SarahRosie (celes720) wrote in sharedmadness,

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Beyond Saving, part 22

Ho-kay. Everything in balance, right?

Well, one thing’s for sure: I can’t be dead.

It hurts to damn much.

I know I could let the drugs pull me back under, away from the pain, away from the loss, away from everything, but I don’t want to. I want to see Hudson. I know that if I see her, all this will have been worth it. All of this will be over.

Holding that thought in my mind, I fight against the lassitude, forcing my eyes open.

Bright purple walls.

It’s Smallville. Hell would have Pepto Bismol pink walls.

Smiling slightly, I expend the supreme amount of energy it takes to turn my head to the side, peering into the shadows left in the room due to the low angle of the setting sun. I feel the smile slowly melt off my face when I don’t find her anywhere in the room.

Did I dream the last part? The part where we flew through the air?

Oh, God.

I wasn’t strong enough.

I shot my father, but I couldn’t get her out of that room. We must have lay there for hours until someone found us, got us out. But by then Hudson would have been dead from Kryptonite exposure. I shouldn’t have hesitated, shouldn’t have doubted my own eyes. I should have guessed my father was behind everything from the very beginning. I should have known. My pride blinded me to the truth. I was so busy fighting with Hudson, struggling against her, that I missed all the signs.

Now she’s dead.

And it’s all my fault.

The hero’s not supposed to die, damn it.

I should have died, not her. Never her.


I start at the tentative voice, so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I missed a step. Stupid. I should learn to pay more attention, things like that could get someone killed.

“How are you feeling, young man?”

I know that voice.

Blinking my eyes into focus, I see the familiar red hair of Hudson’s mother, now shot through with steel gray. She’ll be beautiful until the day she dies, just like her daughter.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Kent.” The words spill out before I can swallow them. “It’s all my fault.”

“Lex.” She rolls her eyes at me, pulling a chair up to the side of my bed. “You’ve made some idiotic decisions in your life, but I think there’s more than enough blame to spread around here.”

What kind of drugs are they giving me?

“I’m serious, Lex.” Patting my arm, she carefully avoids hitting the IV line. “Jonathan and I, well, we’re not innocent in this. Frankly, neither is Hudson.”

“Your daughter is dead, and I think the blame lies solely on my shoulders for that.”

She gapes at me, her mouth hanging slack. “Lex, I...”

“I think I’ve caused enough damage to your family, Mrs. Kent. You should leave.” Closing my eyes, I turn my head away.

“I’m going to beat her ass.” Martha squeezes my arm, her words terse. “Lex, she’s not dead. But, I can assure you, she’s going to wish she was when I get my hands on her.”

Not. Dead.


“She’s fine, baby.” I feel her cool hand against my forehead, stroking lightly across my scalp. “She’s tired. It took a lot out of her, but she’s fine.”

Swallowing, I squeeze my eyes tightly shut against the tears I feel. “Where is she?”

“I’m not sure.” Her hand leaves my head to rest lightly on my shoulder. “She blames herself. For your hand.”

Oh, Jesus.

My hand?

I have no one to blame but myself for that.

“That’s not her fault.”

“And it’s not yours either, young man.”

“Are you psychic?”

She laughs at that, the sound washing over me like silver. “No, but I raised H.C. Kent, the biggest moper in the world. I know a mope when I see one coming.”

I think I could very easily come to love Martha Kent.

I used to wish my own mother were still alive, to guide me. But not any more. It’s strange to realize the things you once wished for have somehow fallen along the wayside. My mother loved my father, maybe she didn’t know what kind of monster he was, or maybe she loved him in spite of that, but this would have killed her.

“‘Pride goeth before a fall.’”

“I’m not going to sit here and verbally fence with you, Lex. Your father was a short-sighted, little man. I’m trusting that the son he donated his DNA to is a better man than he. ” Patting my arm again, she rises to her feet. “Visiting hours are nearly over, I should go.”

“Mrs. Kent, thank you.”

She smiles at that, her cheeks heating prettily. “No need to thank me, Lex. And I think you should call me Martha since I’m going to go tan my daughter’s hide for you.” Not waiting for an answer, she leaves the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

Hope is a strange thing.

I don’t want to believe. I don’t want to hope.

It only gets me hurt in the end.

But I’m still putting my money on Martha.

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