Bloodlines

Chapter 7

 

 

A parade of helicopters surrounded Star City General Hospital joined on the ground by a cavalcade of tanks. No one was getting into Conner's room. Ollie barely made it in and he owned the damn building. Reporters camped out in front of the buildings twenty rows deep. More of them wandered in the periphery, getting the "people's view" of the goings on.

Ollie straightened his cufflinks. An assistant whispered, "They're ready for you, Mr. Queen" and he stepped up to the podium. Camera flashes threatened to blind him. Time to put on a show. Staid, serious Oliver Queen had to explain what Superman and his young "friend" were doing in his hospital.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, thank you for coming. I am Oliver Queen, chairman of the board here at Star City General Hospital, and I am here to issue an official press statement on behalf of Superman and the Justice League. As you all know, Superboy is being treated in this hospital for severe trauma as a result of a high-powered laser wielded by former-President Alexander Luthor. His condition is critical and therefore Superman and the League would greatly appreciate their privacy during this time of personal crisis. They would like to thank everyone for their well-wishes so far which have constantly been a source of comfort. Thank you. That's all."

A dull roar of sound went up as reporters vied to ask questions.

"Is he Superman's son?"

"How old is Superboy?"

"Is it true that the League initiated the conflict and President Luthor only reacted in self-defence?"

"Can you comment on Lex Luthor's condition? They say it's highly unlikely that he'll ever wake up from--"

Ollie turned his back implacably on the crowd. "Get me in this building already."

"Sorry, Mr. Queen," said a military liaison as she squeezed through a line of Marines. "You did agree to the rules."

"I know and you're sticking to them," Ollie said. "I'm just glad I made the list of permitted visitors."

"Superman said since you've been so kind as to allow them to use your facilities, it was the least he could do."

"It was my pleasure." Ollie struck an avaricious pose. "Besides, can you imagine how much publicity this'll get?"

The liaison's expression flattened momentarily. For the rest of the way, she remained a distrustful five feet away. "Follow me please."

One of the palliative care rooms on the top floor had been adjusted as an intensive care unit. The main draws were the skylights which formed almost half the ceiling, drawing in the nearly constant California sun. There, the young man known to the world as Superboy, had been recovering from his wounds for the past five days.

The liaison stumbled as she entered, recovering only after tossing Ollie a glare. It wasn't easy to see an icon like Superman helpless. Human. He sat slumped beside the narrow hospital bed, arms crossed on the bed, Superboy's less intubated hand covered in his. Instead of his uniform, he wore a Renaissance-like robe, the same colour as his cape, which fell in heavy folds on the floor. His sigil was pinned discreetly at the neck.

"You, uh, look like hell, Superman," Ollie blurted out.

"Mr. Queen, sir," said the frustrated liaison. "Would you like me to stay?"

"That won't be necessary, thank you." Superman gathered the robe to stand but Ollie waved him down.

"Please, stay seated. I won't take up too much of your time."

At Superman's nod, the liaison left. She glared at Ollie one last time before the door closed.

"How is he?" asked Ollie as he approached the boy's bedside.

"Hanging in there." Superman smoothed a spike of black hair away from the boy's forehead. "I can see his organs knitting together at least. His heart beat is faint but more regular than yesterday."

"Good. That's a good sign, right?"

He nodded. "It's taking so long."

"Give it time. Most people would take several months to heal from those injuries, if at all, and he's gone far in a week."

"I know. I'm just... not used to the process."

Ollie nodded. "I can't even imagine."

For a few minutes, nothing but the monitor's beeping filled the room.

"Where's Lois?" Ollie asked.

"At work, what else?" Clark replied. "She's making excuses for me. The official story is that I haven't returned to the States yet since spending quality time with my long-lost son in England. When Con gets better, there'll be something about a car accident to explain his injuries and then..."

Seeing Superman falling to pieces was discomfiting. Clark Kent fell apart quite frequently and even plain old Clark from Smallville shed a tear now and again but Superman never did. He'd always been too strong for tears.

To cover his discomfort, Ollie blathered. "The good news is Lex is practically a vegetable. Only one of Lois' rounds got through his helmet but, man, did she ever make it count. His VP's much more open to working with the League. She wants to distance herself from Luthor, I guess. I don't blame her; who'd want to be on Superman's bad side, right? Especially since the entire world's fallen in love with you all over again. Olsen's picture really--"

He shut up in time. Clark wouldn't want to know details of Jimmy Olsen's picture. Hell, from what he heard around town, Olsen barely wanted to talk about his picture despite the accolades and awards beating down his door. Objectively, Ollie appreciated the artistry: Superman crouched to take off, Superboy held tight in his arms, his usually confident features twisted into horror, determination and sorrow all at once. They were already calling it the Kryptonian Pieta. Ollie hated the nickname; the story behind the Pieta didn't have a good ending. Above all, he wanted this to end well.

He placed a hand on Clark's shoulder and stood in vigil.


Lois visited two days later, flashing her press card cantankerously at everyone who dared block her way. With the expression on her face, those were few and far between.

"Did you see Ross and Lang's press statement?" she asked Clark as soon as she entered.

"I was just watching it. How was the hearing?"

"Magnificent. I thought the discreet bandage on Lana's forehead was very effective. She pulls off the big-eyed lost-soul look real well and Pete's testimony about Luthor's Yuacic requests was fantastically bullet-proof." She leaned over to check on Conner. He was a little less grey today but there were still far too many machines stuck in him. The fact that his body didn't resist the needles was worrying. "If there was any justice in the world, Lex Luthor would be in a maximum security prison, locked away in solitary except for the twice yearly ventures to the outside as Mo 'The Muscle' Hendrikson's prison bitch. Instead he's convalescing in a half decent prison hospital."

Clark closed his eyes. "Maybe we should rethink this home situation. If Lex gets out and discovers Conner's history--"

"Listen to me, Smallville. If by some miracle Luthor gets out of prison or continues his machinations from the inside, I will kill him. I will find people who will kill him. I will take his company away and give the billions to metas everywhere. I will hunt down his business partners and turn them into burger flippers. If he's dared to spawn any illegitimate maggots, I'll make them so sorry for the blood running through their veins that they'd rather eat a bullet than continue to live. I will make every single nanosecond of his pathetically short and petty life excruciatingly painful. And I will do it with a smile and do you know why?"

He shook his head.

"Because where that kid is concerned, I'm not Lois Lane, the Star Reporter any more. I'm Lois Lane, the Mother. And I will do anything to keep my son safe and if you give me some bullshit about being the better person, I will... dye all your briefs pink."

"Your words, my heart," said Clark. "Even without RK, for a second, I couldn't decide between carrying Conner to the sun and ripping Luthor in half."

"Thankfully, one of us can react logically to stressful situations. Besides, how was I supposed to sh-shoot Luthor if you'd torn him---" Lois covered her face. "God, if he doens't get convicted because I was stupid enough to try to blow his head off, I'm going to... argh! I could just hit myself sometimes. Stupid, stupid, stupid move! Kill him or let him rot in maximum prison; not something in between that may garner him sympathy."

"He won't be released," Clark said firmly, finally standing up. Thumbing a button on a small remote, he signalled to the Watchtower that he needed privacy. The security cameras in the room would be one of many video loops instead of the real events. "I missed you."

Lois rushed him, jumping up to force him to carry her back onto the sofa where she let his weight press the air out of her lungs. She liked his solid heaviness and the heat of his skin. It was like hugging a star. Kissing his temple, his ear, his cheek, she combed her fingers through his hair, twirling a few strands around her fingertips every once in while to watch it spring out in ringlets.

"Your milk's in there," she said, pointing to a pair of paper bags near the door. "It's going to go sour if we don't stick it in the fridge."

"I haven't been hungry."

"You haven't been sleepy this week either. Even Superman needs to rest."

She felt his lashes brush her wrist.

"His heart stopped, Lois. I heard it. When I dream, I can still feel his..." Clark's breath hitched. His hands released nonexistent viscera. "I'm his dad. Human dads can protect their kids and I couldn't... I've only known him for less than a month and I've already made a mess of things."

Lois wrapped her legs around his waist, hugging him twice.

"Maybe there's a reason why I don't have kids. There were times when we didn't use protection and nothing happened. Maybe--"

"We didn't get pregnant for the same reason amorous raccoons and cats can't. It's pure science, Smallville, not karma. If the world was inherently fair, you'd have a dozen ankle-biters by now and I'd have intravenous coffee to keep up with you all."

"I want to do this right," said Clark. "I want to be a good dad."

"You are. You will be."

"Lois, my son had to jump in front of a laser to save my life!"

"Because you and Chloe have done a good job so far." At his doubtful sigh, Lois explained, "He was brave enough to save your life. He trusted his instincts about Luthor. He felt an obligation to help make the world a better place. Of all the things he could do with his powers-- hell, he could have joined forces with the corrupt leader of the free world and gotten South America in the bargain. But he didn't. He chose to save a life."

"That's Chloe's influence."

"You're always selling yourself short, Smallville. It never occurs to you that you could pretty much rule the world."

Clark blinked. "Of course it does. I just don't want to."

Lois grinned and squeezed his shoulders. "Statements like that make me so hot for you."

A flush inched up from Clark's neck. "Do you, uh... really?" His hand, which had been lightly stoking her calf, now ventured tentatively north. "I know it's a coping mechanism but I've been vacillating between depressed and horny every time you're around."

"Reaffirming life is a very natural thing to feel."

An ante-room off the one side had a bed for Clark to sleep on when he could, separated by a sliding door. They walked there hand in hand. Once on the bed, he pulled her onto his lap, reached under her shirt, and tucked her head under his chin so he could feel her breath against his neck. "I love you so much."

"You too, Smallville."

"Can't you just say 'I love you, too' out in the open, too?"

"You're being a total girl. And grammatically redundant. Get rid of this shirt."

"I'll show you who's being a girl. Turn out the light."


Pete and Lana came through after the first week. They were themselves walking wounded; Lana had a fractured left tibia and a bandage on her head from a deep cut while Pete wore a neck brace and a sling around his right arm. Both had burns, shiny with aloe.

"How are you both?" Clark asked.

"The worst of the burns are second degree," said Pete. "Black Canary managed to swerve in time to avoid the worst of that landmine. Having the car flip apparently shielded us from the flames."

"We've been kept in seclusion for the hearings otherwise we'd've visited sooner." Lana trailed a hand on Conner's bed rail, gripping and releasing the top edge. Clark was certain she was unconscious of the nervous tic. "He looks better than I imagined. I'm glad."

Pete rubbed his neck. Clark took pity on them both but especially Lana. He hadn't been blind to Conner's coolness towards her. "There's a fridge next door, Pete. Would you like a drink?"

With that excuse, they left Lana at Conner's side. "I'm going back to Paris when this is all over," Pete said after a gulp of Zesti. "Lana's going to visit her Aunt Nell for a week then she's flying over, too."

"And the girls?"

He smiled. "They thought it was the greatest adventure ever. They can't wait to do it again."

"Good for them."

"Yeah, at least someone in this family ended up happy." Pete winced. "Sorry. I don't mean to whine."

Clark studied the patterns on his glass. "Then you and Lana--?"

"Are pretty much separated. She's going to the town home and I'm at the country. We're still working out custody and..." He let his voice fade away. Clark didn't mind. He couldn't have borne hearing more.

"I'm sorry."

Pete let out a bitter chuckle. "What for, man? It wasn't your fault. To tell you the truth, I never thought we'd last forever. We didn't marry for the right reasons and besides, someone like Lana doesn't settle down. I knew that going in."

They sat in companiable silence. Without meaning to, Clark listened in to the goings on next door. Lana was singing a lullaby, he realised.

"Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, go to sleep my little baby. When you wake, you shall have all the pretty little horses. Dapples and greys, pintos and bays; coach and six little horses."

A peek through the walls showed her sitting right up against the bed so that her cheek rested on the edge of Conner's pillow. She smoothed the hair from his forehead as she sang. "Way down yonder in the meadow, poor little baby cries, 'Mama.' Birds and butterflies flutter 'round his eyes, poor little baby cries 'Mama.'"

"I'll give this for Lana," Pete was saying, "she's a good mom. Whatever we work out, we'll work it out for the benefit of the girls."

Not knowing how to reply, Clark looked down at his hands.


Fifteen days after being admitted to Star City General, Conner Sullivan opened his eyes. Clark literally fell out of his chair. Stupid Kryptonian robes.

All too aware of the boy's frailty, he placed a hand on Conner's shoulder. "Hey, son. You've been gone a while. Want a drink?"

He nodded, licking his lips, and Clark put some ice chips on his tongue. "I heard you reading. A vet. And horses."

"All Creatures Great and Small," he said. "My favourite book when I was your age. I wanted to be a vet."

"What changed?"

"I needed a job that gave me an excuse not to be available all the time. As long as I have a laptop and an internet connection, I'm at work. And I do like writing. Reading." He smiled and lowered his gaze as though embarrassed by the admission. "Your mom introduced me to it."

"She'd be so mad at me," said Conner.

"Of course. But I'd be around to remind her that she was at least as reckless when we were kids. Remind me to tell you about the time she almost got stung to death by a swarm of mind-controlled bees."

Conner made a face.

"It's true; the weird actually comes from Chloe's side, not mine. I'm just your average, orphaned alien with a guilt complex that would make the Pope proud." Clark attempted a smile but it wobbled with emotion.

"Superman... has a sense of humour."

"Shhh. Family secret."

Conner's expression crumpled at that. Clark immediately leaned forward, distressed. "What's wrong? Does something hurt? I'll get a nurse."

"No. No, I just... I'm not hurt, I just...Jesus, I'm blubbering like some bloody infant..." The boy sniffled, took a few deeps breaths and composed himself. "So. Family secret, huh? That mean... family business, too?"

Wincing, Clark said, "Wouldn't you prefer something more stable? Doctor, lawyer, thrash metal rock star? Not that seeing you wearing the family colours isn't great-- you wear them well, Conner. But if I have to see you get hurt again, I don't know how I'd... You'll have slave labour on top of the life-time grounding."

"Sorry. I messed up."

"Yes, you did. I told you and Lois to keep away for a reason. For Pete's sake, I just found you and I almost lost you again! Do you know how that--" Realising he'd started to raise his voice, Clark exhaled and sat back down.

"I'm sorry," Conner repeated, quieter.

"I'm sorry too that I couldn't get to you... in time to..." And now it was Clark's turn to fall to pieces. He kept from crying but his great, wide shoulders shook, his breath came out in ragged gasps and he couldn't feel his knees. He covered his face; the last thing he wanted was for Conner to see him like this.

It was too late. "Awww, dammit... don't... please… please don't do that. For fuck's sake... on top of everything else, I... made Superman cry."

Jagged laughter burst from his mouth. "Villains the world around will be vying to acquire the skill."

"Tell them... it's a family secret."

His words threatened to make Clark lose it again so he reached out again to put a hand on Conner's shoulder.

"Sorry," the boy said. "'Can't keep awake."

"It's all right, Con. Go ahead and sleep."

With a sigh, he closed his eyes. "My mom... called me that."

"Con?"

"Yeah. Makes you officially... my dad. Never called anyone..."

Clark had no words for the emotion he felt. Chloe was right when, in her will, she bemoaned the failings of the English language. Some things were beyond description.

Coughing down the lump in his throat, he said, "By the way, I wanted to thank you. You saved my life, you know."

Conner's eyelids flickered and his lips twitched upwards. "I know. Isn't it cool?"

This time, Clark smiled so wide he was sure he'd never stop.

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