Good afternoon, everyone. Well, good afternoon from me, to your afternoon, evening, morning, midnight...whatever it is wherever you all are.
For everyone who reviewed: thank you so much! For everyone who didn't, you still have time to repent before the judgment day
MAJOR ANGSTY WHAMMER WARNING, AS WELL AS A TISSUE WARNING in this chapter. Again, if you don't like, don't read. I'm glad everyone seemed to have liked the little angst I've trickled out so far. Hopefully that will continue. <crosses fingers>
Disclaimers: Still not mine. The only beta on this is my secret identity, SmirkyRaven, that hides behind my normal mild-mannered college student facade, so blame any mistakes on her.
This chapter is dedicated to my little sister, who listened to the basic idea for this story last Sunday night at 1 o'clock in the morning and twisted my arm <ouch...> until I found the courage to actually write this story. Blame her. Not me.
Wow. I'm in a "blame the other person" mood, aren't I? Oh, well.
Okay, enough blab. Here we go. Please remember to review.
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Chapter 3
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Lois swore in desperation as Superman went completely limp. She searched frantically for a pulse, and panic rose in her heart as she found nothing at his throat.
“He’s dead,” she whispered. She looked up at Logram, shaking. “You…you k-killed him!”
Logram pulled the Kryptonite from his pocket, followed by a small, thick-fabricked sack that looked heavier than its size. He stuck the Kryptonite inside and pulled the drawstring tight before sticking it back in his pocket. Immediately Lois felt the rise of Superman’s chest under her hand and she clutched his good hand painfully tight, her throat tight.
“You keep forgetting that your ‘super man’ is not human at all, Miss Lane. It is thus quite likely that he would not have the strong pulse at the same places in the body, if he has a pulse at all. Goodness, we don’t even know if he has a heart like we do.”
Lois didn’t look at him; just cradled Superman’s head gently against her, feeling sick.
“Very well,” Logram said. “Hansen, Gordon, let’s go.”
The guards stepped forward, taking Superman by the shoulders and beginning to drag him forward. The superhero groaned softly even in unconsciousness as his broken arm was jarred.
“Be careful!” Lois snapped, and was proud that she had recovered enough to sound as furious as she did. The dark-clothed men actually winced slightly at the fire in her tone. “He’s hurt, if you haven’t noticed.”
“He’ll live,” Dr. Logram said calmly, but not reassuringly in the least. “Come along, Miss Lane. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”
Lois straightened and gave him her coldest glare, showing him just how set her mind was. She followed them as they dragged Superman out of the room. There were two more guards standing outside, their guns held at ready, and Lois had to stifle a curse as she realized that even if she did manage to grab one of their guns, there was no way she was getting Superman out of there on her own—especially considering the trouble that the two big men were having trying to drag him together. She clenched her jaw against growing desperation and helplessness and followed the somber progression farther down the hall.
They were put into the back of a windowless van. Superman was pushed in unceremoniously, and Lois clambered in to sit with him. Logram moved to the front of the truck, but the guards sat across from them, their cold and beady eyes unwavering and their guns ready as they watched. Lois did her best to ignore them, concentrating instead on Superman. She tried to pull him into a more comfortable position, and when she sat down beside him she pulled his head onto her lap. She followed the trail of blood down his face to where he had struck the wall and winced at the darkening bruise and ugly gash hidden by his thick hair. It was still oozing blood, and his hair was plastered on the side of his head with it.
“I don’t suppose you have a spare handkerchief?” Lois asked their silent watchers dryly. The men just stared back at her. Lois rolled her eyes and turned back to the injured man beside her. She carefully brushed his hair from his brow again—something bothered her about how it kept falling over his forehead.
She was surprised when after a moment one of the guards actually shifted and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket before tossing it to her. She picked it up, insured that it was clean, and then carefully wiped the drying blood from Superman’s face before gently holding it over the head wound.
The trip seemed to go on forever. Superman shifted more than once as if about to wake, but a word to the front cab and the bag containing the kryptonite was passed back. The guards pulled it out of the sack for a couple minutes until Superman grew ghost-pale and still again, and then placed it back inside. Every time they pulled out the glowing stone the bump on his head began to bleed again, and after some hours the handkerchief was near black from dry and drying blood.
“Stop it,” she said when they reached for the bag yet another time. “He’s not going to wake up—he probably has a concussion, and whatever that rock does to him, it’s not helping. Why are you trying to hurt him?”
One of the guards shrugged. “We weren’t going to hurt him—just use the rock to keep him out. He’s the one that ran into the wall like that.”
“Guess the Super-brakes broke,” another one said with the hint of a smile around his too-bold chin. “Funny. I don’t think we ever thought that he might actually crash like that. Bang!” he slapped his hands together in imitation, allowing one hand to bounce back with a ‘splatting’ sound.
Lois found nothing funny in it at all, of course. She didn’t try to talk to them again, and they seemed quite content with silence themselves.
Hours passed. Lois dozed fitfully, waking whenever the truck hit the slightest bump or whenever Superman shifted even slightly. At last she woke up as the truck was pulling to a stop. She wondered where in the world they had gotten to, and how they were going to get out of this mess.
The back doors opened, and Lois was dismayed to see yet more uniformed men waiting. Whoever was in charge of this clearly had a good many strings to pull from his little web. They pulled Superman away from her despite her protests, but at least they lifted him onto a wheeled metal table-bed instead of dragging him along the ground like before. The guards nudged her along at gunpoint needlessly; there was no way they were going to get her to move from his side without a fight.
It was dark—night already. The dim glow of Lois’s watch said it was past ten—they had been driving for over nine hours. Lois could hardly see anything but for the dimly lighted complex that looked like some sort of old bomb shelter. Around them everything was flat and shadowed, and the air felt as open as a plain.
Not Kansas, again, an exhausted thought slipped from Lois’s mind as she trudged into the building after Dr. Logram swiped his card to open the door. She swore that when she saw Clark again she was going to tell him to write that article completely by himself. She wasn’t getting close enough to touch anything to do with Kansas with a ten-foot pole for the next ten years of her life.
They stepped into a bare, cold cement tunnel and soon Lois was swept up in the confusion as three white-coated doctors came over and to lead them forward. Dr. Logram began talking to the other doctors, but Lois couldn’t hear what they were saying over the noise as the metal wheels clanging emptily down the cold hall and the echoing rumble of their footsteps. She caught Superman’s hand in hers as she quickened her step to keep up with the brisk pace. His hand was cold and clammy, but she was surprised to receive a brief squeeze to her fingers in response to her touch. She looked down at the man on the bed, but he appeared quite asleep, but for a slightest twitch beneath his eyelids, and a faint trembling of his fingers inside of hers. Lois tightened her grip on his, glad that she wasn’t alone in this any longer.
It didn’t last, however. They swept into a room and Lois was pushed into the corner of the room as the doctors rushed around the apparently unconscious Superman despite her protests. Large monitors and machines sat waiting around the walls, and within minutes they had Superman’s heartbeat beating away a quick but steady rhythm on one of he monitors. Brainwaves danced beneath that, and one of the doctors stared at them as he scribbled notes on the clipboard he balanced in his hands.
“Amazing,” he murmured. “It’s incredible.”
On the table, Clark was barely keeping himself from breaking down in terror. The bright lights of the examination table burned his eyes even through his eyelids. His head throbbed, and never had he felt so exposed…so violated. His broken arm ached enough to make him grit his teeth against an involuntary moan that threatened to break from his sore lungs. He felt bruised all over, besides the shooting pain from his skull and forearm, and wondered distantly what they had done to him while he was unconscious; if they told him they had used him as a piñata for a group of wild banditos he wouldn’t have doubted their word. He felt as if he were waking from death itself; even thought seemed to come sluggishly, and the thought of rising from his reclined position was as impossible an idea as flying…well, for a normal man. In this condition, there was nothing that he could do against the men, though he didn’t know how many there were. And Lois…Lois was there somewhere…
He explained to himself that he was waiting—saving his energy and waiting for the right opportunity to strike, but he knew that was a coward’s lie. He was terrified, and he wanted to keep his eyes closed as long as he could. As long as he kept his eyes closed this could all just be a bad, albeit frighteningly realistic, dream.
He felt fingers prodding along his good arm, and a sharp sting made him flinch despite himself as Logram drew a large vial of his blood from his arm. The act becoming too much to keep up, his body began to tremor. This didn’t escape Logram’s attention. He carefully set the vial on a tray and stepped back, reaching for his pocket.
“Ah. Gentlemen, he’s awake,” he said calmly. The flurry of writing, muttered conversation, and movement as a whole went still, all save for the solitary beeping that marked the quickened beating of Superman’s heart.
There was no use, now, trying to keep up the façade, but still Superman hesitated a moment longer, savoring the last few seconds of hope, weak as it was. He opened his eyes slowly, squinting painfully through the blinding light to the darker shapes beyond, and all of those hopes were shattered.
Nightmares of his childhood and the endless warnings of his father stood around him like grey wraiths. He fought down the panic that threatened to clutch him and tried to sit up—he was not restrained, so he managed to rise a few inches. His broken arm protested like a fiery brand and he gasped at the strength of it. He clutched his arm, before his battered body shuddered and he collapsed back, hitting his head hard on the cold metal beneath him. He clenched his teeth around a groan, but even his teeth seemed to ache, like the coursing pain of the kryptonite, only softer—like an echo.
Lois had been standing in the corner, her heels aching from the long day as she cursed whatever urge had compelled her into wearing heels yet again. She had slid down the wall to sit uncomfortably after the first long minutes (at least she was wearing pants rather than her usually-preferred skirt), hugging herself and feeling ill as she saw the doctors move over Superman like ants over a crumb of bread. Now she saw the struggle in Superman’s expression, and the tirade she had been holding back for fear of being taken away from him broke forth like water through a weakened dam.
“What is the matter with you all?” Lois demanded, leaping to her feet. “Have you no respect for human rights or dignity? This is cruel and unusual—you’re violating humanity here, and it’s not like you can convince yourself that he’s a danger. Trask was mad to think so.”
“Yes, Trask was mad,” Logram said, allowing her to interrupt his work and not looking very patient about it. “Ah, but think, Miss Lane. We have perhaps the last Kryptonian in the universe, and surely the first alien that has walked—or flown, rather—into our midst. He is not a citizen. He is not a human. As far as you should be concerned, he’s the frog you dissected in your fourth grade elementary school class, but infinitely more valuable to our cause. You didn’t argue for civil rights then, did you? Ah. Chances are that you probably didn’t even use the opportunity to expand your knowledge, but just cut it up without even thinking about it.” The doctor straightened. “I am not going to let him go and disappear somewhere. This is too important, and if I eliminate a possible threat at the same time, who’s to complain?”
Lois opened her mouth to retort angrily at that. “Why you—” Logram held up his hand, cutting off the very foul insult that had been forthcoming.
“Take her out. Give her something to eat and let her take care of herself and stick her away until we’re finished. Oh. And take someone else with you. I’ve heard stories of Miss Lane, and we don’t want her causing any trouble, hm?”
The guard straightened and gestured for her to stand, looking somewhat relieved himself. He had been growing bored of standing here to watch the little lady as she sat there, her eyes only for Superman.
Lois braced herself, looking at Superman. He had closed his eyes again and now clutched his broken arm to himself as if to protect it as best he could. He looked awful. As marvelous as food and especially a bathroom break sounded after these past long hours, she was not going to go easily. “I’m not leaving him,” she stated, and wondered if she sounded as much like a broken record as she felt.
Logram swore and threw his pen at her. He missed and it bounced off the wall harmlessly. “Will you just go? We’ll give you back your little pet once we’re finished.”
The guard grabbed her arm and began dragging her back. Frustrated and driven to the edge by the events of the day, Lois twisted sharply, elbowing the man in the gut and driving a forceful punch to his jaw. She laid him flat with carefully-placed kick that left him writhing on the floor, and dove to grab his gun and level it at the doctors, who had frozen once again.
“All right!” Lois pressed off the safety, letting them know she meant business. “With the day I’ve had, I’m not going to hesitate to pull this trigger if you make even the slightest false move. And I’d bet this one is loaded.”
“Lois?” Superman asked, feebly lifting his head again.
“Can you stand, Superman?” Lois asked, her eyes not leaving the doctors.
Clark didn’t answer at first. “Maybe. I…don’t know,” he said, his voice pained as much by the admittance as anything else. He took a shaking breath and strained upward, managing to sit up shakily, though the world tipped around him like a broken top.
Lois bit her lip. “Get back, all of you,” she said, gesturing sharply at the other men. Three of them stepped back, carefully setting down whatever they were working on and looking quite pale. Logram, however, looked calm. He was closest to Superman, and before Lois had a chance to move he lunged towards him. Lois swung the gun towards him, but fear of hitting Superman made her shot go wide. The bullet shattered into a monitor behind him…relatively harmlessly. Sparks and smoke shot from the machine angrily.
Superman saw Logram coming; despite his unsteady view of the world and his blurry vision he had been watching his tormentors as warily as he could. He cringed at the loud shot of the bullet, and before he could react Logram had caught his broken forearm and wrenched it cruelly. There was a loud pop and Superman screamed in renewed agony as his world disappeared behind nothing but white, blinding pain. Logram pulled down onto the table and kept low, keeping close to Superman as he pulled out a scalpel and held it before him. Clark was shaking uncontrollably now—his teeth chattering around a whimper he couldn’t hold back.
“Going to risk another shot, Miss Lane?” Logram asked, breathing hard as he looked up at her. “Are you going to risk shooting your alien boyfriend here, or are you going to be a good girl and put the gun down?”
Lois hesitated, and Superman didn’t have the chance to think before Logram twisted his broken arm grotesquely. His scream rose to a desperate pitch.
“Stop that!” Lois said tightly, hoping her voice would sound more like a command than a plea. She felt bile in her throat.
“Drop the gun.” Logram said again. He brought the scalpel up and calmly, almost systematically. Superman felt the first prick of the blade and tried to pull away, but the pain was too much—fire was spreading through his being, burning him into nothing. The blade slid into Superman’s forearm just above where his arm was unnaturally bent and drew a thin, deep line into the muscle. Superman’s cry choked on a broken sob of sheer agony. Lois threw the gun away from herself forcefully.
“Okay, let him go!” she said, her own voice broken and she realized that her own face was damp with tears. “Let him go. Stop it—please!” Her words rose as Superman let out another tortured cry.
Behind her, the guard retrieved his gun and now limped towards her, swearing violently. He took hold of her arm in a death grip and dragged her from the room.
“Superman!” Lois called his name, as she had so many times before, but this time he didn’t answer. He was so pale, now…lying slightly curled up like a broken toy—shaking and struggling for breath around ragged sobs as his own blood stained the blue of his suit and the cold metal beneath him. She needed to see him respond—to give some clue that he was going to be okay. But he didn’t even seem to hear her. A second guard joined the first and pulled her out and closed the door behind her with finality.
Lois was shivering herself as she was pulled away. To her surprise they only took her a single room down before swiping their card through the high-security lock and tossing her inside the brightly-lit room. She blinked at the white walls, at the white floor, and at the blinding light that gleamed off a single camera perched in the corner like a soulless eye. The door closed behind her, locking her away alone.
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