A Woman Scorned

by a campbell

Clark Kent/Lex Luthor, Rachel Dunleavy

Thanks to: Alexia, for the bunny and to fajrdrako for the beta

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She bent over him where he lay on the worn mattress, bound to the wrought-iron frame by straps stained with perspiration . Asleep now, thankfully. He’d worn himself out moaning and retching, with dry heaves that had gone on for what seemed like hours and reduced her to a shaking bundle of nerves. As soon as he lost consciousness, she closed partially the small box that housed the green shards, and put it on the oak dresser, some distance away. Not too far away, though.

Clark…no, Lucas, her son. She tried not to keep thinking of him as Clark when it wasn’t his real name, but after all her research it was a hard habit to break. What a relief to have him here at last. Her beautiful son, whose physical appearance had been a breathtaking surprise when she’d finally seen his photographs in the Kent house and then had sight of him in person after days of lurking around his farm. Fruitless evening peering through windows after dark, hoping to catch a glimpse of him having ice cream for his dessert or bent over schoolbooks at the kitchen table. He was here with her, now : no need to share him with anyone. She was forced to admit that she saw no trace of parentage, of Lionel or herself, in the young man’s raven hair, sea-green eyes, and finely-chiseled features: brow, cheeks, lips. Well, beyond perhaps a hint of Lionel in the strong jaw and mellow, youthful voice. Still, that happened often. Physical characteristics skipped generations, showed up or disappeared in unexpected places. That didn’t make him any less her son.

A thin film of perspiration beaded an upper lip that bore faint traces of five-o-clock shadow. The plaid flannel shirt was soaked with sweat and twisted around the boy’s spare, muscular chest, baring trim stomach muscles she yearned to touch. His lips moved slightly as he slept, he frowned, as though still in pain, and Rachel’s heart constricted for a brief moment before she admonished herself sternly to have more backbone. Now was the time to be strong. If she’d learned anything from Lionel Luthor, it was that weakness was a liability.

She cast her thoughts back over the years to the day she’d given birth. The best medical care arranged by Lionel, as far as that went. Concern that hadn't extended to his being there with her. The agony of the pains that had nearly torn her in two. Then merciful oblivion, and the devastation of awakening to the grief of empty arms. She’d never forgive Lionel Luthor for that. Ever. Eighteen years and the void remained. But had it taken her another eighteen years to find her child, she’d not have given up.

She didn't let herself dwell on the bonds wound tight around her son’s wrists and forearms, securing him to the bed. Or on the glowing green stones in the nearby half-open box. They were a necessity right now, not a choice. She shook her head to clear it, and forced herself to smile brightly as she straightened to a sitting position. Her hand trembled like an aspen in the wind as she brushed the boy’s bottom lip with a slim finger.

It was only for a while. Everything would be better, soon. The restraints and rocks could be discarded when they’d had more time to talk, as soon as he realized and accepted how important it was that he stay with her, own her as his mother. Be her son, at last. He was in no real danger, she told herself. Of course he wasn’t. As soon as the rocks were gone, he’d be better. She’d atone for the harshness of his capture by finally mothering him as she’d yearned to do all those long, lonely years. Then they could have the perfect life they’d both been cheated of so far. Could be happy, together, at last.

Planning that life together was all that had kept her going during those bleak years at the asylum.

It hurt her as much as it hurt him to see him suffering that way: pale and shaking, pleading…it did. If only she hadn’t had to resort to force, to using the rocks. If only the Kents had made this easier for her.

The day before, she’d waited for a long time on a deserted stretch of the country road that led to his house, standing beside a car she pretended was broken down. She’d hired two strong men, drifters just passing through, men with no interests beyond earning enough money to get drunk that night. Who wouldn’t talk to anyone, who didn’t care, who’d concealed themselves in the woods nearby as she’d ordered.

She’d rather not have used the rocks. But she’d been watching Clark long enough to know that they reduced him to a groaning, quivering mass. She really hated having to do it. But she needed the advantage. Just until he saw reason.

She’d grown cold in the waning light of the early winter afternoon. At last, Clark came zipping along the road. Such a clever lad, her son, fast and agile, much more so than most teenage boys. Track star, Olympic runner perhaps, if Jonathan Kent had been more supportive of his gifts. Clark slowed to a stop near her vehicle. When he approached her and offered to help, wary, but obliging, as usual, she’d pulled out the box with the rocks, and opened it with an innocent smile. Shoved it pretty much under his nose. She’d been surprised at how fast he’d gasped, paled, turned gray and clammy, clutched his stomach and crumpled moaning to the ground. He’d not been able to speak until he was back at the house, tied to the bed, and the wanderers had departed with their money. Then he’d found his voice.

Please, he’d gasped. Don’t do this. Let me go. My parents will be worried. My friends…Lex…

That isn’t important, she’d said. Can’t you see? Your adoptive parents can do without you for a bit, and so can your friends. I’m your real mother, and I’ve been cheated of your entire life.

Clark tossed his head in anguish from one side to the other, tears oozing from beneath tight shut eyelids. "Please don’t. You must understand..."

She took a deep, gasping breath, raking cold fingers through her hair as she recalled the conversation.

She’d spoken to him for a long time. Tried to calm him, bring him around. "Lucas, you must understand. It’s for both of us, not just for me. It’s for the best. Say you’ll stay with me. Please."

"My name is Clark," he protested. He kept repeating it at regular intervals, a pleading mantra of desperation that made Rachel obliquely angry. He was rejecting her. But she’d change his mind.

She kept talking to him in a low, crooning voice as she dabbed at his perspiring face with a wadded handkerchief. "Lucas, having you here is worth all those years of sorrow and abandonment. Everything I suffered. I’ll make it all up to you, I promise." But all he’d done was moan. He’d stopped begging her to free him after awhile, seeming to know it was useless, and had finally slipped into unconsciousness without making a commitment of any kind.

***

The afternoon shadows were lengthening for the second time, and the air was turning cold. Rachel forced her thoughts back to the present. Pale winter sunlight had warmed the fields during the afternoon, but now the short day was nearly done.

Her son remained unconscious. Was he chilled? She laid one hand on a cheek, and going to the closet, shook out a dingy, lightweight blanket to cover him. He groaned and stirred a little, eyes fluttering open briefly and then sinking closed again. She tucked the blanket snugly around him and rose to her feet.

She walked slowly to the window and peered outside, letting her glance roam over the yard and across the field to the dark line of trees at the edge of the property. She flicked at the tattered screen with a fingernail, gazed in grim fascination at the decaying remains of a dead bird trapped between the broken shutter and the window, and refused to let herself think about how long she could hope to hide him out here. She just knew she had to convince him to stay before they were found.

Rachel shivered.

And right now, she told herself, should start a fire so it would be warmer in here when her son awakened.

***

Bending over to grasp one of the logs in the bucket beside the wood stove, she felt an uneasy prickle of awareness flit up her spine and on up the back of her neck. Someone else was in the house.

"Ms. Dunleavy."

Her stomach flipped over with a jolt at the silk-soft voice behind her. She whipped around.

She should have shut and locked the inside door earlier.

Lex Luthor, Lionel’s son. His legitimate son, she thought bitterly. Who had enjoyed every privilege, every advantage, that her son had lacked. Damn him.

How could she help but hate him?

Something was wrong this afternoon, though. Lex, usually relaxed and confident, appeared pale and distressed, as though he hadn’t slept or eaten. He swallowed hard, and his voice was almost raw when he spoke again.

"Ms. Dunleavy, I’m looking for Clark Kent. No one’s seen him since the day before yesterday. His parents are frantic." Lex seemed out of breath as he wiped a hand over his scalp. "I’ve searched everywhere today on my own and found nothing. Can you help?"

Though she knew she should pretend ignorance, she heard herself saying, "I’m surprised you’d go to this trouble yourself. I would think a Luthor would be able to hire all the assistance needed, and not have to take time from his busy schedule." Lex was a strangely handsome young man, she thought, despite the lack of hair. Trim form, smooth skin, graceful. Though he couldn’t hold a candle to her own son for beauty. "But then, he is your brother, and you’ve never had a brother, have you?"

A shadow passed over Lex’s face, his lips twitched with what might have been disgust, and he looked vulnerable for a brief moment. "Clark is my friend," he said. "Time isn’t an issue. I remembered our conversation last week, and thought you might know something."

She shrugged, and spread her hands. "I haven’t seen him."

Lex sighed, and his shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly. "Then I’ll have to keep looking."

"Perhaps." She did her best to sound noncommittal, hoping desperately that he would leave.

Lex turned toward the door, then hesitated. He glanced sharply at Rachel, then sauntered back, retraced his steps until he stood directly in front of her. He held her gaze with his own, and she opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the words died on her lips.

"Tell me the truth. Is he my brother?"

"Clark?" Rachel nodded firmly. "I mean Lucas. Of course. Of course he is."

"Can you prove it? The DNA test. The results. You have them?"

Rachel sighed. "Science is not infallible, Lex. Sometimes, you must follow your heart."

"Ms. Dunleavy, my heart isn’t talking to me. If Clark is my brother, I want to know. You don’t know how badly I want to know." He clenched and unclenched his hands, then looked at his watch, and at the door.

"He is your brother, Lex," she repeated. He turned back to her, gazed at her for a long moment.

"I want proof," he whispered.

"I have proof," she insisted. "But it’s confidential."

"Okay," said Lex. "Let’s leave that alone for now. Clark is missing. He could be hurt. Whether or not he’s your son, Ms. Dunleavy, you need to tell me whatever you know. It could help us find him."

"I don’t know anything, Lex," Rachel said, spreading her palms wide and giving him a nervous smile. She hoped he couldn’t see that her hands were shaking.

Lex regarded her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "I don’t believe you," he said, his voice low and firm. "You’ll forgive me if I search this house."

Cold fear gripped her. "You can’t do that without a warrant," she protested. It’s illegal. It’s my house."

Lex’s brow darkened, his lips twitched with the ghost of a smile. He reached into his pocket and drew forth a pistol. "Just stay where you are and no one will get hurt."

Rachel felt herself crumble inside. She glared at Lex. "He is my son."

"And his real mother would be concerned if he were missing. And want him found. Unless she knew otherwise."

***

"Clark!" Lex was at her son’s side in a flash. He tugged at the too-tight bonds, and swore savagely. Rachel moved to grip the bedpost as Lex bent down to speak to Clark in a tone of desperate urgency.

"God! What did she do to you, Clark?" The thick need in his voice carried back to Rachel where she stood, summoning up whatever defiant strength she could. “What have you done to him?” he shot back to her. Lex shook Clark’s arm gently, then stroked the side of his face.

Clark opened his eyes, barely, and winced as though the light hurt his eyes. "Lex, help me," his voice a whisper that trailed off into a groan as he licked bleeding lips. Lex was white already, but it looked to Rachel as though he paled even further. He turned about, cold fury in his eyes.

"Let him go," he commanded, his voice low and lethal. "I’m asking you, first. If you don’t undo these bonds, I’m ripping them off with my teeth. And then, I’ll kill you."

She forced a laugh. "I’m not afraid of you. You Luthors are all alike. You talk big, but, inside, you’re all cowards." She rejoiced at how calm she sounded.

Clark struggled awake. His voice came out in a whimper this time, barely audible. "Lex…" He began to cough, and then gagged.

Lex leaned on the mattress, pulling Clark as close as he could. "Clark, please tell me you’re okay. Please."

It was a few minutes before Clark could speak. "Be careful, Lex,” he groaned in a ragged whisper. "She’s more dangerous than you realize. You shouldn’t have come alone. Call for help."

"I can take care of myself," Lex hissed. He reached down to brush the sweat-damp hair from Clark’s brow, and bent down to touch his lips to his cheek.

Rachel was quiet for a moment, visited by dawning awareness. "You’re more than just friends," she murmured. No wonder Lex had looked so strange that morning in his office when she had laid out what had happened.

Lex raised his head to look at her. For a moment, she thought he was going to protest, but something seemed to snap within him. "He’s everything to me," Lex said simply. He bent over Clark again. "You’re sick, Clark. Did she give you something?"

"The meteor rocks in the box," Clark said weakly. "Over there. They make me sick. I can’t help--"

Rachel dragged herself to her feet, and caught Lex’s gaze as he scanned the room. "Stay back. I’m warning you."

Lex looked over at the container, considering for a long moment. He glanced at Clark, who had buried his face in the damp pillow, and then back at the box. He leaned over coolly and picked it up. "Okay, I’m taking this," he said.

"No!" Rachel threw herself upon Lex with an angry cry, knocking him off balance. She caught a frantic flash of Clark’s horrified face as they both went down. He again tried to free himself from his bonds, but was knocked off the bed when Lex slammed into the frame. The rocks scattered and rolled under the bed as the two of them grappled on the floor. Rachel bit his wrist, tasted blood.

In a minute she hit the wall hard, scrabbling for a grip on the polished wood floor as Lex stumbled and kicked at her. She saw his hand connected with the box and in an instant she felt it slam hard on her head. Shooting beams of light spiked across her field of vision, her sight clearing shakily and just long enough for her to glimpse him sweeping at the rocks with his arm, gathering them up, spewing saliva as he chanted in desperation, "No, no…" Then he scrambled to his feet and, stuffing the rocks back in the box, he staggered to the window, opened it and pitched it as far as he could into the darkness.

"Clark…" he groaned. Then gasped and swiped with his sleeve at the blood now rapidly gushing from his nose as he slumped back against the wall.

It was the last thing Rachel saw before everything went dark.

***

She wasn’t sure how much later it was when she came back to herself. Outside it was fully dark, and someone had turned on the bedside lamp. Clark’s voice sounded muddy and murky in her ears, gradually cleared. She moaned, but no one seemed to hear.

"Hold still," Clark was saying. "Put pressure on it. Lean your head down." Rachel’s eyes cleared and focused.

Clark was standing over Lex, his eyes dark with worry and concern. He ripped the pillowcase from the pillow and efficiently into strips to help staunch the flow from Lex’s bleeding nose. "We should call an ambulance, for you and for her, too." Rachel tried to sit up, but her eyes slid closed again as a sharp pain knifed from one side of her skull to the other.

"No!" Lex snapped his disgust, his voice muffled from behind the cloth. "Just give me a few minutes."

"Ms. Dunleavy," Her son’s voice, mellow and sweet, so unexpectedly concerned. "What have you--"

Rachel didn’t move, the better to hear.

"I had to tie her up with that duct tape I found in the kitchen. No, wait. She's not badly hurt. The police will be here soon."

Rachel felt the threadbare blanket drift down over her, but kept her eyes tightly shut. In a moment, firm hands tucked the blanket around her, and she heard the warm murmur of Clark’s voice.

"Poor woman," he said softly.

After she heard him step away, Rachel opened her eyes a crack.

Lex was sitting up on the bed. His nose had ceased bleeding, but he was still pale. He wadded up the towel strips and threw them into a corner, then, as Clark sat back down beside him, turned and crushed him in an embrace.

"Easy, Lex. You’ll start it up again."

Lex paid no attention. "Damn it, Clark," he snapped in a thin voice. "Don’t ever do this to me again!"

"I didn’t mean to cause trouble," Clark protested, smiling faintly. Carefully, he pulled Lex even closer and kissed his bare head with half-open lips.

"How did she get you here? She’s half your size."

"I stopped to help her, and…"

Lex was shaking his head. "Damn it, Clark," he repeated. "Your Messiah complex will be the death of you someday. And me."

A heavy sigh from Clark, and a shrug. "Lex, you know you’d have done the same thing."

"I’m not as good as you are, Clark. Someday, you’ll realize that."

"You’re a better person than you think you are, Lex."

"Enough mutual admiration for now. First, I’m calling your parents," Lex vowed, pulling his cell phone from his pocket, "then, I’m taking you home."

"Take me to your place," Clark begged. "I want to be with you."

Strange, thought Rachel, considering. She hadn’t expected this, not in any way: Clark and Lex in a relationship together. Something in her wanted to fight the thought, but somehow it seemed strangely right. So much for that ninny girl at the town coffee shop.

"I think your mom and dad need you home tonight, Clark."

"Then, stay there with me," Even Rachel could detect the thickness of desire in his voice. "Please, Lex."

"No, Clark," Lex groaned. "I can’t."

"Why not?" he beseeched, his tone aching, desperate. "Lex, the whole while I’ve been here, I’ve only thought of you. I need to be with you. Please."

Rachel held her breath and watched, waiting to hear Lex’s reply.

Lex’s lip quivered, but he said nothing. Clark continued to watch him, his eyes darkening, his voice hurt and vulnerable.

"We’re not brothers, Lex. Forget what she told you. It's a lie."

"We have to be sure."

Clark threw himself against the wall, face dark with anguish. "It can’t be, Lex. Trust me. I know my biological mother is dead."

Rachel closed her eyes again briefly as a pain worse than the ache in her head assailed her. More hurtful than the bittersweet realization the day she’d entered the Kents’deserted farmhouse, seen that he had a good, comfortable life, was loved…and had lived it entirely without her.

Lex regarded him searchingly, and after a moment, frowned and bowed his head, pulling Clark back to him. "I believe you, Clark."

Clark nestled in to his side with a grin that came close to melting Rachel’s heart, even though she knew it was not for her.

Lex stroked Clark’s hair for a moment. "What is it with you and these rocks?" he asked. "Tell me, Clark. Come on."

"I would, if I knew. They just make me sick."

Lex thought for a moment, and then sighed. "Well, that’s good enough for me. For now, anyway."

As Clark reached to free himself from Lex’s arms and sat up to peer down at her, Rachel closed her eyes once again, unable to meet his gaze.

"We have to help her, Lex. At least make sure she’s taken care of."

She wanted no one’s pity, for heaven’s sake.

"You forgive her?" Lex's voice was a mystified grumble, "Even after what she did to you? Well, I don’t."

"I’m okay, now, Lex, no harm done. She’s just lonely. Wants someone to love, and to love her. Desperately."

Lex didn't respond. Rachel heard his voice after a few moments, soft and yearning "Well, I’m glad I found you in time, Clark,"

"Then you’ll stay with me tonight?"

Lex let one hand glide down Clark’s face, and Clark smiled and leaned into the caress, grasping Lex’s slim hand in his own.

Lex doesn’t seem to be able to refuse him anything, Rachel thought.

"Somehow," says Lex. "Even if we have to sleep in my car."

"Mom and Dad won’t care. They’ll just be glad I’m home." Clark put his hand on Lex’s, kneaded it briefly, and smiled. "I’ll tell them you saved me this time. Come on. The police will be here in just a few minutes. Let’s go wait on the porch."

She heard one more wet smack of lips on skin, followed by a low chuckle from Clark, then the creak of the screen door, then combined footsteps descending the steps halfway.

Rachel lay quietly, regrouping. Hot tears burned the backs of her eyelids as she told herself it was time to resign herself mentally and emotionally to relinquishing her claim to Clark. It wasn’t coming easily.

But if this boy wasn’t Lucas, where was her son?

She considered long, hard, one thought crystallizing in her mind and heart, clear and certain.

She still had reason to live.

She would find him.

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