me anymore, Kent. I’ve outgrown them."
"Yeah?” He flashed the man a wicked grin and stepped into his space domineeringly. “I could still kick your ass all the way back to Central City without breaking a sweat."
They squared off at each other for a few more long moments before Ronnie finally blinked. Clark leaned back proudly, shoulders square. He'd won.
"Fine. I'm going. Just remember— I'll be out there somewhere, walking around with this information. And one of these days, you'll want it back, and you'll have to do something for me to get it."
He smiled devilishly. "Over your dead body, Pineda."
Ronnie grinned back at him in return. "Maybe, Kent. Maybe." He paused as he turned, pivoting back for a moment with a softened smile on his face. “It was good to catch up. We should do this again sometime.”
He turned on his heel and walked away, and Clark felt the upper hand shifting away from him with a pit in his stomach as he watched him go. This was not his day. He'd promised Lois to be honest from here on out, but he didn't have a clue how to start this conversation.
A loud clap of sound from behind him gathered his attention away from Ronnie and the ghosts of his past. Before he could even turn, a ripple of discomfort washed over him out of nowhere, washing a wave of nausea along with it as it came. Clark frowned. He looked down at himself, limbs tingling, feeling slightly wrong. The pain started flaring through him more sharply, and he clutched his right side where it seemed to be resonating the most. Slowly, it started registering that there were people screaming around him. He tried to take a step forward only to fall to his knees. He flung out his hand to catch himself, only doing a half decent job. His glasses clattered to the ground.
It wasn't until then that he noticed the blood.
He stared at his hand, covered in blood, and he tried to process it. He had blood on his hands. Could everyone see it? Whose blood? Another drip of blood landed on the concrete beneath him, and it connected suddenly. It was his blood. He was bleeding. Why was he bleeding?
A sharp kick landed on the opposite side of his ribcage, and the wind left him in a rush as he collapsed. He slammed his eyes shut at the pain where he landed on his wound. The foot kicked him again, pushed him over so that he was lying face up. He kept his eyes closed, the sun beating down harshly on his face, a counterpoint to the pain in his side.
It burned. Oh, it burned.
A familiar laugh met his ears, and he wished it would all just be over before that damn man opened his mouth.
"Oh, how the almighty have fallen."
Clark grit his teeth as hard as he could, trying to block out the noise. Lex's laugh only seemed to get louder.
"I can hardly believe my luck. Here I was, on my way to the Daily Planet, assuming I'd have to take some hostages before I drew you out, and you just walked into my line of sight!" His glee skittered his laugh unevenly, and Clark moaned. Another nudge from one of Luthor's fancy Italian loafers drew a gasp of pain from his chest. "Open your eyes, Kent. I want to see the look in your eyes when I finally end your miserable life."
The little bit of stubborness he had left kept his eyes sealed shut, and the smallest part of him that was still alive felt a little proud at it. He wouldn't give Luthor the satisfaction.
Another crack of thunder sounded, and pain seared through his thigh this time. Clark screamed out, eyes shooting open, as he attempted to curl in on himself to stop the pain. He'd never experienced such torture.
Lex chuckled darkly. "Oh, these little green bullets are my new best friend."
Clark opened his eyes finally, and stared at the man who'd ruined his life with open hostility. He gritted the words out through his clenched teeth. "I hate you."
"Feeling's mutual, pal. If I'd known the sort of pain and suffering you'd cause, I'd have killed you twenty years ago." Lex grinned maniacally. "Trask wanted to, didn't he? He should have. Maybe if he did, your father would still be alive. So that's your fault too, isn't it?"
Clark swore under his breath, not capable of much more. He felt weak. He felt like the bullets were tearing him in two, like the sun was burning his skin off his body. If this was how it ended, he could be okay with that, as long as the pain stopped.
Lex leveled the gun down at his forehead, not a waver or a tremor in his form. "See you in hell, Ultraman."
