Superman and Man: Part 5
by DarkMark
The man in Superman's body whipped Luthor by the leg into another building. He hoped he was getting the hang of this thing, or he hoped that he would before much more property damage was done.
Luthor was hurt, but rose above his hurt. The actor had never seen such rage in a human face before...in movies, certainly. But not in real life. The warsuited man bent double at the waist and slammed his two fists together on opposite sides of Superman's head. Pain and white light shot through the actor's mind.
"Metal from Daxam, a Krypton-like planet," murmured Luthor. "Mined there, molded there, brought to me by one of the Revenge Squad. I killed him to get it, Superman. Don't worry, he deserved it. As you deserve this."
The blow was an uppercut, bruising his jaw. Revelation: fighting in real life wasn't anything like a movie stunt-brawl. It hurt like the devil. He tasted blood inside his mouth, an instant before Luthor's metal-reinforced knee came up into his gut.
It made him want to puke.
Luthor grabbed him by the hair. He looked at his foe in puzzlement. "I thought it would be so much harder than this. I've fought you before. Many times. You know that. In any of our other fights, by this time, we'd have knocked each other all the way to Metro Airport. What's wrong with you? Did somebody else get to you before I did?"
Focusing, the actor said, "So. It wasn't really you who. Did this to me?"
"Did what to you?" Luthor examined his prey closely. "Oh, well. Don't guess it really matters, now."
He started another blow forward.
A blue-clad arm stopped his fist.
Luthor saw a new expression on Superman's face, now. Grimmer, more resolute, more vengeful. The Big Blue Bumpkin was finally getting down to business. In that, Luthor felt a bit of pride.
All that went through his mind in an instant. After that, Superman's knuckles tattooed his midsection once, twice, three times before he could do anything more. The forcefield sparked, and he was sure some hurt had been dealt to Superman's hands.
But despite his powerful force-screen, despite the metal and padding of his warsuit, despite his resolution to end his lifelong duel with Superman now and for all time...
He had to admit that he felt like a mule had kicked him in the ribs.
Snarling, Luthor kicked back, stepping up the repulse-power of his field in the boot that struck Superman and sent him flying. He flashed back on the fistfight he and Superman had once had on the red-sun world of Lexor, now just gases in space. In that one, he'd given the Kryptonian a black eye, and neither one of them ever forgot it.
He also never forgot that his wife, his son, and the entire world of Lexor--a planet whose inhabitants named for him--had died, as a result of a battle with the very man before him.
Luthor pressed a button on his glove. A metal band on his wrist expanded, flew away from his hand, and hurtled towards Superman. It encircled his throat.
Another twist of a control device, and the Daxamite metal band began to constrict around the Kryptonian's neck. Superman's eyes went wide. He gasped, clawing at the strangling circlet, but even his strength was no good against it. It would either choke him, or cut his throat.
For dessert, Luthor lifted his palms and shot more Kryptonite blasts at him. The caped man reeled backwards, writhing in pain. Daring fate, Luthor channelled more power away from his shields and into his K-blasters.
This was how it was meant to be. In final conflict, on the skies Superman claimed. The Man of Steel versus the Man of Mind. Earthman versus Kryptonian. Absurdly, Luthor felt a thrill of patriotism. Despite all the natural power of a man from a giant red-sun world, given the intelligence, a mere mortal Terran could bring him down.
That is, if the Terran were Lex Luthor.
Superman was dropping. Luthor triggered his boot-jets and followed him down, blasting all the way. A crowd in a plaza below looked up, screamed in individual pieces, and began to run away. No one had time for the "It's a bird! It's a plane!" routine. They just had time to haul ass out of there.
The man in the red cape hit concrete with a sickening crunch.
Cracks appeared for many yards around him. Some pedestrians were jolted off their feet by the impact.
Luthor's jets brought him to a perfect landing five feet away from Superman. His foe was sprawled on his back, unmoving, one knee up, the other leg down, hands seeming to clutch at air, painfully. The metal band was cutting into his neck.
He did not seem to be breathing.
Well, hell. Superman didn't need to breathe. Luthor well knew that a Kryptonian isn't dead from K-poisoning until his skin turned green. Superman's was still normal flesh-toned, if a bit greyish. If he'd been sufficiently weakened, the impact with the plaza might have finished the job on him. But there was no point in taking chances.
Luthor prepared to unleash the final K-blast, and to sustain it until his foe was truly green, and for many seconds thereafter.
Superman popped his eyes open.
"That's another power I didn't know I had," commented the actor. "I can hold my breath forever."
Luthor had time to gasp "No" before the man in blue, red, and yellow lurched to his feet, drove himself forward, and speared a fist right into his midsection.
The forcefield had been weakened by the power drain, and Supes wasn't holding much back. The choke-band, free of Luthor's control, loosened. The actor tore it loose with one hand, threw it away without even looking at it. He was busy.
Trying to get his hands into position for a Kryptonite blast came second to Luthor's trying to get air back into his lungs. He tried to heave oxygen where he needed it most.
The Man of Steel was already at work.
His hands were joined together in a double-clutch now, hammering away at the joints on Luthor's arms, at the plexiglass helmet protecting his head, and at Luthor's chest and stomach. The bad man was driven back, like a mouse facing a steel piston. He tried to trigger more power into his shields, but against Superman's battering, it wasn't doing any good.
There were other weapons in his arsenal. He tried to get his right hand to the control box on his belt. "Give me that," snarled the actor, and, putting his hand underneath the plastic portion of Luthor's belt, ripped it in half and tore it away from the master villain's body. Angrily, he stepped on its control buckle, making it burst in a shower of sparks.
So this is what it feels like to be Superman, thought the actor, along one track of his mind.
Luthor's yell of fury reached him only a second before the metal knuckle-plate hit him in the mouth. It didn't feel good.
But this time, he gave it back with a fierce uppercut. Luthor's plexiglass head-shield burst like a shattered water glass. The bald man planed backwards from the impact, windmilling his arms. The crowd-ring about them moved back to avoid contact with him.
The actor wiped blood away from the side of his mouth. He grinned.
Luthor was still trying to keep his balance, still struggling to stay upright. It couldn't end this way. Not after fourteen years of waiting. Not after a lifetime of hating. It couldn't be just another battle. He had to get his hands into position.
The man in Superman's body walked up to him, unhurriedly, and flicked him in the chest with two fingers.
Luthor went over on his back like a turtle. His arms were splayed out to either side of him. Red boots stepped on each of his upper arms, holding them flat to the concrete.
"Take me to Lois," said his opponent, seeming to look down upon him from an incredible height. "After we get rid of all your gizmoes. Then...we're going to have a talk."
Luthor's mouth dropped open. "A talk?"
Superman nodded. "A talk. Now I'm going to let you up. You're going to hand me your gloves, very carefully. If you try anything cute--I'm going to hit you in the jaw."
The man below him strained and struggled and swore for a second, then sighed, helplessly, and relaxed. The powerful figure stepped off of Luthor's arms, watching for a trick. Slowly, sullenly, Luthor undid one glove, then the other. He handed both of them to Superman.
"Lois is all right, isn't she?" asked the actor.
Looking down, Luthor nodded.
"Let's go," said the man in the very heroic body. He grabbed Luthor by the arm, crouched, and leaped.
Both of them flew into the air. "Up, up, and away," he said, a trifle late.
He was still a man in an alien body, on an alien planet, in a situation he didn't particularly want to be in.
He still wanted to see the face of his wife and his son.
But he had to admit that flying without wires was really a helluva lot of fun.
***** Dana and the doctor had gotten Chris back into the van and, from there, back to his house, only minutes after the speech had been given. Many of the attendees wanted to shake Dana's hand and congratulate her on her husband's words, but they understood his needs. Thus, they were allowed to leave without undue restraint.
The man in Chris's body appeared to sleep peacefully through the ride home and did not wake as he was wheeled into his room. The connections were made to the equipment therein, and he was placed in a position more comfortable for sleeping.
Both of them watched him for a few more moments before speaking.
"Does he think he's Superman?" Dana hugged herself, wondering if she wanted an answer.
The doctor said, "I don't know. A mind can absorb strain in many ways. Sometimes it creates a different personality to bear the pain. Sometimes...perhaps it brings another personality to the surface. All of this is just a way of saying...we don't know. We don't know."
"And we also don't know if he'll be himself again," she murmured.
He did not answer.
Dana turned to him. "Doctor, you've been so much more than help to us tonight. If not for you, Chris probably wouldn't have made it. And I know I wouldn't have. So...thank you. From both of us."
The doctor nodded. "You're welcome. If he changes, or, perhaps, when he changes, call me. But right now, I'm going home. Jimmy Olsen needs to get some sleep."
She smiled. "As long as you don't call me Lois Lane."
He left.
Dana looked down on Chris's sleeping visage, thought about brushing a fallen forelock of hair off of his brow, and decided against it. It might wake him.
Besides, it didn't make him look that much like Superman.
****
In dreams, he found himself clad in blue, red, and yellow again.
In dreams, he walked a foggy landscape, and was aware of what had happened to him. It was a very lucid dream.
But there was a figure barely perceptible in the fog before him. Surely, there stood the man with the answers. He sensed that, and his hunches were usually pretty reliable.
He quickened his pace. But the shadowy man seemed to keep the same distance. Even a running gait brought him no nearer. Even taking flight only pushed his quarry further ahead in the fog.
So, at last, Superman sat down on the rocky ground this dream had provided, and waited for the man to come to him.
It might take awhile. But he was sure that, until he woke up, he had nothing better to do.
*****
The red-caped man and his passenger broke through the door of one of Luthor's underground lairs. A female voice said, "Hello? Kal, is that you?"
He saw her.
She was raven-haired, with a bit of grey showing through, and her face showed a few mileage lines. She looked nothing like Margot. But she was still pretty, and her expression showed the same gratitude of rescue that the actor supposed she had shown Superman thousands of times. Plus there was an element of intimacy in it. Not only her hero, but her husband, had come to her rescue.
Lois Lane seemed to have expected it.
"Hi, Lois," he said, trying to summon a grin.
The Lair was comfortable, with plush furniture, a well-stocked pantry, and some sort of video devices for entertainment, but it was a prison. He could tell that without using his X-ray vision.
His X-ray vision? He caught himself. After all, he had only borrowed it.
"He caught me flatfooted," Lois admitted, her arms folded. "He's done that a lot of times. Every time, I swear I'll watch my back better. But maybe I should have been watching my front."
"Just a means to an end," muttered Luthor.
"Lex, please," said the actor, his hand firmly on Luthor's shoulder. "Listen, Lois, I'm going to, uh, get you out of here. Then I'll, uh, give you a story on this, after Lex and I have a little chat."
"A chat?" She looked perplexed. "Kal, I mean, Superman, what about? It's been fourteen years since you've seen each other, and he just kidnapped me, and it's not like you're the best of friends, and--"
The actor held up a hand. "Lois. Just trust me on this one, okay? I know it's odd. A lot of, uh, odd things have been happening lately. But just, just trust me on this one tonight. Please."
She looked at him, wonderingly. But she shrugged, and decided to trust. "Okay. If that's what you want. Just make sure he isn't packing a hot little green rock in his shoe heel."
"It's over," said Luthor, so sadly the actor felt sorry for him. "I should have done it better. Fourteen years. But I didn't have time to plan well enough. I didn't have enough time to prepare. I should have waited...but, my God, fourteen years ought to be wait enough."
Gingerly, the actor lay hands on both of Lex's shoulders. "We'll talk, Lex. Just you and me. Right after we get the lady to safety. Is that all right by you?"
Luthor, looking pathetic in what remained of his warsuit, looked up at him. "Why should what I want mean anything to you? When did it ever mean anything to you?"
"Well...maybe it means something now, Lex," said the actor. "Now, if you please, let's get Lois a cab."
Casually, Lois said, "I wonder if Jordy and Lainie have called in by now. Has Clark told you if they're back or not?"
He looked at her. "Jordy and Lainie?"
She gave him back a curious stare. "My kids. Remember?"
He tried to keep his jaw off of his boots. "Um. Right. Sorry, I was just woolgathering there. Uh, I've seen Clark, and he, he said they haven't called in yet."
Luthor said, "I didn't do anything with your kids, Lois. Honestly, I didn't."
"Nice to know," she said, coldly.
They led her out, brought her back to the surface, and hailed a cab for her. The cabbie wanted an autograph from all three of them, but he had to be satisfied with a handshake. Then he drove off with Lois in the back.
Luthor was left with Superman on the warmish Metropolis night, on a side street without too many people in sight.
"When do you take me back?", he said.
"Depends," said the actor. "I want you to talk to me, Lex."
"About what?" Luthor shook his head, tiredly. "We've known each other since 1959. Since we were both kids. We've hated each other almost all that time. What else do you want to know? What else is there to know, after forty years, for heaven's sake?"
"Pretend, Lex," said the actor, guiding them both to a bus bench nearby. "Make believe my memory's slipping. Talk to me. Tell me what I did to you, to make you hate me."
Anger flared in Luthor's eyes. The idea that his greatest enemy was forcing him to recite a litany that both of them knew as thoroughly as a priest knows Scripture. That was the supreme insult. He was on the point of calling damnation on the Kryptonian's head.
But he looked at the Kryptonian's eyes. Partly, he saw firmness there, and realized that any antagonism he showed might be met by the same.
Partly, he saw something quite alien to his own nature. Possibly something like mercy. On any other night, he might have taken advantage of it, tried to twist the trust into a way of gaining an escape, or planning for future advantage.
But this was not any other night. Perhaps it was the last one they would have together.
"I used to be your biggest fan," said Luthor.
That began the speaking.
From there, Luthor guided his one-man audience through a recital of most of the points of pain he had against him. He did not speak of grandiose, world-conquering plans thwarted, though there were many of those. Instead, he spoke of a baby sister whom he had saved from death, but who thought forevermore that she had been saved by Superboy. He spoke of a day in which Superboy had saved him, but in the process had destroyed an experimental life form Lex had created, and caused him to forever lose his hair. He spoke of his abandonment by his own family. He spoke of his hard life at Soames Reform School. He spoke of finally finding love in the arms of an alien woman named Ardora, who bore him a son, and of the world called Lexor, which made him their mostly-absentee ruler. He spoke of the battle the two of them had had, which ended in the destruction of Lexor, and of the death of his wife and son. He spoke of the day, fourteen years past, when Superman had entered his cell like a common thug, told him not to try any "cute stuff" anymore, and, when he was laughed at, took Luthor in hand and used violence on his body.
"Sometimes, my arm still pains me. A little," Luthor admitted. "That was fourteen years ago. I was too scared to do anything, from that day until recently. Too damn scared."
Superman, Lex noticed, had mostly been silent during his monologue. His expression was very grave. It was as if--but, no, the idea was absurd beyond absurdity. He just couldn't look that way, as if he were hearing all of this for the first time.
But that was the way he looked.
"My God," said Superman, in a very soft voice.
Then he looked at Luthor, and said three words.
"Lex--I'm sorry."
The old man whom all the world called a villain wavered, visibly.
He should have hated him. Part of him still did, to be sure. But one man cannot associate with another for so many years, without feeling some kinship that transcends love or hate.
Despite all the hatred and all the battles and all the deaths and all the pains and all the broken dreams that were supposed to substitute for what he had lost in Smallville, including his family, and what was lost on Lexor, his new family, Lex Luthor broke down and sobbed.
Superman was holding him. "It's all right, Lex," he said, quietly but clearly. "You don't have to hate me anymore. And I don't hate you."
He couldn't stop the flow of tears. He was glad of it. He had cried tears of rage for Ardora and Lex, Junior and Lexor itself. But now he could cry tears of sorrow.
He didn't really notice that he was getting wetness and snot on the invulnerable cape of the man he had fought for forty years, and Superman didn't seem to care. A few passersby tried to stop and stare, but the actor sent them away with stern looks. The two of them had their privacy.
Finally, Luthor managed to pull himself together, at least sufficiently to break the embrace. "I don't know why," he said. "After what we've done, I don't know why."
"I'm sorry about it all, Lex," said the actor. "Especially the beating. I had no right to do that."
Lex chuckled and snivelled at the same time. "I tried to kill you, and your cousin, and even your dog, hundreds of times. It isn't like we were best friends. Hell, I wanted to kill you. More than anything else in the universe."
"And now?"
Lex paused. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know if I can carry that rock on my back any longer. I don't know if I can't. I've done it so long, I don't know what to do without it."
The actor said, "Lex, listen. I don't know about you, but forty years is long enough for me. The thing is..." He looked at his hands, weighing the words, wondering what someone said to the world's greatest criminal scientist on a moment such as this. Then he plowed on.
"The thing is, I can't do it alone. I can't give it up alone. You've been beating your head against a big blue and red wall for forty years. I'm not interested in being your wall anymore. But you've got to stop beating your head against me, Lex. You can keep on doing it until you kill yourself. You might kill me in the process, but honestly, after forty years...what do you think is the chance of that?"
Luthor said nothing.
"We've all got a lot of heavy baggage, Lex," he said. "But it's only as heavy as we make it. We can keep on dragging it around, for what few years we've got left to us. Or we can let it go. I can't make the decision for you, Lex. But I can tell you one thing.
"If you give up this grudge match, you've still got time to do something great and grand and awe-inspiring with your life. You've got a brain that I can't even touch, science-wise. You could do such great things for humanity that, a generation from now, they'd be wondering which one of us was the real hero. And why we ever found anything to fight about."
Luthor's hands were trembling.
"I know that, somewhere inside you, there's still that same Smallville kid genius who wanted to be famous for the things he wanted to do for people. Not to them. Nobody can put that kid in prison. Even if I have to put the guy whose...body...he wears back there."
Finally, Lex said something.
"I killed my wife and son," he said. "I killed them as much as you did, maybe more. If I hadn't been fighting you...if I hadn't built that power-rod, and hit it with that blast...they'd still be alive. So would Lexor."
Superman laid a hand on his shoulder. "It feels like Krypton, doesn't it?"
"It must," Lex murmured. "So. I go back to jail, now?"
"Not till you let me know," said the actor.
Lex said, "It's such a big thing. Such a very, very big thing." He looked at Superman, with a confused expression. "But what will I do? I tried making miracle soil to grow crops in for Africa, and it didn't work. You know that."
"You can do a lot of other things," said the actor. "If you know enough about DNA engineering to create a simple life-form, there are bound to be lots of things you could do in the field of science. Life medicine."
"Maybe." Luthor considered it.
"Would you consider something for me, Lex?"
"What? A cure for Kryptonite?"
"No," said Superman. "That'd only benefit me. Lex...would you consider a way to heal spines that have been damaged in accidents? Damaged spines, that leave their owners...paralytic?"
Luthor stroked his chin. "Nerve growth is a hard thing. Sometimes impossible."
"For you?" said the actor, and waited.
An eternity of three seconds passed.
"Guess I could give it a try," said Luthor.
And with that, and a few more minutes of conversation, Lex Luthor went willingly with Superman to the Hall of Justice in Metropolis, where the Man of Steel demanded that the policemen on duty treat his new friend with respect. They thought he was joking. A serious gaze convinced them otherwise.
Before he left with them, Luthor took off his boots and handed them to a guard, to be handed to Superman. "Kryptonite in the heels, embedded in lead," he explained. "Put them in a safe place."
"I'll try to," said the actor.
He flew away.
With a bit of searching, he found the clothes of Clark Kent where he had left them, brushed away a bit of bird-do, and flew back to an alley near Clinton Street. There he changed, hoping that there was sufficient darkness to cover him, and emerged into the light, just remembering to put on his glasses a second beforehand.
The doorman was a different one from the morning guy. "Hi, Mr. Kent," he said.
"Hi, there," said the actor, quite a bit more firmly than he had that morning.
It was only after he opened his door that he realized he hadn't made the evening broadcast.
That was serious business. Clark Kent could lose his job for that.
What if he had to be Clark Kent for the rest of his life?
Could he be a husband to a woman he had just met tonight?
Could he be a father to two children he had never seen?
Could he be a hero to an entire planet?
He sighed and shook his head. This was all too much for him. This day, this incredible day.
And yet, he had performed well in it. He had done the job of a Superman.
Lois was not there. Undoubtedly, she was still filing her story, or on her way back from the Planet.
He went to his bedroom, sat on the side of the bed, and decided to reach for the phone and try to call the place where Clark Kent worked. At least, he hoped Clark Kent still worked there.
But as he was reaching for the phone, he found himself utterly, completely, and irresistably drowsy.
He slumped to the floor, knocking the receiver off its cradle, and punctuated its buzz with his snoring.
To be concluded (honest!)...