New Fic: "Bending near the Earth" 1/2 SV, CK/LL, by Bev
Title: Bending near the earth
Author: Bev
Fandom/Pairing: Smallville, Clark/Lex
Rating: NC-17 or FRAO
Prompt 11: Getting Lost
Beta: Val, aka Danceswithgary. Thank's, dear.
Summary: Why did no one look for him? Why didn't someone miss him?
A/N: Written for the 30Moments challenge over at LJ, moment # 11 "Getting lost", the title come from the wonderful Tim Speedle from Sylum Clan. *hugs and smooches* You're the best, honey.
The accident in itself was unspectacular. A speeding car, with a driver obviously under the influence, crashed into a parked truck.
The police and an ambulance arrived only four minutes later. One of the police officers later reported that it was a miracle that the driver had survived the crash. The car was demolished but the driver, a young man in his late twenties, had barely a scratch thanks to the airbag that had deployed. Apparently, he had just bumped his head. He had been taken to Gotham Mercy Hospital and was still unconscious, although the doctors believed that he would wake up in a few hours, and the police would be able to interrogate him then.
The accident was a few lines on the next to the last page of Friday, May 11th's edition of the 'Gotham Globe.' A day later, it was forgotten.
However, the young man was still unconscious, and they didn't know his name. The car had been a rental and the name used was a fake. There had been no ID, no driver's license, nothing to identify him. Nobody knew where he'd come from; nobody knew why he was in Gotham.
The tab on his file simply read 'John Doe.'
~*~
Headline from the 'Daily Planet', Tuesday May 15th:
"Luthor Heir Missing After Deadly Crash"
All listed passengers are presumed dead in the yesterday's tragic airplane accident. Identification will take time, according to the investigators, due to the intense heat of the fire that destroyed the plane as well as a significant portion of the surrounding area.
~*~
He awoke with a raging headache and the instant pledge never to touch alcohol again, no matter what form it came in.
He opened his eyes slowly. White ceiling.
A-ha.
He moved his head a little.
White walls. White bed covers.
Hospital.
Hypothesis confirmed by a nurse, sitting beside his bed, reading some gossip magazine. He tried to speak, but his throat was like parchment. However, the noise he made caused the nurse to look at him. With a blinding smile, she got up and stepped to his side. "Glad to see you decided to join us again, sir."
She hit a little switch above his head, and then reached for a glass of water on his nightstand. Carefully, she placed a straw between his dry lips. "Easy, sir. Only little sips. That's it. Very good."
He wanted to inform the overly solicitous nurse that he was perfectly capable of drinking alone when the door opened and a tall man in a white coat walked in.
Enter the doctor, he thought, slightly amused.
"It's good to see you awake, sir. I'm Dr. Wallace Langford. You had us really worried for a while there."
He tried once more to speak, and this time it worked. "Why?"
The doctor took his chart, wrote something down, and checked some of the attached equipment. "You've been out like a light, for several days now."
He frowned. Several days? Then the hangover should be gone by now. A little irritated, he stroked back over his head with a shaking hand. He was a little startled when he could feel no hair, just a bandage stretching around his head. Well, maybe they had to shave him to treat the wounds.
The doctor took a little pencil light, and checked his left eye first, then his right, and then he did something odd. Looking at him with a serious face, he asked, "Can you tell me your name?"
"My name?"
Dr. Langford nodded. "Yes. Your name."
He stared at the doctor. Of course, he could he tell them his name. That was the easiest thing in the world, right? He was ... was ... he knew who he was. He just had to think a little bit about it. But he knew it. Of course, he knew it. His name was... was...
Gone.
He looked up at the doctor, and simply shook his head. "I don't know my name," he whispered, feeling miserable. The doctor only nodded. "Don't worry. It's not uncommon to suffer from a period of amnesia after a trauma like that. You were in a car accident and I have to admit that the circumstances of the accident were a little strange. There was no other car on the road, we found no alcohol or narcotics or any kind of drug in your blood, yet you crashed into a parked truck at high speed. Can you tell me something about that?"
He frowned and fought hard to remember anything that might give him a clue as to who he was... and why he'd crashed into a parked truck. Unfortunately, where his memory should be ... there was just one big, gaping hole. Exhausted, he shook his head in defeat.
The doctor nodded sympathetically. "I thought so. Don't worry, Mr. Doe. With a little luck, the memory loss will be only temporary. You'll see. In no time, you'll remember everything."
He looked at the doctor and recognized the Mr. Doe. John Doe. The name used for those who have no known name. He laid back and closed his eyes. A few seconds later, he heard the door open and close.
He was alone again.
~*~
Headline from the "Daily Planet", Monday 21st :
"Plane Crash Victims Identified"
The article stated that the DNA testing had been completed. Lex Luthor had officially been declared deceased.
~*~
Six days and six nights, and his memories were still AWOL. John tossed and turned in his bed from left to right and back. He had asked the doctor when they would release him, because with the exception of his amnesia, he was feeling fine. When the doctor has asked him where he'd wanted to go without an ID or any other identification, he had to concede that he was better off in the hospital.
They had called the police, to see if he was in the Missing Persons file.
Nothing.
They had put his picture in the newspapers, hoping someone would recognize him.
Nothing.
Now he was lying restlessly in the hospital bed, not knowing what to do next, and it was torturing him. He had to get out. A quick glance at the clock showed him that in about three minutes Nurse Tiffany would make her final round. After that, he could go look for some clothes, and try to get leave.
Just as predicted, Tiffany put her head through the door three minutes later. She came in, checked him, and then walked out again.
John got up quickly and went to the cabinet on the wall. He opened it carefully and smiled. Yes, there were his clothes. They'd even had them cleaned. He put them on, marveling at the expensive materials. Whoever he was, he hadn't been a poor man.
Who the hell, was he?
He slipped into his shoes (the finest Italian leather, a little voice inside his head whispered, and he had to smile at this little tidbit of information), and quietly opened the door to his room. The hallway was empty, and he managed to escape the hospital unseen.
As soon as he was outside, he took a deep breath, inhaling the cool, fresh night air.
For a few moments, he was uncertain which direction to take, and then he turned his steps to the right and started walking.
His first mistake of many that night.
~*~
Sidebar on page 19, "Gotham Herald", Friday May 25th
More homeless people than ever. Citizens urge the mayor to act.
~*~
The fire burned low in the old barrel as Missy, one of the many homeless people of Gotham, tried to warm her freezing hands. She was old. So old. And more often than not, she wished that she could fall asleep and not wake up in the morning. But whenever she felt that way, a soft voice could be heard. Whenever she was close to giving up, *he* would come. The man from out of the sky, Gotham's protector of the poor.
Gotham had Batman who took care of the rich people. He protected the city and its inhabitants from thieves, murderers, and other dark creatures. He had no time to look out for the poor people, too. The people that lived in the gutter, slept under the bridges, and ate what other people threw away.
Missy was one of those lost souls. A lifetime ago, she had been married. She had lived in a nice home, with some cats, and many memories about their children. Her husband had died one day. He had been almost ten years older, and his death had been no surprise to her. Then the owner of the apartment had told Missy that his daughter would be moving in the following month, and that Missy had to get out and find somewhere else to live.
It had been impossible for her. So she had lost her home and, not long after that, she had lost her job, too.
Ever since then, she'd lived on the street. There had been good times and bad times. For the most part, the other people in Gotham left the homeless people alone. They simply ignored the fact that they even existed.
Missy was glad about it, and she still remembered the night when she had first met the 'Angel of the poor'...
The night she had been unable to find anything to eat.
She couldn't steal, like some of her friends did every now and then, when the hunger became too much to bear, when normal rules didn't apply anymore. She also couldn't beg. Her pride was still too strong for that. So she sat under one of Gotham's many bridges, hugging her knees, shivering in the cold and feeling miserable with hunger.
Suddenly a bowl appeared before her eyes, and a friendly voice spoke to her. "You have to eat something, ma'am. Here."
She looked up into two amazingly green eyes. Shoulder-length, dark hair surrounded an angelic face. He was dressed all in black, but his face was friendly. Then her gaze dropped to the bowl he'd handed to her. It held warm soup with vegetables, even some meat. She could hardly believe it.
"Is this ... is this for me?" she asked in a shaky voice.
He knelt down before her, went right down on his knees in front of her. "Of course it's for you. I saw that you're hungry. You have to eat. It is good, hot soup. It's not quite as good as the one my mom used to make, but I can promise that it's not *that* bad."
He smiled then, a smile that seemed to shine like the sun, and warmed her from the inside out. With trembling hands, she took the bowl and wolfed the soup down. When she was halfway through, she could feel a hand on her arm.
"Slowly, ma'am. Please. Eat it slowly. Otherwise, you might not be able to keep it down."
She looked at him, and then took the next swallow a bit slower. They sat like that in silence until she finished the soup. She handed the bowl back to him, and said, "Missy. My name's Missy. I'm not a ma'am anymore. I am just a Missy."
Missy smiled at the memory as she shifted closer to the barrel. That had been the first time that she had seen him. His name was Kal, but they called him Angel behind their hands. He was always there for them. As soon as night fell, he started to visit them. He brought food and listened to the stories they told him. Sometimes, he even brought clothes for them: warm scarves, gloves, and woolen hats to protect them from the cold, thick overcoats, fluffy and almost luxurious. He never asked for anything. When they thanked him, he simply smiled and walked away. He took them to a doctor when they were injured or sick, and not one of the doctors ever asked for money or even an insurance card. The doctors treated them, smiled at Kal, made some small talk, and then gave them the medicine they needed. For free. And that was that.
He couldn't help them to get off the street. But what he did was worth so much more. He gave them hope and he made them feel human again.
Missy was sure that he could fly. She had seen it on more than one occasion. He didn't have wings, no, of course not; Missy was old but she sure wasn't stupid. He flew quietly, softly, a little like Batman, but without the cape, and the costume. He showed his face. Showed it to those who needed him; that trusted him.
Suddenly she could feel warmth surrounding her. A thick coat was gently laid over her shoulders, and she turned around, smiling. "Hey, Angel."
Two friendly eyes gazed down at her. "Hey, Missy. How's my lady doing tonight?"
She giggled, and could feel herself blushing like a schoolgirl. "I'm fine, Kal."
Kal moved a little closer to the fire. The flames were dying. Missy sighed a little. When the fire went out she'd be freezing for the rest of the night. Kal saw it, too. He moved like lightning and, within seconds, the flames were roaring, happily lapping at some new wooden blocks piled up in the barrel. She smiled. Tonight, she wouldn't need to freeze.
She spoke to Kal. "Have you seen the new one?"
He turned to her. His black eyebrows moved a little closer together, and gave his face a dark, almost brooding expression. "A new one? No. Tell me."
She gestured in the vague direction of another bridge. "I heard he got into some trouble with one of the Gotham's gangs. They took almost everything and, apparently, he doesn't know who he is."
Worry. She could see it on his face. Worry for a new homeless one who was currently alone there in the dark. She smiled. "Go, Angel. I'm fine for tonight. He needs you. Go and look after him."
A quick kiss to her cheek, and he was gone within the blink of an eye. She touched her dirty cheek, and smiled.
~*~
Kal flew into the direction Missy had showed him, and after a few seconds, he found the man she had been talking about.
He landed softly next to the man, who was sitting on the ground under the Main Bridge of Gotham. A quick x-ray showed that his heart was still beating strong. No broken bones, just a few abrasions and a black eye, but the stranger only wore a shirt and some boxers. First and foremost, he needed clothes, otherwise he would freeze to death in the cold of the Gotham night. Kal flew off and was back about two minutes later. The stranger was trembling almost violently, teeth chattering in the frigid air. Carefully, Kal addressed him, and then lit a fire with his eyes, a few feet away.
"Hello? Can you hear me?" The figure seemed to shrink even smaller, as far as that was possible. Slowly, Kal walked closer. "You don't have to be afraid. I brought clothes for you. Would you please put them on?"
He laid the bundle of clothes down next to the man and stepped back. He usually did that when he wasn't sure how someone would react to him. The stranger reached out and touched the clothes. With trembling hands, he took them, and started to dress. After a few minutes, the trembling stopped. "Who ... who are you?" croaked the man.
Kal winced. He knew what had happened whenever a man sounded like that. He had been choked, and yet, the voice sounded strangely familiar. It stirred something deep inside of him, something he had thought he'd buried long ago. He stepped a little closer.
"I'm Kal-El. I'm here to help you."
"Kal? The Angel?"
Kal smiled. "That's what I'm called. But I'm real, no heavenly creature. Would you please come out of the shadows? So I can see you?"
Of course, he could have seen through the shadows if he wished. But he had gotten used to not using that power around here. Here, where the people were out in the open all the time, he wanted to give them at least a little privacy. That included no sneaking up on them and not using his super vision.
Slowly, hesitantly, the man started to move. Step-by-step, he walked out of the shadows, and even more slowly he raised his head, looking shyly at Kal, who was standing under a street lamp.
Kal gasped. Those eyes. The bald head. The little scar on the upper lip. Now he knew why the voice had sounded so familiar. He had known it so well, earlier in his life, back when he'd been still Clark Kent. He'd heard it on countless nights when he'd sneaked away from his parents to spend an evening with his best friend.
His former best friend, Lex Luthor.
He wanted to say something, but Lex beat him to it. "Do you know me? Can you tell me who I am?"
Kal frowned. Then he remembered Missy telling him that the new one didn't know his name.
"Don't you remember your name?" he asked quietly.
He was shocked to see tears standing in those beautiful eyes. With a sob, Lex turned away from him. "No, I don't."
Kal moved closer, and then took him in his arms. "What happened?"
For a few moments, Lex tried to fight the embrace but then he gave in, and cuddled closer to Kal's warmth, instinctively accepting the once-familiar gesture. He started to tell Kal his story and he was done in about five minutes, because there really wasn't that much to tell. The accident, the hospital, the robbery; there was no more to remember.
Kal's mind raced a mile a minute. In the last months before his disappearance, Lex Luthor had done his best to become the nemesis of Metropolis. Whenever something dirty was going on, whenever money had been paid to do an illegal job ... one could be sure that somewhere along the line, the name Lex Luthor would come up.
Now his younger brother Julian was leading LuthorCorp, and the city had seemed to come to relax for the first time in decades. Their father Lionel had gone on an extended trip to Europe, and no one could say for sure when he might be coming back.
*If* he might be coming back. It was an open secret that Lionel and his son Julian didn't share the same viewpoints. It was no wonder that the moment LuthorCorp was handed over to Julian, Lionel would leave.
And he did.
Kal thought back to the plane crash from about ten days ago. The victims had been burned so badly that it had been impossible for the ME's to identify them, so they had tried to do it via genetics. One of the corpses had been a Luthor.
Apparently, it had been the Luthor patriarch. Lionel. Well, Kal wouldn't mourn for him. He'd been a real bastard, and many people had suffered because of him. Now he was gone. His younger son had stepped up to lead his empire, and his older son was currently resting in Kal's arms, sobbing quietly.
Crying his heart out for his forgotten life.
This was so un-Luthor like that Kal was absolutely sure that Lex really didn't remember a single thing about his past.
He rocked him gently.
"Ssh ... everything will be all right. I'm here now. I'll help you."
He didn't tell Lex who he was. Maybe the amnesia was a blessing. Maybe he could show Lex a life without violence and crime, without blackmailing and betraying. He still didn't know why Lex was in Gotham and didn't know what had caused the accident. He needed to talk to his doctor, a Dr. Langford.
After a while the crying slowed, Lex's breath hitched a couple of times in his throat, and then his breathing started to even out. Finally, he raised his head from Kal's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.
"What for?" Kal asked. "It wouldn't have been natural not to cry after everything that you've been through." And hadn't Lex Luthor always been anything but natural?
"They called me John," he whispered, and buried his face against Kal's neck. "Because I couldn't tell them my real name. Now I'm John. John Doe."
A John Doe in dire need of comfort and a friend. Kal knew that he couldn't leave Lex here. He had to make sure that he was safe. Once the word got out that the high and mighty Lex Luthor was living as a homeless person in Gotham's slums, the press would have a field day, and there would be no place on Earth where they wouldn't follow Lex.
He got up slowly, pulling Lex ... no, John ... up with him. "Come with me. You don't belong here."
"Don't I?" His voice sounded so insecure. So timid that it almost broke Kal's heart. No. No, he didn't belong there. Maybe the old Lex would have, but not this version, who couldn't remember a single thing he'd ever done in the past.
"No, you don't. Come on. I'll show you a place where you can sleep."
"And be safe?" John was asking, his voice sounded already drowsy.
Kal smiled. "Yes. And be safe."
He grabbed John a little tighter, and slowly took off to his apartment.
~*~
John awoke slowly. His head rested on a broad shoulder. A distinctly male shoulder. A strong hand was curled loosely around his ribs, soft breath stroked gently over his bald head. His bald head where still not a single hair grew, and maybe never would.
Kal.
The angel, the stranger had found him last night and had brought him to his home, to be safe. Somewhere in the night, a nightmare had woken him, and in an instant Kal had been at his side, comforting him, calming him down. John had asked him to stay. Kal had complied without a word.
He was lying in John's bed, holding the other man gently, making him feel safe and secure.
He still couldn't remember a thing about his past. When Kal had seen him the first time, there had been something like recognition in the tall man's eyes. But within the blink of an eye, it had been gone again. For one single, wild second John had hoped that against all odds this man might know him.
But he didn't.
Yet, though he didn't know him, he helped him. Sheltered him and gave him something to eat, something to drink, clothes and a bed to sleep in.
Hope. Safety.
"Are you awake?"
The question was a deep rumble under his ear, and he raised his head. "Yes. Good morning."
"Morning." Kal yawned, and then rubbed his eyes with one hand, a childlike gesture that made John smile involuntarily.
It was gesture that seemed strangely familiar. It rang a little bell inside him. A thought, fleeting as the morning dew passed him by, gone before he could grasp it. Sadly, he shook his head.
"You sleep good for the rest of the night?"
John sat up, and turned his back to Kal. "Yes," he threw over his shoulder. And then, as an afterthought, "Thanks."
Silence, then he could hear Kal getting up. "Good." The voice came from the end of the bed, and John closed his eyes. It hurt to be so helpless. He didn't know what to do with himself. Kal, sure as hell, had a job. And he? John?
Didn't someone miss him? Was there not a single soul out there looking for him? Worrying about him?
"We'll find out who you are." The voice was right beside his ear and startled him a bit.
"Why are you doing this?" Now that he could think clearly, this question seemed important. "Why are you out there at night? Looking after those people?"
The bed beside him dipped as Kal sat down. For a few seconds he didn't answer, and John was afraid that he might have stepped over some invisible line, but then Kal sighed deeply.
"I care for them because they have no one else who does."
"Do you know them?"
A little laughter answered him. It sounded sad. "No. I don't know them. I just ... I want to help."
*I want to help.*
Again, there were words that almost sounded familiar, a thought just outside his reach. He sighed, and put his head in his hands. This time, the hand on his shoulder was expected. "Are you all right?"
He laughed bitterly. All right? No. Not exactly. He was just about to reply something when Kal answered the question by himself. "No. I'm sorry. Of course, you're not all right. That was a stupid question."
Kal got up. His movements were fluid, with a natural grace and elegance. John watched him, and despite his condition, he had to admit that he enjoyed the view immensely.
"Do you want to go into the bathroom first?"
Kal turned around and looked at him as he waited for an answer. He wore an old, well worn t-shirt with the words "Go Crows" on it and boxers.
Go Crows. Go Crows.
He shook his head. For a moment, he thought he'd heard those words before, but now he wasn't so sure anymore.
Kal cocked his head slightly. "You don't?"
Don't? Don't what? Then John remembered that Kal had talked about the bathroom.
"No. You go first. I can wait."
Wait and think. Try to remember who he was and why he'd been involved in that strange accident. No, not involved. Why he had caused an accident without any apparent reason.
John could feel a headache coming, and with a barely suppressed groan, he let himself fall back onto the bed and pressed his hands against his eyes.
Hurt. Pain. Sorrow.
A deep, nagging sorrow. He felt desperate. He didn't realize that he was crying until he felt Kal's hands on his shoulders, pulling him up, holding him tight. Giving him comfort. He pulled away after some moments, wiping his eyes. He felt stupid. Childish. Yet he couldn't change the way he felt.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, sheepishly.
"No need to be, John," Kal answered. His voice a deep rumbling on his ear. "You have every right to feel hurt."
"Usually, I'm not such a wimp," John replied. "It's just..." He interrupted himself, and gazed up at Kal, his eyes wide. "How do I know that?" he whispered. Then a smile crossed his face. "I guess I just remembered something."
Kal reciprocated his smile. "That's great. I knew your memory would come back. Anything else?"
John furrowed his brows in deep concentration, then he shook his head. "No. No, that's it. Damn."
"Hey. Don't beat yourself up. It's a start."
Kal's hands squeezed his shoulders once more, and then he got up.
John missed his nearness instantly.
~*~
"You have to tell him."
"I know."
"So. When will you do it?"
With a sigh, Clark turned around, and gazed at Batman who was looming over him, dark and brooding. "When I think that he's ready."
A soft breeze made Batman's cape flutter, making him bigger than he was. "When will that be? When you decide that he's ready?"
Clark nodded, his jaw set stubbornly. "Yes."
Batman walked closer. "You can't keep him forever, Clark Kent."
"I don't WANT to keep him, Bruce. He's not a homeless cat or a stray dog."
Batman winced slightly when Clark addressed him by his real name. "Then why don't you bring him home to his family? To his brother? Back to his world? *Back to where he belongs!*"
Batman's voice grew louder and louder until he was yelling. A pissed-off Batman was usually something that made evil guys drop their weapons instantly, and give themselves over to the police.
Clark wasn't even remotely impressed.
"Because I think that there's a reason he came here. There were no business transactions planned for that day."
"So?"
"So I ... I think..."
"You don't know, hm?" Bruce's voice was suddenly gentle, and with a sigh, Clark dropped his head.
"No. No, I don't. I can't give you a single plausible reason why I'm not rushing to Metropolis with him and handing him over to Julian."
Bruce Wayne took off his mask, and sat down next to Clark. The cool breeze ruffled the dark hair of the younger man, and Bruce had to remind himself that he didn't have to put his cape around him to protect him from the cold. Clark didn't even feel the cold, and yet...
Clark was so young, and he looked so forlorn that Bruce felt terribly sorry for him. Carefully, he wrapped an arm around his young friend and pulled him close. "You have to let him go, Clark. Sooner or later, you have to tell him where he comes from, where he belongs. I know that you want to protect him, and that somehow you can still see the man he once was. He was your friend back from Smallville, but that can backfire. If he ever finds out that you kept him deliberately in the dark..."
Bruce didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. Both he and Clark knew that the wrath of an insulted Lex Luthor could be terrible.
"I'll take him to Metropolis as soon as he feels better," Clark murmured after a little while. "I'll show him some places and see if he remembers anything."
Bruce nodded, but remained silent.
~*~
"Metropolis?"
The suggestion came about a week later.
John frowned slightly, his head cocked slightly. The place sounded vaguely familiar but he wasn't sure whether he had heard it somewhere, or whether he actually remembered it. "Okay," he agreed after a few moments of thinking, wondering why Kal was looking so tense?
"Kal?"
Kal looked up. The smile was forced, and there was no light in his eyes.
"Are you sure you want to go?"
Kal nodded. "Yes. We've been through all of Gotham without you remembering anything. Maybe Metropolis might trigger something."
"If you think so."
He still wasn't a hundred percent convinced, especially with Kal looking like he had bitten into a lemon. But then...what other options did he have?
End of Part 1
This way to Part 2: http://community.livejournal.com/30moments/3192.html#cutid1
Author: Bev
Fandom/Pairing: Smallville, Clark/Lex
Rating: NC-17 or FRAO
Prompt 11: Getting Lost
Beta: Val, aka Danceswithgary. Thank's, dear.
Summary: Why did no one look for him? Why didn't someone miss him?
A/N: Written for the 30Moments challenge over at LJ, moment # 11 "Getting lost", the title come from the wonderful Tim Speedle from Sylum Clan. *hugs and smooches* You're the best, honey.
The accident in itself was unspectacular. A speeding car, with a driver obviously under the influence, crashed into a parked truck.
The police and an ambulance arrived only four minutes later. One of the police officers later reported that it was a miracle that the driver had survived the crash. The car was demolished but the driver, a young man in his late twenties, had barely a scratch thanks to the airbag that had deployed. Apparently, he had just bumped his head. He had been taken to Gotham Mercy Hospital and was still unconscious, although the doctors believed that he would wake up in a few hours, and the police would be able to interrogate him then.
The accident was a few lines on the next to the last page of Friday, May 11th's edition of the 'Gotham Globe.' A day later, it was forgotten.
However, the young man was still unconscious, and they didn't know his name. The car had been a rental and the name used was a fake. There had been no ID, no driver's license, nothing to identify him. Nobody knew where he'd come from; nobody knew why he was in Gotham.
The tab on his file simply read 'John Doe.'
~*~
Headline from the 'Daily Planet', Tuesday May 15th:
"Luthor Heir Missing After Deadly Crash"
All listed passengers are presumed dead in the yesterday's tragic airplane accident. Identification will take time, according to the investigators, due to the intense heat of the fire that destroyed the plane as well as a significant portion of the surrounding area.
~*~
He awoke with a raging headache and the instant pledge never to touch alcohol again, no matter what form it came in.
He opened his eyes slowly. White ceiling.
A-ha.
He moved his head a little.
White walls. White bed covers.
Hospital.
Hypothesis confirmed by a nurse, sitting beside his bed, reading some gossip magazine. He tried to speak, but his throat was like parchment. However, the noise he made caused the nurse to look at him. With a blinding smile, she got up and stepped to his side. "Glad to see you decided to join us again, sir."
She hit a little switch above his head, and then reached for a glass of water on his nightstand. Carefully, she placed a straw between his dry lips. "Easy, sir. Only little sips. That's it. Very good."
He wanted to inform the overly solicitous nurse that he was perfectly capable of drinking alone when the door opened and a tall man in a white coat walked in.
Enter the doctor, he thought, slightly amused.
"It's good to see you awake, sir. I'm Dr. Wallace Langford. You had us really worried for a while there."
He tried once more to speak, and this time it worked. "Why?"
The doctor took his chart, wrote something down, and checked some of the attached equipment. "You've been out like a light, for several days now."
He frowned. Several days? Then the hangover should be gone by now. A little irritated, he stroked back over his head with a shaking hand. He was a little startled when he could feel no hair, just a bandage stretching around his head. Well, maybe they had to shave him to treat the wounds.
The doctor took a little pencil light, and checked his left eye first, then his right, and then he did something odd. Looking at him with a serious face, he asked, "Can you tell me your name?"
"My name?"
Dr. Langford nodded. "Yes. Your name."
He stared at the doctor. Of course, he could he tell them his name. That was the easiest thing in the world, right? He was ... was ... he knew who he was. He just had to think a little bit about it. But he knew it. Of course, he knew it. His name was... was...
Gone.
He looked up at the doctor, and simply shook his head. "I don't know my name," he whispered, feeling miserable. The doctor only nodded. "Don't worry. It's not uncommon to suffer from a period of amnesia after a trauma like that. You were in a car accident and I have to admit that the circumstances of the accident were a little strange. There was no other car on the road, we found no alcohol or narcotics or any kind of drug in your blood, yet you crashed into a parked truck at high speed. Can you tell me something about that?"
He frowned and fought hard to remember anything that might give him a clue as to who he was... and why he'd crashed into a parked truck. Unfortunately, where his memory should be ... there was just one big, gaping hole. Exhausted, he shook his head in defeat.
The doctor nodded sympathetically. "I thought so. Don't worry, Mr. Doe. With a little luck, the memory loss will be only temporary. You'll see. In no time, you'll remember everything."
He looked at the doctor and recognized the Mr. Doe. John Doe. The name used for those who have no known name. He laid back and closed his eyes. A few seconds later, he heard the door open and close.
He was alone again.
~*~
Headline from the "Daily Planet", Monday 21st :
"Plane Crash Victims Identified"
The article stated that the DNA testing had been completed. Lex Luthor had officially been declared deceased.
~*~
Six days and six nights, and his memories were still AWOL. John tossed and turned in his bed from left to right and back. He had asked the doctor when they would release him, because with the exception of his amnesia, he was feeling fine. When the doctor has asked him where he'd wanted to go without an ID or any other identification, he had to concede that he was better off in the hospital.
They had called the police, to see if he was in the Missing Persons file.
Nothing.
They had put his picture in the newspapers, hoping someone would recognize him.
Nothing.
Now he was lying restlessly in the hospital bed, not knowing what to do next, and it was torturing him. He had to get out. A quick glance at the clock showed him that in about three minutes Nurse Tiffany would make her final round. After that, he could go look for some clothes, and try to get leave.
Just as predicted, Tiffany put her head through the door three minutes later. She came in, checked him, and then walked out again.
John got up quickly and went to the cabinet on the wall. He opened it carefully and smiled. Yes, there were his clothes. They'd even had them cleaned. He put them on, marveling at the expensive materials. Whoever he was, he hadn't been a poor man.
Who the hell, was he?
He slipped into his shoes (the finest Italian leather, a little voice inside his head whispered, and he had to smile at this little tidbit of information), and quietly opened the door to his room. The hallway was empty, and he managed to escape the hospital unseen.
As soon as he was outside, he took a deep breath, inhaling the cool, fresh night air.
For a few moments, he was uncertain which direction to take, and then he turned his steps to the right and started walking.
His first mistake of many that night.
~*~
Sidebar on page 19, "Gotham Herald", Friday May 25th
More homeless people than ever. Citizens urge the mayor to act.
~*~
The fire burned low in the old barrel as Missy, one of the many homeless people of Gotham, tried to warm her freezing hands. She was old. So old. And more often than not, she wished that she could fall asleep and not wake up in the morning. But whenever she felt that way, a soft voice could be heard. Whenever she was close to giving up, *he* would come. The man from out of the sky, Gotham's protector of the poor.
Gotham had Batman who took care of the rich people. He protected the city and its inhabitants from thieves, murderers, and other dark creatures. He had no time to look out for the poor people, too. The people that lived in the gutter, slept under the bridges, and ate what other people threw away.
Missy was one of those lost souls. A lifetime ago, she had been married. She had lived in a nice home, with some cats, and many memories about their children. Her husband had died one day. He had been almost ten years older, and his death had been no surprise to her. Then the owner of the apartment had told Missy that his daughter would be moving in the following month, and that Missy had to get out and find somewhere else to live.
It had been impossible for her. So she had lost her home and, not long after that, she had lost her job, too.
Ever since then, she'd lived on the street. There had been good times and bad times. For the most part, the other people in Gotham left the homeless people alone. They simply ignored the fact that they even existed.
Missy was glad about it, and she still remembered the night when she had first met the 'Angel of the poor'...
The night she had been unable to find anything to eat.
She couldn't steal, like some of her friends did every now and then, when the hunger became too much to bear, when normal rules didn't apply anymore. She also couldn't beg. Her pride was still too strong for that. So she sat under one of Gotham's many bridges, hugging her knees, shivering in the cold and feeling miserable with hunger.
Suddenly a bowl appeared before her eyes, and a friendly voice spoke to her. "You have to eat something, ma'am. Here."
She looked up into two amazingly green eyes. Shoulder-length, dark hair surrounded an angelic face. He was dressed all in black, but his face was friendly. Then her gaze dropped to the bowl he'd handed to her. It held warm soup with vegetables, even some meat. She could hardly believe it.
"Is this ... is this for me?" she asked in a shaky voice.
He knelt down before her, went right down on his knees in front of her. "Of course it's for you. I saw that you're hungry. You have to eat. It is good, hot soup. It's not quite as good as the one my mom used to make, but I can promise that it's not *that* bad."
He smiled then, a smile that seemed to shine like the sun, and warmed her from the inside out. With trembling hands, she took the bowl and wolfed the soup down. When she was halfway through, she could feel a hand on her arm.
"Slowly, ma'am. Please. Eat it slowly. Otherwise, you might not be able to keep it down."
She looked at him, and then took the next swallow a bit slower. They sat like that in silence until she finished the soup. She handed the bowl back to him, and said, "Missy. My name's Missy. I'm not a ma'am anymore. I am just a Missy."
Missy smiled at the memory as she shifted closer to the barrel. That had been the first time that she had seen him. His name was Kal, but they called him Angel behind their hands. He was always there for them. As soon as night fell, he started to visit them. He brought food and listened to the stories they told him. Sometimes, he even brought clothes for them: warm scarves, gloves, and woolen hats to protect them from the cold, thick overcoats, fluffy and almost luxurious. He never asked for anything. When they thanked him, he simply smiled and walked away. He took them to a doctor when they were injured or sick, and not one of the doctors ever asked for money or even an insurance card. The doctors treated them, smiled at Kal, made some small talk, and then gave them the medicine they needed. For free. And that was that.
He couldn't help them to get off the street. But what he did was worth so much more. He gave them hope and he made them feel human again.
Missy was sure that he could fly. She had seen it on more than one occasion. He didn't have wings, no, of course not; Missy was old but she sure wasn't stupid. He flew quietly, softly, a little like Batman, but without the cape, and the costume. He showed his face. Showed it to those who needed him; that trusted him.
Suddenly she could feel warmth surrounding her. A thick coat was gently laid over her shoulders, and she turned around, smiling. "Hey, Angel."
Two friendly eyes gazed down at her. "Hey, Missy. How's my lady doing tonight?"
She giggled, and could feel herself blushing like a schoolgirl. "I'm fine, Kal."
Kal moved a little closer to the fire. The flames were dying. Missy sighed a little. When the fire went out she'd be freezing for the rest of the night. Kal saw it, too. He moved like lightning and, within seconds, the flames were roaring, happily lapping at some new wooden blocks piled up in the barrel. She smiled. Tonight, she wouldn't need to freeze.
She spoke to Kal. "Have you seen the new one?"
He turned to her. His black eyebrows moved a little closer together, and gave his face a dark, almost brooding expression. "A new one? No. Tell me."
She gestured in the vague direction of another bridge. "I heard he got into some trouble with one of the Gotham's gangs. They took almost everything and, apparently, he doesn't know who he is."
Worry. She could see it on his face. Worry for a new homeless one who was currently alone there in the dark. She smiled. "Go, Angel. I'm fine for tonight. He needs you. Go and look after him."
A quick kiss to her cheek, and he was gone within the blink of an eye. She touched her dirty cheek, and smiled.
~*~
Kal flew into the direction Missy had showed him, and after a few seconds, he found the man she had been talking about.
He landed softly next to the man, who was sitting on the ground under the Main Bridge of Gotham. A quick x-ray showed that his heart was still beating strong. No broken bones, just a few abrasions and a black eye, but the stranger only wore a shirt and some boxers. First and foremost, he needed clothes, otherwise he would freeze to death in the cold of the Gotham night. Kal flew off and was back about two minutes later. The stranger was trembling almost violently, teeth chattering in the frigid air. Carefully, Kal addressed him, and then lit a fire with his eyes, a few feet away.
"Hello? Can you hear me?" The figure seemed to shrink even smaller, as far as that was possible. Slowly, Kal walked closer. "You don't have to be afraid. I brought clothes for you. Would you please put them on?"
He laid the bundle of clothes down next to the man and stepped back. He usually did that when he wasn't sure how someone would react to him. The stranger reached out and touched the clothes. With trembling hands, he took them, and started to dress. After a few minutes, the trembling stopped. "Who ... who are you?" croaked the man.
Kal winced. He knew what had happened whenever a man sounded like that. He had been choked, and yet, the voice sounded strangely familiar. It stirred something deep inside of him, something he had thought he'd buried long ago. He stepped a little closer.
"I'm Kal-El. I'm here to help you."
"Kal? The Angel?"
Kal smiled. "That's what I'm called. But I'm real, no heavenly creature. Would you please come out of the shadows? So I can see you?"
Of course, he could have seen through the shadows if he wished. But he had gotten used to not using that power around here. Here, where the people were out in the open all the time, he wanted to give them at least a little privacy. That included no sneaking up on them and not using his super vision.
Slowly, hesitantly, the man started to move. Step-by-step, he walked out of the shadows, and even more slowly he raised his head, looking shyly at Kal, who was standing under a street lamp.
Kal gasped. Those eyes. The bald head. The little scar on the upper lip. Now he knew why the voice had sounded so familiar. He had known it so well, earlier in his life, back when he'd been still Clark Kent. He'd heard it on countless nights when he'd sneaked away from his parents to spend an evening with his best friend.
His former best friend, Lex Luthor.
He wanted to say something, but Lex beat him to it. "Do you know me? Can you tell me who I am?"
Kal frowned. Then he remembered Missy telling him that the new one didn't know his name.
"Don't you remember your name?" he asked quietly.
He was shocked to see tears standing in those beautiful eyes. With a sob, Lex turned away from him. "No, I don't."
Kal moved closer, and then took him in his arms. "What happened?"
For a few moments, Lex tried to fight the embrace but then he gave in, and cuddled closer to Kal's warmth, instinctively accepting the once-familiar gesture. He started to tell Kal his story and he was done in about five minutes, because there really wasn't that much to tell. The accident, the hospital, the robbery; there was no more to remember.
Kal's mind raced a mile a minute. In the last months before his disappearance, Lex Luthor had done his best to become the nemesis of Metropolis. Whenever something dirty was going on, whenever money had been paid to do an illegal job ... one could be sure that somewhere along the line, the name Lex Luthor would come up.
Now his younger brother Julian was leading LuthorCorp, and the city had seemed to come to relax for the first time in decades. Their father Lionel had gone on an extended trip to Europe, and no one could say for sure when he might be coming back.
*If* he might be coming back. It was an open secret that Lionel and his son Julian didn't share the same viewpoints. It was no wonder that the moment LuthorCorp was handed over to Julian, Lionel would leave.
And he did.
Kal thought back to the plane crash from about ten days ago. The victims had been burned so badly that it had been impossible for the ME's to identify them, so they had tried to do it via genetics. One of the corpses had been a Luthor.
Apparently, it had been the Luthor patriarch. Lionel. Well, Kal wouldn't mourn for him. He'd been a real bastard, and many people had suffered because of him. Now he was gone. His younger son had stepped up to lead his empire, and his older son was currently resting in Kal's arms, sobbing quietly.
Crying his heart out for his forgotten life.
This was so un-Luthor like that Kal was absolutely sure that Lex really didn't remember a single thing about his past.
He rocked him gently.
"Ssh ... everything will be all right. I'm here now. I'll help you."
He didn't tell Lex who he was. Maybe the amnesia was a blessing. Maybe he could show Lex a life without violence and crime, without blackmailing and betraying. He still didn't know why Lex was in Gotham and didn't know what had caused the accident. He needed to talk to his doctor, a Dr. Langford.
After a while the crying slowed, Lex's breath hitched a couple of times in his throat, and then his breathing started to even out. Finally, he raised his head from Kal's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.
"What for?" Kal asked. "It wouldn't have been natural not to cry after everything that you've been through." And hadn't Lex Luthor always been anything but natural?
"They called me John," he whispered, and buried his face against Kal's neck. "Because I couldn't tell them my real name. Now I'm John. John Doe."
A John Doe in dire need of comfort and a friend. Kal knew that he couldn't leave Lex here. He had to make sure that he was safe. Once the word got out that the high and mighty Lex Luthor was living as a homeless person in Gotham's slums, the press would have a field day, and there would be no place on Earth where they wouldn't follow Lex.
He got up slowly, pulling Lex ... no, John ... up with him. "Come with me. You don't belong here."
"Don't I?" His voice sounded so insecure. So timid that it almost broke Kal's heart. No. No, he didn't belong there. Maybe the old Lex would have, but not this version, who couldn't remember a single thing he'd ever done in the past.
"No, you don't. Come on. I'll show you a place where you can sleep."
"And be safe?" John was asking, his voice sounded already drowsy.
Kal smiled. "Yes. And be safe."
He grabbed John a little tighter, and slowly took off to his apartment.
~*~
John awoke slowly. His head rested on a broad shoulder. A distinctly male shoulder. A strong hand was curled loosely around his ribs, soft breath stroked gently over his bald head. His bald head where still not a single hair grew, and maybe never would.
Kal.
The angel, the stranger had found him last night and had brought him to his home, to be safe. Somewhere in the night, a nightmare had woken him, and in an instant Kal had been at his side, comforting him, calming him down. John had asked him to stay. Kal had complied without a word.
He was lying in John's bed, holding the other man gently, making him feel safe and secure.
He still couldn't remember a thing about his past. When Kal had seen him the first time, there had been something like recognition in the tall man's eyes. But within the blink of an eye, it had been gone again. For one single, wild second John had hoped that against all odds this man might know him.
But he didn't.
Yet, though he didn't know him, he helped him. Sheltered him and gave him something to eat, something to drink, clothes and a bed to sleep in.
Hope. Safety.
"Are you awake?"
The question was a deep rumble under his ear, and he raised his head. "Yes. Good morning."
"Morning." Kal yawned, and then rubbed his eyes with one hand, a childlike gesture that made John smile involuntarily.
It was gesture that seemed strangely familiar. It rang a little bell inside him. A thought, fleeting as the morning dew passed him by, gone before he could grasp it. Sadly, he shook his head.
"You sleep good for the rest of the night?"
John sat up, and turned his back to Kal. "Yes," he threw over his shoulder. And then, as an afterthought, "Thanks."
Silence, then he could hear Kal getting up. "Good." The voice came from the end of the bed, and John closed his eyes. It hurt to be so helpless. He didn't know what to do with himself. Kal, sure as hell, had a job. And he? John?
Didn't someone miss him? Was there not a single soul out there looking for him? Worrying about him?
"We'll find out who you are." The voice was right beside his ear and startled him a bit.
"Why are you doing this?" Now that he could think clearly, this question seemed important. "Why are you out there at night? Looking after those people?"
The bed beside him dipped as Kal sat down. For a few seconds he didn't answer, and John was afraid that he might have stepped over some invisible line, but then Kal sighed deeply.
"I care for them because they have no one else who does."
"Do you know them?"
A little laughter answered him. It sounded sad. "No. I don't know them. I just ... I want to help."
*I want to help.*
Again, there were words that almost sounded familiar, a thought just outside his reach. He sighed, and put his head in his hands. This time, the hand on his shoulder was expected. "Are you all right?"
He laughed bitterly. All right? No. Not exactly. He was just about to reply something when Kal answered the question by himself. "No. I'm sorry. Of course, you're not all right. That was a stupid question."
Kal got up. His movements were fluid, with a natural grace and elegance. John watched him, and despite his condition, he had to admit that he enjoyed the view immensely.
"Do you want to go into the bathroom first?"
Kal turned around and looked at him as he waited for an answer. He wore an old, well worn t-shirt with the words "Go Crows" on it and boxers.
Go Crows. Go Crows.
He shook his head. For a moment, he thought he'd heard those words before, but now he wasn't so sure anymore.
Kal cocked his head slightly. "You don't?"
Don't? Don't what? Then John remembered that Kal had talked about the bathroom.
"No. You go first. I can wait."
Wait and think. Try to remember who he was and why he'd been involved in that strange accident. No, not involved. Why he had caused an accident without any apparent reason.
John could feel a headache coming, and with a barely suppressed groan, he let himself fall back onto the bed and pressed his hands against his eyes.
Hurt. Pain. Sorrow.
A deep, nagging sorrow. He felt desperate. He didn't realize that he was crying until he felt Kal's hands on his shoulders, pulling him up, holding him tight. Giving him comfort. He pulled away after some moments, wiping his eyes. He felt stupid. Childish. Yet he couldn't change the way he felt.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, sheepishly.
"No need to be, John," Kal answered. His voice a deep rumbling on his ear. "You have every right to feel hurt."
"Usually, I'm not such a wimp," John replied. "It's just..." He interrupted himself, and gazed up at Kal, his eyes wide. "How do I know that?" he whispered. Then a smile crossed his face. "I guess I just remembered something."
Kal reciprocated his smile. "That's great. I knew your memory would come back. Anything else?"
John furrowed his brows in deep concentration, then he shook his head. "No. No, that's it. Damn."
"Hey. Don't beat yourself up. It's a start."
Kal's hands squeezed his shoulders once more, and then he got up.
John missed his nearness instantly.
~*~
"You have to tell him."
"I know."
"So. When will you do it?"
With a sigh, Clark turned around, and gazed at Batman who was looming over him, dark and brooding. "When I think that he's ready."
A soft breeze made Batman's cape flutter, making him bigger than he was. "When will that be? When you decide that he's ready?"
Clark nodded, his jaw set stubbornly. "Yes."
Batman walked closer. "You can't keep him forever, Clark Kent."
"I don't WANT to keep him, Bruce. He's not a homeless cat or a stray dog."
Batman winced slightly when Clark addressed him by his real name. "Then why don't you bring him home to his family? To his brother? Back to his world? *Back to where he belongs!*"
Batman's voice grew louder and louder until he was yelling. A pissed-off Batman was usually something that made evil guys drop their weapons instantly, and give themselves over to the police.
Clark wasn't even remotely impressed.
"Because I think that there's a reason he came here. There were no business transactions planned for that day."
"So?"
"So I ... I think..."
"You don't know, hm?" Bruce's voice was suddenly gentle, and with a sigh, Clark dropped his head.
"No. No, I don't. I can't give you a single plausible reason why I'm not rushing to Metropolis with him and handing him over to Julian."
Bruce Wayne took off his mask, and sat down next to Clark. The cool breeze ruffled the dark hair of the younger man, and Bruce had to remind himself that he didn't have to put his cape around him to protect him from the cold. Clark didn't even feel the cold, and yet...
Clark was so young, and he looked so forlorn that Bruce felt terribly sorry for him. Carefully, he wrapped an arm around his young friend and pulled him close. "You have to let him go, Clark. Sooner or later, you have to tell him where he comes from, where he belongs. I know that you want to protect him, and that somehow you can still see the man he once was. He was your friend back from Smallville, but that can backfire. If he ever finds out that you kept him deliberately in the dark..."
Bruce didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. Both he and Clark knew that the wrath of an insulted Lex Luthor could be terrible.
"I'll take him to Metropolis as soon as he feels better," Clark murmured after a little while. "I'll show him some places and see if he remembers anything."
Bruce nodded, but remained silent.
~*~
"Metropolis?"
The suggestion came about a week later.
John frowned slightly, his head cocked slightly. The place sounded vaguely familiar but he wasn't sure whether he had heard it somewhere, or whether he actually remembered it. "Okay," he agreed after a few moments of thinking, wondering why Kal was looking so tense?
"Kal?"
Kal looked up. The smile was forced, and there was no light in his eyes.
"Are you sure you want to go?"
Kal nodded. "Yes. We've been through all of Gotham without you remembering anything. Maybe Metropolis might trigger something."
"If you think so."
He still wasn't a hundred percent convinced, especially with Kal looking like he had bitten into a lemon. But then...what other options did he have?
End of Part 1
This way to Part 2: http://community.livejournal.com/30moments/3192.html#cutid1