Find Me
Category: TV Shows » Flashpoint
Author: Ace Bullets
Language: English, Rating: Rated: T
Genre: Angst/Tragedy
Words: 5,751
A/N: My take on what Clark Lane went through on that day. Spoilers for 'Keep the Peace'. If you have not seen the finale, you have my permission to avoid this one.
If you are brave enough to read, I hope you enjoy.
Find Me
Clark Lane was starting to feel like a third wheel as he accompanied Dean Parker and his prom date, Mira, on their downtown shopping excursion. Clark was dressed casually in khakis and a white tee beneath a long-sleeved, buttoned shirt; his unruly mop of curls bouncing on his forehead as he navigated the busy sidewalk with his friends.
Mira, wearing a pink V-neck jersey and jeans, was chattering on about matching colours of boutonnieres and dresses. For the upcoming school prom, Dean's own blue shirt and jeans would be replaced with a suit and peach-coloured rose to compliment Mira's peach dress. Clark couldn't resist taking the opportunity to tease Dean about the fact that Mira had been the one to ask him out.
Not one to take a jibe lying down, Dean shot back: "What colour's your boutonniere?" all the while knowing it didn't matter because Clark was flying solo for the dance.
"Uh, whatever colour means 'no curfew because it's prom'," Clark responded smartly.
"Seriously?" an incredulous Dean asked, somewhat shocked that Clark's parents were relaxing the house rules for their son.
Clark answered that his folks had evening plans, something about going to a hotel. "Plus, they trust me," he added, "it's weird."
"Plus," Dean drawled, "you're not going to tell them."
"Scary," Clark admitted, "like your dad!" He folded his arms and eyed the blonde-haired Mira. "You sure you want to date a walking polygraph?"
The girl smiled, and sent an affectionate look Dean's way. "Yeah, I'm sure," she asserted, linking hands with her dark-haired boyfriend. Mira was fully aware that Dean was the progeny of Gregory Parker, a sergeant on the city's Strategic Response Unit and head negotiator with its best team.
They reached Clark's car, a second-hand, Harvard Blue Pearl-coloured '92 Honda Civic LX EG sedan. Dean and Mira politely turned down his offer for a ride, and he unlocked it, bidding them a quick 'see you later'. Part of him was pleased that he wouldn't need to drop them off somewhere else. A detour like that would have delayed his plans to get to City Hall to obtain a permit for the outdoor party they were planning. Why the responsibility to take care of this task had fallen to him, Clark didn't know. Maybe it was because all his friends and classmates thought he'd have an easier time with it just because his father was a police officer.
As if that makes any difference when dealing with the city for this sort of thing, he grumbled to himself as he drove towards his destination.
If Clark had turned on his radio, he would have learned of the sudden and unexpected bombing of a downtown federal building that set off city-wide panic. As it was, Clark had music blaring through the ear buds hooked to his iPod. The rolling bass and pounding drum beats of the songs he played cancelled out any noise from the world outside.
Even if he had known of that first disaster, he would still not have noticed the young man dressed in dark blue coveralls carrying a toolkit who was exiting the underground parking garage at City Hall just as Clark was entering.
The teen cruised around for a few minutes, somewhat annoyed that the first level of parking was full. He thought he spied an empty space, but the other car was parked badly, and even with his smaller vehicle, decided he didn't want to risk scratching either by squeezing in too close. Undaunted, he continued down to the second level, descending the ramp smoothly. He found a space almost immediately and pulled into it with ease.
He set the parking brake, unbuckled his seatbelt and plucked the ear buds from his ears, completely unprepared for the hellish disaster zone City Hall was about to become. Without the slightest warning, a deafening, earth-shaking blast ripped through the compound, followed immediately by a sickening, jarring crash. Clark felt as if every bone in his body was being pummeled at once by a sledgehammer; felt his world go dark with the certain, terrifying knowledge that he was being crushed to death inside his own car.
Clark's brain was a foggy mess when he slowly regained consciousness. His entire body felt as if it had just been through ten rounds in a mixed-martial-arts match against Georges St.-Pierre, and disoriented as he was, realised that he was somehow supine.
"What happened?" Clark thought groggily. "Why am I on my back?"
His left side was on fire, and every breath was agonizing. The air was choked with heavy dust that smelled of concrete and ash. Flickering fluorescent lighting cast dancing shadows across his blurred eyesight of massive, irregular shapes and dangling wires.
It soon dawned on Clark's hazy mind those irregular shapes were pieces of concrete that were once part of the parking garage structure.
His legs demanded his attention next. He'd never broken a bone before, but with his kind of excruciating pain, Clark figured they must be in very bad shape. There wasn't quite enough light to see, but he felt his lower limbs were probably jammed beneath the steering column.
I need help, he slowly pondered, still in a dazed state. Gotta call dad… Tell him something… bad happened at City Hall… Can't be an earthquake, can it? Earthquakes can't happen in Toronto, can they?
Where's my phone? Where did I leave it?
Pocket. I put it in my pocket…
He nearly yelled in pain as he tried to move his left hand towards the pocket for the cell phone. Something was wrong with his left arm, too.
Gingerly, Clark snaked his right hand across his body and began the difficult task of finding the mobile device that was his salvation. After several interminable minutes, his numb fingers finally secured it.
Ten missed calls…?
Clark squinted at the screen, which was thankfully not broken as he feared it might be.
Dad… Mom… Dean… They've all been trying to reach me…
He hit re-dial to the one person he knew was fully capable of making things better; of making things happen: his father. He needed his father to assuage his fears and to rescue him; needed to hear his father's voice tell him everything was going to be okay.
Clark was unprepared for the tone of recrimination in that voice when it answered.
"Where the hell are you?"
"D-dad…" Clark managed to weakly croak.
Instantly, worry replaced his father's initial brusque manner. "Clark, what's goin' on? Talk to me."
"Uh…" the teen whispered, taking in another ragged, pain-filled breath before answering.
"Talk to me!"
Every word was a struggle as the air quality continued to degrade. "Can't… move…"
"Clark… Clark… you at City Hall?"
A gasp was the only reply Clark could provide.
"Are you in City Hall?"
Clark heard the tremble in his dad's voice; noted how the pitch changed. He knew his father was terrified for his safety.
"Yes…" Clark groaned, "…garage…"
"Okay, okay, stay with me."
"Can't…mm-ugh…" Clark tried to squeeze the words through clenched teeth.
"It's okay, just stay with me."
Clark realised that his dad was trying to remain calm for his sake, but knew the panic was still there.
"I'm…here…"
"Call Donna, tell her Clark's at City Hall! Track his phone!"
He must be talking to the team, Clark deduced. Spike will track my phone... Thank you, God! They're gonna find me… they're gonna find me…
"I'm comin' to get you."
Dad… hurry.
"Stay with me."
I'll try, dad… Please, just find me. Get me outta here.
"Clark, let me ask you: do you feel any pain?"
"Yeah… side… hurts… legs… legs are killing…" Clark grimaced.
"Hey, it's good, buddy. Means your spine's okay. Now, Clark, I know this is hard, but I need you to slow your breathing right down for me. Let's get that heart-rate down, okay?"
Clark obeyed, putting every ounce of effort into tamping down his own panic; forced himself to inhale and exhale at longer intervals; heard his father tell him it would help slow any blood loss.
"Now, I taught you sniper breathing, right? Clark?"
Sniper breathing, Clark mulled. Breathe slow and steady. So slow, you can count your own heartbeats… so slow… so slow you can shoot someone dead between heartbeats…
The teen felt his head swimming. He didn't know if his vision was fading or if the lighting had finally sputtered out, leaving him in darkness. His grip on consciousness was slipping away from him, and the sound of his father's voice started waning to background static.
"Clark? Clark! Look, I know it's hard for you to speak, but… Clark, I know you can hear me. You are such a strong kid, and I am so proud of you. Now, I need you to stay strong. I'm on my way."
Clark gasped again; felt powerless to keep his eyes open any longer. Without a trace of fear or panic, he wondered if he'd ever wake up again.
"I love you, buddy; I love you."
I love you, too, dad…
"Clark!"
Clark stirred slightly at the sound of someone calling his name. It was oddly familiar; feminine, and fraught with worry.
I'm here, he wanted to cry out, but his vocal cords refused to obey.
"I'm at City Hall, looking for Clark. Can anybody hear me?!"
The fog clouding his brain cleared marginally. He was certain now he knew that voice.
Yeah, I do know who that is… That's Donna Sabine… Dad must have sent her…Thank you, Team Three.
Relief washed over him like a warm, comforting tide, believing fully that his deliverance was at hand.
"I know protocol, Boss, but this is Ed's kid!"
A small memory, unbidden, sparked in some region of Clark's brain of his would-be rescuer sharing a laugh with his dad at the Lane dinner table several months ago. He'd never considered it before, but it dawned on him that after the members of Team One, his father probably counted Donna Sabine as one of his closest friends. He remembered thinking it was weird at first that his dad had walked her down the aisle at her wedding, but now he realised the bonds of friendship and trust must run very deep between them.
"Clark! Eddie, I'm right here!"
Donna, I'm right here! Can't you see me? God, please let her see me! Let her find me!
Clark wanted to call out; made several lame attempts to make some kind of noise to attract attention, but it was as if he were paralysed.
"Clark?!"
Donna! Constable Sabine… Why can't you see that I'm right here?
The teen wanted to cry tears of frustration that his body refused to obey. The noises of people moving around with crunching footsteps, thuds and echoes, tantalizingly close, brought hope surging to the fore that he was only moments away from being released from this prison.
"Anybody there?"
Another voice called out, this time male.
"Jimmy, we gotta go. Team Three, let's move."
Clark felt his stomach lurch and his blood run cold at this command.
You're leaving?! Oh, no. No! Don't go! Damn it, I'm right here! Please don't go… Donna… Oh, God, make her come back. Get them to come back! Clark sent his desperate, silent petition as he heard the sure sounds of people retreating.
"Always, Eddie."
One last utterance, and then there was a terrible, mocking silence.
Dad… Dad… Are you talking to Donna? Why is she leaving? Tell her to come back! Tell her to come back!
Please… Team Three… he silently begged. Please, come back…
But there was no reprieve for the trapped son of Ed Lane.
Darkness enveloped him once again as hopelessness forced him into merciless submission.
I love you, buddy; I love you.
It wasn't so long ago that Clark Lane would have had a hard time believing those words from his father. In fact, the expectation of even hearing those words had eroded away after too many days, weeks and months of watching his dad come home from a job that had turned him into a monster.
A monster. That's what Ed Lane was: a monster that killed people for a living.
As Clark hovered just below the surface of consciousness, reflexes sluggish and limbs like dead weights, his brain carried him off to places and times he wouldn't ordinarily travel on his own. But now, he was an unwilling passenger, helpless to wrench himself from the mental journey that was filled with memories of disturbing conversations, harsh words, and terrifying tableaux. Oddly enough, Clark seemed to sense that only physical pain awaited him on the other side of wakefulness, so perhaps remaining here, floating in an almost dream-like state, was a safer option.
Man of few words. Like your dad.
Me? Like my dad? No way, man. My dad kills people for a living. Trains, like, 24/7 with all of that sniper breathing crap so he can be better at killing.
You sure? I see a lot of Ed in you.
There is nothing about my father I can relate to. Nothing. I can't even stand to look at his face; the sound of his voice… nothing! He's like… he's like a friggin' zombie when he comes home from work. Everything pisses him off.
I'm practicing for my recital… Izzy's fussing in dad's arms, and he goes off on me like it's my fault she's in a crabby mood, like it's my playing that's bothering her. Mom tries to explain that I'm not just messing around on the piano… As always, dad's clueless. Like it's our fault he can't keep it straight in his head about when I'm performing. Why are you the last one to know? You're not the last one to know, dad. You're just so messed up right now. It's all about your job. You don't care about us. You only care about what goes on out there. And you can't even see that it's turned you into a monster.
Clark stirred slightly, his brow creased, tormented by his mind's replay of the recent past.
Dad's team members calling out for his status… My father doesn't respond… Silence. No response. No response… The minutes seemingly ticking by, much longer than they should without contact; without any word or sign…
A whimper escaped the teen's lips. Surely, his father had to be okay? Maybe the ride-along was a bad idea. It was definitely a bad idea getting out of the truck… What kind of person runs into a house without knowing the full extent of the danger within?
There's a right way, and a wrong way. We have to obey the law.
Yeah. 'The law'. My dad shot a teen-aged girl. Did you know that? Yeah. She was protecting her mother. Trying to stop a violent man. She didn't deserve to die.
No.
The newspaper said her name was May Dalton. She was eighteen years old. I just turned eighteen. She was my age. We could have been classmates. I could have known her; she was probably just like any of the girls I know from school. She didn't have to die.
Everyone knew it, Dean. He knew it. But he followed 'the law'.
Did he tell you that?
Of course not; mom did. She had to say something. Something to explain the mood swings; the silence… I mean, sometimes, you'll just find him, and he's in the middle of doing something, just … getting a glass out of the cupboard. You know, it's like someone had just pressed 'pause'. He's just dead still, staring at the countertop. And the worst part is, when I look at him now, that's all I see: the guy who had to do that. The guy who had to put a bullet in that girl's head. I mean, what kind of guy even does that, Dean?
Clark moaned. His physical trauma was starting to overtake his mind's ability to block out the worst of it.
Clark, what you said earlier: about your dad killing that girl? He had to do it. It was the right thing.
Yeah?
When we were in that lane, talking to that sergeant? He was messed up. You could see it. He was just so lost. That's why your dad followed the law. He knows what happens when you don't. He knows what you become.
He is so torn up, Dean.
What your dad had to do was terrible. But he made the right call.
We are going to be in a world of trouble when our dads get back…
You know, if you wanna be a cop, you've gotta learn to follow the rules.
Yeah, we- we get it.
Okay, let's go.
That's it? I'm not grounded til I'm like, thirty? Did our dads really just say we're going for pizza? After all that stuff that just happened?
Practicing again, quickly, before dad gets home. He'll only ride my case if he catches me again, because it gets on his nerves; because he thinks it bothers Izz… If he were around more often, he'd know it actually soothes her. He'd know she's scared of him when he's in one of his dark moods, which is pretty much all the time…
Sorry… I can stop.
No, don't stop; it's beautiful.
Don't stop? That's new. Wait. I think he means it… And he's looking at me as if he really sees me. Not like the past few months where it's like he's looking past me; like I don't exist; like everything I do disgusts him. He's seeing me. There's something… different about him… something has changed… The tension… it's not there anymore. He wants me to know something about the job; wants to share what it was like to be the one to end that girl's life. Wants me to know how much it hurt him to have to follow the law in that situation.
He's crying. My father is honest-to-God crying. He's holding me now. Wants me to know he's sorry. Wants me to know he's proud of me, and that not a day goes by that he doesn't think about the lives he's taken, and the lives he failed to save. Wants me to know he's been going about it all the wrong way, and hopes that I can forgive him for not being real about how the job affects him. Wants me to know he's not a cold-blooded robot who only knows how to pull a trigger on another human being. His tears are so real, I start crying, too, because I've never seen him cry, and this is new, for both of us.
"Ed, we tracked his signal to the second level of the parking garage, but we haven't found him yet. Hold on, Ed - Ed, I got the car. I'm sorry, Ed, but, uh - it's crushed under concrete. It's not looking good."
Is someone there? Don't give up. Please. Don't leave like the others did. I'm here. I'm in my car. Please, find me. I don't want to die here. Not like this.
"Steve! Steve!"
Dad?
"Ed."
Dad, are you really here?
"Where is he?"
"Phone signal's here, man. It's gotta be him."
"Clark! Clark!"
I'm right here, dad… Hurry…
Through his semi-conscious state, Clark was aware of the rumbling of concrete chunks being moved and shifted; heard the desperation in his father's cries.
"Clark!"
Relief surged forth once again, and Clark was almost content to let his tired, battered body succumb to painless sleep; his father's voice, so close, filling him with hope, knowing that if he passed out again, he'd be in safe hands.
"Donna, what's happening?"
An anguished yell… No, a wordless scream; a deep, prolonged bellow of rage and fury reached Clark's ears. It filled him with trepidation; frightened him. He'd never heard his father sound like that before.
"Clark! Clark! Steve, get in here. Get the oxygen mask in there. Clark! Clark!"
So close. Clark could tell that his dad was right there; right above him, directing the emergency workers to assist. More light began filtering in as debris was tossed away from the broken window and twisted doorframe.
"Let's clear the door. Let's clear it."
A grating, crunching noise rattled the thin air. With so much activity going on around him, Clark was becoming confused and even more disoriented.
"Pull it."
"Get in there."
Something was pressed to his face. Clark wasn't sure what it was; couldn't decipher what was going on anymore; a bright light in his face, visible even through closed eyelids, almost painful after being so long in the darkness. But he could feel air being forced into his lungs, pushing him back to the surface of consciousness.
"Clark, I'm here. You're gonna be alright, buddy. I'm right here."
The hiss of the oxygen mask mixed with his father's desperate mutterings; words that were both pleading and encouraging him to be okay.
His lungs finally responded, and a cough emitted brought total relief to his overburdened, anguished father.
Clark's eyelids fluttered open, and he blinked several times before focusing on his father's tear-stained face.
"Let's get a board," Ed commanded, the request being hastily repeated by an attending paramedic.
Clark was still woozy and aching terribly, but he was quickly comforted by the grateful smile gracing his father's lips.
You found me, he thought, unable to quite articulate his own relief yet. His mouth felt so dry; throat scratchy.
"Let's get that board!" Ed cried out again, as if repeating the request would somehow make it happen faster. "Let's get that board down here."
Ed's need to extricate his son from the contorted confines of the destroyed Honda was almost starting to interfere with his professional judgment, but the emergency responders knew the situation; knew that they would be just as demanding if it was their own flesh and blood trapped down there.
"Wha-what happened?" Clark finally managed to utter, the question of why the parking garage had collapsed on top of him foremost on his mind.
His father was calmer now, reassuring him. "You're okay. You're okay. We're gonna take care of you, alright?"
Clark merely nodded and let his eyes close again, secure in the knowledge that he'd soon be on his way out of this hellhole.
"You guys, I've got him. We're good. We're good here."
While the paramedics did their best to avoid any jarring movements that could potentially exacerbate Clark's injuries, the teen still felt every minute shift in position multiplied exponentially.
Now would be a great time for some painkillers, he thought, gritting his teeth as his head and neck were immobilised and his body strapped down to the board to begin transport. All along, his father was there, muttering soothing words that everything was going to be all right. It got to be a little annoying after the first dozen times, but Clark had to admit he needed to hear those assurances.
"Dad…" he stated anxiously when there was a brief lull in the activity around him. "Was it an earthquake?" If it had been, as Clark had initially surmised, fear of a sudden aftershock began to creep into his thoughts. He didn't relish the thought of being buried under a pile of concrete again, not after finally being found.
Ed quickly shook his still tear-stained face; pondered what to tell his son. Honesty won out. "No. Not an earthquake. It was a bomb, Clark."
"A bomb? Seriously?" Clark uttered in shocked surprise.
"Yeah," Ed replied with a short nod, feeling his chest tighten at the destruction and death he'd witnessed at the Health and Wellness building earlier; holding back more tears as he thought of Donna…
Well, that explains everything, Clark concluded, remembering now the deafening blast he'd heard just before his car had been crushed. Who'd want to bomb City Hall?
"Some sicko trying to kill the mayor, or something?" Clark asked, half-jokingly. He stifled a morbid giggle, and grimaced at the shock of pain that stabbed through his side.
"No… we don't know… There's been others… Not just City Hall." Ed swallowed the lump in his throat, again tormented by the terrible knowledge of what the third bomb had just taken from them. "When we couldn't reach you, Clark… Dean told Greg you'd gone to a municipal building… Your mom and I…. We were so worried, son."
Steve gently nudged Ed. "Okay, we've cleared a path to get him out, Ed. Let's go."
"All right," Ed nodded. He gave Clark a look of encouragement and edged himself back carefully, still keeping hold of his hand.
"You ready, Clark? We're gonna get you out of here, so hang on," Steve advised.
"Okay," Clark whispered hoarsely, and braced himself for the inevitable jolt of pain and discomfort that was sure to greet him when he was moved.
The movement was surprisingly gentle as the paramedics and firefighters angled him carefully through a narrow opening in the demolished parking structure. It was almost surreal to Clark as he was carried through the dim, dust-choked surroundings with electrical wiring dangling like odd tentacles from what used to be the upper level of the garage.
"Easy, easy," Ed urged them on. He pulled away when his cell phone started ringing. Sophie. It was with a thankful heart that he was able to reassure his wife that their son had been found alive. "He's gonna be okay; he's getting an IV started, and... and he's okay. He's conscious."
Sophie, however, didn't want to be spared anything, and Ed gave in, knowing it would hurt her to hear her first-born was indeed injured.
"Soph, he's got a broken leg, a broken wrist… I think he's got some broken ribs… I'm telling you everything I know."
"Is-is he okay?" Sophie inquired timidly, voice on edge, still needing to have her fears allayed, in spite of Ed's attempts. "Where are you taking him? I'll meet you there."
"No, no," Ed warned. "Stay at home with Izzy. Just stay safe. It's not over, okay? I'm gonna take him to the hospital; get him X-rayed. We're gonna check him out, everything's gonna be fine."
Sophie's voice was still trembling. "Just tell him I love him, okay?"
Steve broke in. "Ed - we're ready to move."
"Okay, Soph, I gotta go," Ed said.
"Eddie… please," Sophie entreated, "be careful."
"I will," he vowed. "Okay. I love you. 'Bye." He ended the call and followed his son's gurney to the waiting ambulance.
"Dad?" Clark called out weakly. His father had been out of his line of sight for too long.
"I'm here, Clark," Ed replied, coming right up to the doors as Steve and his team were hoisting the teen.
"Good," he sighed. "Was that mom?"
"Yeah, buddy." A smile graced his lips. "She's home with Izzy. I told her you're okay. She wants you to know she loves you, okay? Now, I don't want her to leave the house because this thing still isn't over yet."
Clark's eyes widened with understanding. "There's more bombs out there?"
Ed nodded solemnly. "We think so. We thought we had the guy, but…"
"But what?" Clark prodded.
"We were wrong. He's still out there." Ed had to ruthlessly shove aside his grief as his grip on his emotions was slipping away again. It was taking every ounce self-control not to yell and curse at what the madman's actions had done to his son; to keep certain knowledge that Donna was dead from utterly undoing him.
"Dad…" Clark said tentatively, his expression turned pensive.
"What is it?"
"I think I might have been hallucinating or something, but… I could have sworn that I heard Donna and her team down here before you came, but then they went away… Did I imagine all that?"
Ed's spirits dipped and he shook his head, his throat constricting as he remembered how he instructed Donna to abandon her search for his son. "No," he whispered. "You didn't imagine it. She wanted to find you Clark, she was down here, but she had to go try to track down the guy who's been planting the bombs, so… I told her to go…"
"Because you wanted to find me," Clark added.
"Because I wanted to find you," Ed echoed, smiling through his heartache.
Clark read the expression on his father's face and knew something awful was hiding behind the smile. "What's wrong, dad? You found me. I'm-"
"Right after Donna left, she took her team into a building where we thought the bomber was," Ed explained, seized with a fit of anger and remorse. "I don't know all the details, Clark, but… it was the wrong guy. It was a set-up from the beginning, and... She's dead, Clark. Greg said she was standing right in front of the guy when the bomb he was wearing went off."
Clark went silent for a few beats, realising for the first time how much more tragic a day this was turning out to be. He hadn't considered for a moment much beyond his own predicament; hadn't imagined there could have been heavier losses suffered. Now he saw the very real pain in his father's eyes that had initially been veiled by concern for his safety.
"I'm sorry, dad. I didn't know," Clark said. "I -I was so mad and scared when she stopped looking for me when they were so close… but…"
"Don't think about it anymore, Clark. It's not your fault," Ed stated. "The guy who did this will pay for what he's done, all right?"
"Yeah," Clark said in agreement, "after all, he totalled my car. Nobody gets away with that."
In spite of everything, Ed couldn't help but chuckle. "Okay," he said, "let's get you fixed up. You ready to ride?"
"I'm gonna be okay," Clark said, closing his eyes briefly, suddenly feeling fragile and vulnerable, trying to reassure himself with a mini pep-talk.
"You're gonna be fine," whispered Ed lovingly.
Clark took a breath. He truly wanted his father to stay with him, but felt in his bones that this time, the job truly needed to come first. "You gotta go, dad," Clark said bravely.
Ed shook his head. "I'm not goin' anywhere."
"No, dad, please," the boy begged, thinking of how proud he was of his father and of all the sacrifices that had already been made. I'm safe now, he thought, but the rest of the city isn't. "You gotta get this guy."
"Ed," Steve interrupted from the open bay doors of the ambulance, "comin' or goin'?"
"Just - no, hang on, hang on," Ed answered distractedly, and turned back to his son. "Buddy, I'm not-"
"Dad, no," Clark insisted, "you gotta do this. I'm gonna be fine. Please…"
Ed could see in Clark's face it wasn't false bravado urging him on. "Are you sure?" he asked, nevertheless.
"Yes," Clark responded. You have to do this, dad. Do it for me, and do it for Donna. Get this guy. I know you can do it.
Ed didn't need any further convincing. "Okay," he said, struck by the fervor in his son's plea. "Okay, I'll see you at home." He leaned over and gently kissed Clark's forehead. "I love you," he uttered. "Your mom and I love you."
"I love you, too," Clark said, and watched as his father hopped off the back of the ambulance, sending him one last look, a look filled with pride. Two slaps on the closed doors signalled to the driver it was time for them to take the precious cargo to the hospital, and Clark was on his way.
As he was borne quickly to his destination, Clark whispered a silent prayer for his father's safety. Somehow, he had the bold confidence that his father, the man who had been such a distant, damaged stranger for so long; the man who had come to his rescue and found him would also be the man who would work with his team today to find the solution to the chaos - and ultimately find the man responsible.
I know you'll find him, dad. And when you do, I know you'll nail his sorry ass to the wall. You'll find him, just like you found me.
END