House Call

By Deadly Chakram <dwelf82@yahoo.com>

Rating: PG-13

Submitted: August 2019

Summary: When Dr. Sam Lane is called upon to help Superman when
he falls ill, he calls for reinforcements.

Story Size: 14,413 words (81Kb as text)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I make nothing. All Lois and Clark
characters, plot points, and recognizable dialogue belong to DC
Comics, Warner Bros., December 3rd Productions and anyone else
with a stake in the Superman franchise. House doesn't belong to
me either. That belongs to NBCUniversal Television Distribution,
Bad Hat Harry productions, Heel and Toe Films, Shore Z
Productions, and Universal, along with anyone else with a stake
in that franchise.

Author's Note: This story is in response to Kerth Challenge #3
which requested that one character from any (old or new)
television show be brought into the Lois and Clark universe, into
an actual episode. This one took more time than I care to admit
and I can only *hope* that, as a very, *very* casual House
viewer, I was able to do him justice.

Many thanks to Val, Feli, and Michelle for completely encouraging
this fic.

***

"I'm sick."

Clark blinked in surprise as the words tumbled out of his mouth
-- words he'd never once imagined he would ever say in his
lifetime and mean it. Oh, sure, he'd had to fib about being ill
in the past so as to blend in with regular people. At his last
job, for example, he'd had to take a few days off after the
entire newsroom had fallen like dominoes to a particularly nasty
strain of the flu. It would have been too suspicious if he'd
been the *only* person to *not* get sick, so he'd taken a few
days and had visited his parents in Kansas. Italy had been nice,
but he'd been homesick nonetheless, and his fake illness had
given him a chance to go home.

But this time?

This time the words were real, and he was scared.

"You aren't the only one," Lois quipped darkly, sending dagger
looks of disgust in the direction of Mindy Church, where she sat
in the back of an expensive car, handing out presents.

"Seriously," Clark replied, his voice sounding weak and hollow
to his own ears. That got Lois' attention. "I better get out of
here," he told her as he started to walk away from the crowded
sidewalk where it seemed half of Metropolis had gathered to see
Superman deliver the Christmas Tree to the Coates' Orphanage --
a yearly tradition he'd come to love just as much as picking out
his own tree for his own apartment.

To her credit, Lois didn't ask any questions, and simply helped
him to clear an escape path. But with the arrival of Mindy and
her sacks of gifts, Superman was now old news. Most, if not all,
eyes were definitely *off* him. Still, he had to be careful in
how he handled his departure. As much as he wanted to make a
quick getaway, he couldn't. Not *just* because Superman was held
to a higher standard in the way he acted, but because he
physically couldn't move any faster than he was. His entire head
was foggy and his body felt like it was trapped in quick-drying
cement. Still, he waved clumsily to the crowd, even if few people
were paying enough attention to see it. Unable to fly, he made
for the opposite corner of the street so he could duck behind the
building there and conceal himself from probing eyes while he
tried to get his bearings.

Shaking and sweating, he made it, but just barely. As soon as he
was out of sight, he leaned heavily against the brick wall, his
chest heaving with the effort walking such a short distance had
caused. His head was swimming and he could hear the blood rushing
in his ears. His heart was hammering in his chest.

"Aww, man," he squeaked out as his knees buckled beneath him.
He slid to the sidewalk as though he'd suddenly gone completely
boneless.

With a look of horror, Lois rushed to try and catch him, but she
was half a heartbeat too late. "Clark!" she called in a
terrified whisper.

But Clark could barely hear her as blackness crowded around the
edges of his vision and he fought to stay conscious. He failed.
The next thing he knew, Lois was lightly slapping his cheeks
trying to get him to come to.

"What happened?" he croaked out.

"You blacked out for about a minute," Lois informed him.
"Scared the living daylights out of me."

"Sorry," he apologized with a weak smile.

She smiled back. "Apology accepted. Just don't scare me
again," she mock-admonished with a gentle poke to the center of
his chest.

"Boy Scout's honor," he promised, just before a cough overtook
him.

"Are you okay?" Lois asked, appraising him before offering him
a hand up. "Can you stand?"

"I think so," he said, taking her hand and pulling himself up
off the ground. "Where's the Jeep?"

"Two blocks over. Do you think you can make it?" Lois replied
worriedly.

Clark shrugged. "What choice do I have?"

"Clark, you barely made it across the street just now," she
reminded him gently, her voice full of concern. She chewed her
lower lip in thought. "Here," she finally announced, taking his
bicep in her hands and leading him two stores down to a narrow
alleyway between a bookseller and a cigar shop. "Hide in this
alley and I'll get the car. It shouldn't take me more than a
few minutes. I'll pick you up and then you're going straight
home to bed."

Clark nearly chuckled as Lois slipped into her role as his future
wife. Was this what it was like to be a normal man with a normal
relationship? He hated feeling sick, but he liked the easy way in
which he and Lois could lean on each other and trust one another
to get themselves out of any jam that they found themselves in.

"Okay," he wheezed in agreement. The idea of making it all the
way to the Jeep suddenly seemed as impossible as squeezing water
from a boulder.

Stealing a glance around to ensure they were alone, she kissed
his sweaty brow, then hurried down the block. He closed his eyes
as he leaned against the wall of the bookshop. It was all he
could do to remain upright and conscious. He felt so tired, like
his entire body had been filled with Kryptonite weights.
Everything hurt. His head was swimming in a fog. His chest ached
with each deep breath or cough. He could have vomited, if only
he'd eaten anything recently.

It seemed to take a life-age before he heard the distinctive roar
of the Jeep's engine.

Lois helped him into the front passenger seat as soon as she
pulled up. She pulled one of Clark's old sweatshirts over his
head and helped him to put it on fully, concealing the suit, then
she stuck a battered old baseball cap on his head. Silently,
Clark was grateful that he and Lois always kept stakeout bags in
her trunk, just in case they needed them in a pinch. Satisfied
that no passersby would notice that it was Superman, and *not*
Clark Kent in the car, Clark sagged back into the seat and closed
his eyes after pulling the bill of the cap down low, shadowing
his face.

He must have dozed as Lois navigated the city streets. He
remembered nothing of the ride home until they were pulling up in
front of his apartment. Lois put the Jeep in park and gently
pulled the cap from his head, checking him to see how sick he
looked.

"I know we have to be careful about your identity, but it'll
attract a lot more unwanted attention if you get out of this car
half dressed as Superman," she explained as she motioned to his
lower body, which was undeniably clad in the blue Spandex and red
briefs of the hero's costume.

Clark frowned. "Good point." He thought for a moment. "I think
I can wiggle into a pair of sweat pants, if I have any in here,"
he finally said.

Lois nodded and turned in her seat to rummage in the old Bills
duffle bag behind her. "Aha!" she called out triumphantly a few
moments later as she fished out a pair of thick, black pants.
"Try these." She held them out to him.

Clark plucked the pants from her grasp and, huffing and puffing
all the way, he wriggled and twisted until he got the sweats on
and tucked in all traces of his cape. He still looked out of
place without a winter coat on such a cold day, but he didn't
really have a choice. He looked as ordinary as he was going to
get. He took the hat back from Lois and stuck it on his head once
more.

"I'll need to keep my head down," he muttered mostly to
himself, pulling the bill down to shade his face. "I don't have
a spare pair of glasses with me."

Lois nodded. "Are you ready to go in?" she asked softly.

"More than ready," he replied, just before a sneeze exploded
out of him so hard that it rocked him forward, then back, and
caused him to slam his head back into the head rest.

"Clark? Are you okay?" Lois asked, alarmed.

Clark nodded. "I think so. Come on, let's get inside before I
get any worse."

***

Clark lay in his bed, his concerned mother and father hovering
around him. His mother kept dipping a washcloth into icy cold
water, wringing it out, and wiping his brow with it. It felt
amazing on his too hot skin. He had to wonder at that. Too hot.
He'd never been too hot or too cold in his life. He could walk
through the heart of blazing infernos or dive into the middle of
a glacier-filled sea and barely register the change in the
temperature. But now, laying atop the blankets of his own bed,
clad only in the thin, but durable, material of his Superman
disguise, he felt like he was being roasted alive from the inside
out. Martha pulled away the cloth, wet it again, then draped it
over his brow.

"Thanks, Mom," he told her. But it wasn't just thanks for the
attempt to relieve his fever. It was a thanks for all the times
she'd tried to heal the hurts he'd suffered -- not physically,
of course, but hurts of the mind and heart.

She managed a brave smile for him. "I'm going to let you
rest," she decided.

She got up from her place on the side of the bed, and, flanked by
Jonathan and Lois, left the room. Clark closed his eyes again --
the light seemed too harsh, despite the fact that his father had
drawn the blinds to give him some relief. But he could hear the
people he loved most in the world talking in the living room
nonetheless.

"My boy is sick. For the first time in his life," Martha said,
and it was easy to pick up on the panic in her voice. Clark
imagined her turning into his father's broad chest for comfort
and reassurance.

"Martha," Lois softly intoned, "does he have any medical
records? X-rays? Anything that shows how his body works?"

Clark would have cracked a grin if he hadn't felt like the
entire world was spinning crazily around him. Leave it to Lois to
go straight to the heart of things, to ask the reporter-like
questions, to remain as level-headed and logical as she could
while she fought for something -- some*one* -- she cared about.

"Nothing," Jonathan replied with a soft sigh of regret. "There
was just never any need."

A knock sounded at the door and Clark heard Lois' sneakered
footsteps rushing to answer it. There was a *click!* as she
opened the lock and a barely audible squeak as the door was
opened wide. If he lived through this, he vowed to oil the
hinges.

"We got here as quick as we could," Clark heard the voice of
his future father-in-law, Sam Lane, say in a grave, but confused,
voice. "What's going on?"

Lois cleared her throat, perhaps to knock away the tremble Clark
had heard there only a minute before. "Daddy...you're a
doctor," she stated simply.

Sam's reply sounded a bit bemused. "Thanks for remembering,
Sweetie."

"I was wondering if you could take a look at a friend of mine."
There was no hesitation in Lois' voice, only a bit of pleading.

Clark heard no audible reply. But footsteps echoed across the
floor as she led her mother and father closer. Clark opened his
eyes, squinting against the light. Better to meet Sam with open
eyes, then appear as though he were asleep.

"Lois...Superman?" was the only thing Sam uttered, as soon as
he entered the bedroom. Clark both heard and saw how stunned the
once-famous doctor was.

"He and Clark are very close," Lois effortlessly explained.
"Clark's out on assignment, so, when Superman got sick, I
brought him here." It was incredible to Clark how easily she
spun the fibs to protect his identity. A rush of gratitude washed
over him.

Mutely, Sam moved closer and instantly slipped into the familiar
actions of a doctor. Clark submitted himself to Sam's
explorative touch as he felt for his pulse, checked for swollen
glands, and tried to discern a temperature.

"Daddy, we need your help," Lois pleaded. "*I* need your
help."

Clark nearly held his breath. Of all the times Lois had ever
spoken about her father -- or *to* her father in Clark's
presence -- there had always been an element of resentment
harbored there, even contempt on occasion. Sometimes it was
hidden and sometimes it was waved around freely like a banner
proclaiming war. But all of that was gone now, and Lois was once
again a little girl who wanted to believe that her father could
fix anything.

Sam frowned. "Lois, he's very ill," he said, speaking solely
to his daughter, as though no one else, not even Clark himself,
were in the room. "His physiology may be totally different from
ours, and I haven't practiced for fifteen years..."

Lois interrupted him, sounding on the verge of tears. Clark's
eyes fluttered shut once more. He was so, *so* tired...

"I know," Lois said, choking back a sob. "But when I was
little, I knew my father was a brilliant doctor. Wasn't he?"
That had to be meant for Ellen, Clark decided, and there was a
murmur of agreement. "If I never ask anything else of you, be
that doctor again."

"I..." Sam faltered. "I'll do what I can. But I'm going to
need some help."

"If you need a good nurse, I'm here," Ellen offered. *Was
that...tenderness in her voice?* Clark wondered.

Sam grunted a sound of acceptance. "Thank you. I'll need all
the help I can get. But that...wasn't exactly what I had in
mind," he confessed slowly and apologetically.

"Who?" Lois asked suspiciously, protective of Clark. "We
can't let it get out that Superman is sick," she warned, though
not harshly. Her hand went to Clark's shoulder and he forced his
eyes open.

"She's right," Ellen answered for Clark. "This is too
sensitive a case to just...call in help."

"I know," Sam acquiesced. "But I can't do this alone.
Luckily, I know a doctor...brilliant man. A bit...brash and hard
to get along with. But if *anyone* can diagnose your friend's
illness, it's Greg." He nodded to Lois. "It's okay, Princess.
He'll understand the need for discretion in this case. *If* we
can even get him here."

"I don't..." Lois wavered.

"Lois, it's okay," Clark consented. "If your father says we
can trust this other doctor, I don't see that we have much of a
choice."

Lois locked eyes with his half-closed ones. "Okay," she
breathed in surrender. Then she turned her sharp, determined gaze
to Sam. "Let's call him."

***

Time seemed to stand still, with seconds stretching out into
minutes, minutes becoming hours, and hours becoming eons. Clark
wafted in and out of sleep and fevered dreams, only to wake into
a world of suffering each time he cracked his eyes open. Each
time, someone was there in his bedroom, hovering over him or
sitting quietly in vigil. It gave him some comfort to find that
he was never alone.

"Lois?" he called out during one of his periods of
wakefulness.

"I'm here," she immediately replied from somewhere on his
left. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

"No. I just wondered...how long has it been? Since your father
decided to call his friend?" Clark answered, his eyes too bleary
to make much sense of the clock on his nightstand.

"Oh, that. Um...about..." She checked the clock. "Three and a
half...no, four hours ago," she finally responded after a quick
mental calculation. She sat down on the edge of his bed and put
the back of her hand to his sweaty forehead. "He should be here
soon. He's coming in from New Jersey. That's not too far
away." She seemed to be trying to reassure herself as much as
she was him. "You're still pretty hot," she murmured after a
minute.

Clark flashed her the best smile he could manage. "So the
tabloids have said," he joked, mindful of her
still-very-much-in-the-dark parents close proximity.

Lois chuckled lightly, and she patted his shoulder. "Don't
flatter yourself, Farm Boy," she said in a whisper as she
grinned at him.

That made his own smile widen a bit before a wince of pain
shattered the illusion that he was going to be alright. Before he
could say anything further, a quick series of knocks sounded at
the door.

"Was that...Shave and Haircut?" Clark asked in disbelief as he
recalled the old melody.

"Ah, I think he's here," they heard Sam say with relief. There
was a groan as he stood from his chair and crossed the apartment.
Clark listened as Sam opened the door. "Greg, glad to see you
made it," Sam warmly greeted their guest.

"I would have been here sooner, but some idiot jackknifed on the
highway," came a gruff voice. "Luckily, I hit it just as it was
clearing, but it still ate up a good half hour."

"It's good to see you either way," Sam said. "We really need
your help."

"What's the case?" There was a sound of material being shaken
out. Clark thought it might have been the other doctor's coat
being taken off. Perhaps it had started raining or snowing and
the man was clearing it from the garment.

"I'm not sure. It's like nothing I've come across," Sam said
in a tired voice, though it sounded as if he was being
deliberately vague. "Look, Greg," he added quickly. "I trust
you, you know that. You advised me on...I don't even know how
many cases, back when I was nothing more than a student slogging
my way through medical school and you were the resident I was
reporting to."

"I remember." The response was guarded, suspicious, but not
entirely devoid of nostalgia.

"You have to *swear* to me that not a word of this case will
*ever* leave these walls," Sam pressed in a somber tone, making
it crystal clear that there would be no arguing the terms.

"I already swore to be discreet on the phone." It was obvious
the other man was rolling his eyes by the way his words dropped
like sarcastic stones from his lips. "Otherwise I wouldn't have
*borrowed* my boss' car to race over here in the snow."

"You *stole* her car?" Sam exclaimed, incredulous.

"Tomato, tomahhhto," the other doctor said, casually shrugging
off the difference. "Can we get back to the problem now?"

"I know. It's just...a very sensitive case," Sam said again.
"If word ever got out...well, you can decide for yourself how
disastrous that might prove."

"Yeah, yeah, fine. Are we done now? Can I see the patient?"
Whoever this 'Greg' person was, he sounded arrogant and
impatient, and Clark wondered if he'd made a mistake in allowing
Sam to bring in a colleague to help.

"Right this way," he heard Sam reply with a gentle clearing of
his throat, a moment before he ushered his friend toward Clark's
bedroom.

Sneakered footsteps made their way closer, along with a strange
thumping sound that Clark couldn't quite identify at first. But
in the next moment he knew what it was as a grizzled, slightly
older man leaning on a cane ambled his way to Clark's beside. He
didn't really look much like a doctor, Clark decided. He was
used to the idea of a man or woman in a white lab coat with a
file or clipboard in hand for note taking. But Greg was dressed
in a Pink Floyd t-shirt beneath an open blue oxford shirt,
well-worn dark blue jeans and sneakers that had obviously seen
their fair share of mistreatment. He was tall and thin, with
angular features and a scruffy, unshaven face that made him seem
somehow intimidating and commanding of respect.	

Greg looked down on Clark with discriminating blue eyes as he
scratched at his stubbly chin. A slow, thin smile crossed his
lips and it seemed that a fire lit in his eyes as his eyebrows
arched in sudden astonishment. For a horrifying moment, Clark
felt naked and exposed, as though the doctor was the one who
possessed x-ray vision and could see right through him.

"Superman?" the man said to no one in particular, his chin
jutting out slightly in a way that spoke of his curiosity about
the case. His smile widened into a grin. "Interesting." He
brought his gaze back to Clark. He did not offer his hands to
shake as he introduced himself. "Good news, Superman. I'm Dr.
House. I'll be the one saving your life."

***

Dr. House.

Clark kept a neutral face as a thousand thoughts entered his head
all at once, each of them vying to take control of his emotions.
He'd heard of Dr. House before. Most people had. The man was
supposed to be a brilliant diagnostician, solving cases no one
else could, or refused to touch. Clark knew he should be
immensely glad that the doctor had agreed to help him. On the
other hand, Clark had heard of Dr. House and his notoriously
arrogant attitude. The doctor seemed, from all the rumors Clark
had heard, to place himself on par with God himself. Rude, often
crude, blunt to a fault, and bitingly sarcastic were all some of
the *nicer* descriptions Clark had heard paired with Dr. House's
name. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to subject himself to a
person like that. And, more importantly, he didn't feel right
about making Lois and his parents be around a person like that.

*I have no choice*, he reminded himself with a mental sigh.

"Thank you for coming," Clark found himself saying, as
pleasantly as the heaviness in his chest would allow.

Dr. House gave him a semi-shrug. "Don't thank me just yet. You
can do that *after* I've saved your life." He raised his
eyebrows again. "Judging by the way you look -- which is like
hell, by the way -- I'd say time is of the essence. So, let's
get started, shall we?"

Clark nodded uncertainly. "Uh, sure."

Dr. House clapped his hands together once, a sign, perhaps, that
he was ready to dive right into his work. He rubbed his hands
together for a moment, then looked at the rest of the gathered
crowd in the room. "Okay, anyone who *isn't* currently dying or
diagnosing said disease, out into the living room. Unfortunately,
my little medical elves couldn't come with me, so I need to take
a history."

Lois locked eyes with Clark, and he ever so slightly inclined his
head at her, letting her know that, yes, he would be fine on his
own. Jonathan and Martha looked worried, but Clark knew Lois
would find a way to give them the reassurance they would need,
even *with* Sam and Ellen hovering around. Clark watched as
everyone reluctantly filed out.

"Us too?" Sam asked, pausing mid-stride. He pointed between
Ellen and himself.

Dr. House nodded once. "I've got it. We can rehash symptoms and
discuss potential diagnoses later."

"Okay," Sam said, still wavering for a moment. But then he too
left the room.

"Looks like it's just you and me," Dr. House said to Clark and
Clark couldn't help but notice, with a sinking heart, that
everything he'd ever heard about the doctor's perpetual sarcasm
appeared to be correct.

"What do you need to know?" Clark asked, just wanting the
interrogation to be over so they could skip ahead to the point
where Dr. House figured out some medication or treatment that
would cure him.

"Everything," Dr. House said. He waved his hands before
himself, as though dismissing something invisible. "Look, I know
all of this is supposed to be secretive and you probably have
your reasons for not wanting to let certain information to get
out. But I need to know about your medical history. Every last
bit of it, even if it seems unimportant."

"I understand," Clark wheezed, successfully choking back a
cough. "But I'm afraid there's not much to tell."

"Tell me anyway," Dr. House replied, his voice even but somehow
steely and cold.

"Well...the fact of the matter is...I don't *have* a medical
history," Clark explained, feeling oddly uncomfortable with the
admission. While he wasn't bragging, it felt weirdly like he
*was* bragging about his extraordinary luck in being immune to
sickness.

"There's got to be *something*," Dr. House encouraged,
sounding mildly exasperated. "A cold. A bout with the flu. A
scraped knee. An allergic reaction. A broken bone. *Something*,"
he pressed.

Clark shook his head and immediately regretted expending the
energy to do so as the room spun wildly around him. He lay still
and closed his eyes, hoping to make the world go quiet once more.
Dr. House's hands found their way to his inner wrist, feeling
for and gauging Clark's pulse.

"I've never been sick before," Clark clarified, not risking
opening his eyes. "I've never had any broken bones or cavities
or sprained ankles."

Dr. House's hands felt Clark's forehead before immediately
pulling away from the heat of the fever. The man *harrumphed*
under his breath as he looked up at the ceiling. "I swear if
this turns out to be a case of the sniffles..." He didn't
finish his statement -- or had that been a threat?

"It's not," Clark instantly defended himself. "I've been
around people long enough to know what a head cold might feel
like. This is different. I feel like..."

"Like?" Dr. House prompted when Clark failed to complete his
thought.

"Like I'm dying," Clark said in a near whisper.

"So does every man with a runny nose," Dr. House volleyed back,
his words oozing sarcasm.

Clark opened his eyes to study the doctor before him. "I know
what I'm talking about."

A lightbulb seemed to go off above Dr. House's head. "I heard a
nasty rumor about a pretty green rock that seems to do a number
on you," he quipped in an almost chipper way. "I'm guessing
that has something to do with this." His words were measured and
logical, each one carefully spoken as Dr. House started to build
a case file in his mind.

Clark hated to admit it, but he also couldn't lie to a man who,
with any luck, would figure out what was wrong with him.
"Kryptonite. Yes," he admitted so softly Dr. House leaned
forward to catch Clark's words. Even here, even in the safety of
his apartment, it was hard to talk openly about the radioactive
pieces of his home world. "This illness, whatever it is, feels
similar to Kryptonite poisoning. But also vastly different." He
took a breath as he tried to find the right words to explain
himself.

"It's either the same thing or it's not. It can't be both,"
Dr. House countered gruffly, almost sounding a little annoyed, as
though Clark were playing a game with him.

"It's...hard to explain," Clark said, struggling with his
words. Why was it so hard to express himself? Was it the weight
of the illness or was it how uncomfortable it was to admit
anything to this stranger?

*No one can ever know about your differences,* he heard his
father's voice whisper from the distant past, when Clark was
just a gangly teenager developing super abilities by the day.
*Some scientist will track you down, put you in a lab, and
dissect you like a frog. You have to be careful, Clark.*

Clark sighed. His father had been right, of course. People like
Jason Trask had proven to Clark the ugly side of humanity. But
this was an extraordinary set of circumstances. He *had* to be up
front with Dr. House, if he wanted to stand a chance at living.

"The Kryptonite saps my powers. My strength. The pain is
excruciating," Clark explained. "When I'm exposed to it, I can
literally feel my life draining away. But this is different. I
can *feel* that I'm slipping away. My powers are gone. But the
pain is different." He coughed harshly then and had to spend
several long seconds gulping enough air into his lungs when he
was done. "Kryptonite feels like I'm being torn apart, burned
alive, stabbed with a thousand swords. This...I feel like I'm
being crushed to death. It's so hard to breathe. And I'm hot,
but in the traditional sense, not the phantom fire the Kryptonite
brings."

Dr. House sat and listened impassively, but Clark could tell by
the way his eyes never flickered away that he was absorbing it
all.

"Sorry," Clark apologized after a minute. "It's...hard to put
into words."

"I see," Dr. House replied, steepling his fingers under his
chin. "When did all of this start?"

"What...me feeling sick?" Clark asked, thinking back. "Um...I
guess last night?" Could that be right? Was it *really* less
than a day since he'd first begun to sneeze out of nowhere? "It
started innocently enough," he allowed.

"Define 'innocently,'" Dr. House prodded.

"I sneezed."

"And?"

Clark worked up a miniscule shrug. "That was it. I was at
wo..." He cleared his throat. With his head swimming with such
murkiness, he'd nearly blown his cover. "I was working on a
project," he weakly corrected himself, "and I sneezed."

"Ah, yes, the old Hollywood 'I sneezed and now I'm going to
die' routine," Dr. House said, sarcastically pitching his voice
higher like a damsel in distress and putting a hand to his
forehead in a mock swoon.

Clark forced himself to shake his head. "You don't understand.
I've never really done that before. It was weird, but I didn't
think much of it at the time because it appeared to be an
isolated incident. Until a few hours later, I guess it was. Then
I started to feel weak and like I was coming down with
something."

"And before the sneeze? Anything unusual happen?" Dr. House
asked, and Clark was grateful that the man had turned serious
again.

Clark thought back. "Not really. I made a few rescues. Nothing
too extraordinary or out of the ordinary for me, especially at
this time of the year. I took care of a few personal things in
between rescues. Nothing that would have caused this, as far as I
know," he answered carefully.

"What kinds of things?"

"Day to day tasks," Clark casually replied, unwilling to delve
any deeper than that. He paused. "Actually, the last thing I did
before I sneezed was a rescue, come to think of it."

Dr. House's eyes lit up. He sat on the edge of Clark's bed and
leaned forward in interest. "Do tell. Unless there are superhero
confidentially laws I'm not aware of?" It wasn't so much a
question as it was bait.

"I stopped a woman from committing suicide," Clark replied
evenly. "She was up on a rooftop, near a billboard. I talked to
her for a few minutes...told her that she had a lot to live
for...the same kinds of things I usually tell people who are
threatening to take their own lives, because it's the truth."

"Sounds almost too easy," Dr. House taunted.

"Sometimes it's like that," Clark countered, though Dr.
House's remark struck him on a primal level. It *had* been over
too quickly with Mindy Church. "Sometimes people aren't
*really* willing to go through with it. They just want someone to
talk to, to listen to them for a minute, to offer them
reassurance that things are going to get better."

"Most people seek out therapists for that," Dr. House quipped
bitterly. "Therapists that get paid a *lot *more handsomely than
you do, I might add. Okay, so...during this rescue, was there
anything that you touched or inhaled or kissed or whatever?"

Clark didn't like the insinuation that he would take advantage
of an emotionally unstable woman. "No..." he said slowly. But
something was tickling the back of his brain. "Wait...there was
a billboard nearby that was letting off smoke...well, steam, I
guess it was. It irritated my nose and throat for a second. But
that was it."

Dr. House didn't appear to be listening anymore. "Okay, so
let's assume this pathogen is airborne."

"You think the city is in danger?" Clark asked, suddenly
alarmed. He tried to sit up a little, but his muscles turned to
jelly as he made the attempt and he aborted the maneuver halfway
through.

Dr. House shook his head and cracked his knuckles in a carefree
manner. "Judging by the fact that Metropolis hasn't seen
massive amounts of people dropping like flies lately, I'd say
no. It probably affects only you. Which means it's probably not
something of this Earth."

That piqued Clark's interest. "You mean...it might
be...*Kryptonian?* But...how?"

"I'll be damned if I know," Dr. House offered with a casual
shrug. "But at least we're getting somewhere now. Still, the
question remains...how do we stop it from killing you?"

***

Under a microscope.

That's what it felt like, to Clark.

He felt like the alien in any one of those old sci-fi movies his
college roommate had been obsessed with -- the one who gets
captured by the US Government and is subjected to testing and
studied closely, locked in a cage in some desolate little lab God
only knows where.

And yet, it couldn't have been further from the truth. Clark was
kept as comfortable as his friends and family could manage to
keep him. His mother whipped up a batch of her famous chicken
soup; never before had it tasted so good. Though Clark could
really only slurp at the broth -- chewing required too much
strength that he didn't have to spare -- it was like sipping
Ambrosia up on high Mount Olympus with the gods in his mind. Lois
and Martha constantly fretted over him, much to Dr. House's very
verbal annoyance; he chased them away once or twice with a less
than kind word. Jonathan paced a lot when he wasn't wearily
propped up in a chair trying to comfort Lois and Martha. Sam and
Ellen worked tirelessly with Dr. House, though Clark could see
the fatigue in their eyes and a growing sense of hopelessness
surrounded them like a little black rain cloud.

As the hours melted away, they came no closer to finding either a
root cause to Clark's illness or a way to treat it. To his
credit, Dr. House -- for all his arrogance and bluntness -- tried
an exhaustive list of treatments. Clark was layered with ice
packs to try and lower his body temperature -- most of them
shoved into his groin, armpits, and on the back of his neck. But
by then he was so hot that the ice stood no chance of helping
before it melted away into lukewarm water. House even -- as Clark
found himself mentally referring to the doctor in a parroting of
the way Sam addressed his friend -- disappeared for a while and
returned with a "borrowed" IV full of "broad spectrum
antibiotics" that did nothing as Clark lay in bed, slipping
further and further into his fever. House was constantly on the
phone with his team back at Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital; as he
explained it, he was getting their opinions in case the diagnosis
of a never before seen on Earth Kryptonian virus, or bacterial
infection, or plague was wrong. He also explained how he usually
met with his team to discuss potential treatments and their
likelihood of success.

"This isn't working," Clark commented at one point. How long
had it been since House had come knocking on his front door? A
few hours? A day? Half a week? "What else can we try?"

House rubbed absently at his bad leg; Clark guessed the injury
still bothered him, or perhaps it was just force of habit.
Outwardly, the doctor looked calm, but there was no mistaking how
troubled his eyes looked. "I'm working on it," he admitted.

"Please don't lie to me, Dr. House," Clark found himself
saying, despite the fact that he hadn't actually *wanted* to say
the words aloud. "I don't blame you for not knowing what's
wrong with me. Or for not knowing how to treat my illness. But,
please, don't sit here and lie to me to make me feel better
about what's going on."

To Clark's surprise, the doctor didn't pretend that he wasn't
making up platitudes. "That's rich, coming from you," he said
evenly.

Clark scrunched up his brow as he tried to make sense of House's
reaction. "What do you mean?"

"You don't want me to lie to you? Fine," House volleyed back a
bit bitingly. "You're right, I *haven't* figured out the best
course of treatment *yet*. But, unlike you, I haven't been lying
my butt off this whole time. I've told you the truth, no matter
what."

"I'm not sure I follow you, Dr. House," Clark interrupted
gently. "I don't..."

House snorted a laugh; it sounded like he was about to crack
under the pressure of treating Superman's mysterious illness.
"Don't what? Don't lie?" He waved his hand dismissively as he
rolled his eyes. Then he brought his piercing, x-ray-like gaze to
Clark. "*Everybody* lies, Superman. Even you," Dr. House said
with a hint of disgust in his voice.

"I haven't been lying to you," Clark swore.

Dr. House laughed again -- but it wasn't a hearty, amused sound.
It was a gruff mockery of a laugh. "Oh please!" he nearly
shouted. "Do you think I'm stupid? Or maybe blind?" He did a
Three Stooges-like double point to his eyes. "You're lying to
the entire *world*, Superman! Your very *existence* is a lie!"
He gestured almost violently out before him, as though spreading
an invisible map of the world before Clark's eyes.

Clark gave him a quizzical look before wincing in pain as a spasm
twisted his chest. "I'm not following," he managed to get out
as he choked on a cough. "I'm real. I exist."

House rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

"Then I'm *really *not sure what you mean," Clark offered,
trying his best not to let his growing fear show.

"You want to play dumb? Fine. I'll spell it out for you. It's
not like I'm doing anything else important like...oh, I don't
know...*saving your life*." The sarcasm in the doctor's voice
swiftly degraded to a patronizing, mocking tone. "You're a
*liar*. And a bad one at that. You dress up in a blue suit,
flying around, calling yourself 'Superman.' Which...it's a
little arrogant, isn't it? To call yourself 'super'
anything."

"I've only used the name the public chose for me," Clark
defended himself.

"Right, because you couldn't have stepped in and given some
other, less god-like name," House snipped easily, though there
was no anger and no jealousy in his words that Clark could
detect.

"Does it matter?" Clark wondered aloud.

House shrugged. "Not in the least. Just thought I'd point out
the obvious. Anyway, back to the point."

The doctor reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a plain,
amber colored prescription bottle without a label, and tipped a
small white pill out into his open palm. He dry-swallowed the
pill as he replaced the bottle into his pocket. It was not the
first time Clark had witnessed the doctor do that and he had the
uncomfortable thought -- or was it certainty? -- that Sam had
asked a drug addict to cure him.

"You're not really Superman." It wasn't a question, nor was
it an accusation. It was nothing more than a cold, hard fact laid
bare between the two men in the room.

Clark didn't immediately answer, neither confirming nor denying
the doctor's theory. Instead, he simply watched as House stared
down at him, his icy blue eyes calculating and analyzing every
movement Clark made -- voluntary or otherwise.

"Do the Lanes know?" House asked in a softer, quieter tone
after they'd stared each other down for a solid two minutes. He
jutted his chin in the direction of the living room to indicate
Clark's future in-laws.

"I never said that you're right about me," Clark replied,
neatly side stepping the question.

"No, you didn't. You don't have to. Anyone with two working
eyes and a couple of brain cells to rub together would be able to
see it right now. The way your fiancee is doting over you. How
distraught the Kents are. Hell, I've had my suspicions that
Superman might walk amongst us regular people for a while now."

Clark snorted a laugh. "Oh yeah?" he challenged; one eyebrow
partially raised before a grimace of pain washed away his
panicked amusement for something darker.

House nodded gravely and he folded his hands atop his cane handle
before resting his head on top of it all. His eyebrows raised as
he explained. "Of course. You showed up out of nowhere, a
twenty-something young man from what had to be another planet.
Yet you spoke perfect English. Or, rather, as I've heard it,
perfect whatever the local language is. You knew about all our
customs. Anyone watching the news could see that; your ability to
melt steel with your eyeballs aside, you fit right in with
regular old, boring humans." He shrugged, as though it were only
too obvious. "The languages, the customs...all of that can be
learned. But that natural blending in with the crowd even while
you stood apart from them?" House shook his head. "That's
*not* something you can pick up from a textbook or by spying on
people from some spaceship. That's something you learn only by
*doing*, and for a long time."

Clark wasn't sure if that was meant as a compliment to the
complicated creatures humans were, a dig at how little faith
House had in Clark, or if the abrasive doctor meant nothing at
all by his random observation.

"So," House continued after a moment while Clark tried to
figure out the man's angle, "we can sit here all day and you
can deny that you typically dress in more boring attire and chase
stories for a major metropolitan newspaper, or you can trust that
I take doctor/patient confidentiality seriously enough to stop
myself from running out to the nearest tabloid." He rolled his
head on his neck as though working out a kink in his muscles.
"That, and I just don't care enough to go around spreading the
truth of your identity. The choice is yours." He spread his
hands apart like a Vegas dealer showing his cards.

"Why does it matter?" Clark asked, the effort of speaking
wearing him out.

House shrugged broadly. "It doesn't. But I'm guessing mom and
pop in-law don't know yet, or they'd be a lot more concerned
about your *rapidly* declining health." His eyes flickered as he
stared off into the distance, as if it helped him organize his
thought process. "What if the worst happens, despite my best
efforts, hmm? Have you given again thought to that? A grieving
Kent family. A heartbroken fiancee. And no Clark Kent to support
everyone." He spread his hands, palms up, and moved them up and
down as though weighing the words he was saying.

House's words were bullet-fast and just as destructive. Clark
had to admit to himself that he'd only really considered that
possibility in an abstract, fleeting manner. But House *was*
right. It shouldn't have to fall to Lois or his parents to
explain to Sam and Ellen about why Clark would suddenly vanish
off the face of the Earth if Superman died. He owed his future
in-laws the truth. He owed it to *everyone* to be the one to
man-up and be responsible for getting the truth out there.

"They...don't know," he reluctantly admitted, wondering every
second if the illness savaging his body had taken his wits along
with his strength. "Only Lois. Please...don't say anything to
them."

Again, House held up his hands in a "not my problem" manner.
"It's your call." His tone was aloof, as though he was
completely unaffected by the dying man before him. Maybe he'd
seen so many that it really *didn't* bother him. Clark wasn't
sure which option was worse. "But, between you and me, you might
want to consider telling them."

Clark took as deep a breath as he could without coughing and
sighed. "You're probably right," he admitted after a moment.

"Probably?" House looked incredulous that Clark hadn't agreed
whole-heartedly.

Clark would have shrugged if he'd had the energy to.
"It's...complicated."

"More complicated than spinning lies and hiding in the shadows?
Please," House nearly spat with a roll of his eyes, but he
didn't seem angry with Clark, just oblivious to how difficult a
position Clark was in.

"Well...yeah," Clark defended himself, though he could feel his
energy flagging. He would need to rest, and soon. "I'm...not
human. I may look like one, sound like one, act like one, but I
was born on another planet. Imagine, for a moment, your daughter
told you that she was marrying an alien. How would you take the
news?"

House shrugged, and he made an exaggerated "I don't know"
face. "I can't even imagine having a daughter."

"You probably wouldn't take it well," Clark offered.
"Lois...Lois is a rare woman. She's accepted who I am without
so much as a heartbeat's hesitation. She's never cared that
I'm not from Earth. But...she has a strained relationship with
her parents and I don't want to be the one to drive a further
wedge between them if they can't accept my origins." He sighed
again, sadness and the weight of responsibility filling his heart
and making his chest feel even heavier than it already did. "I
can't do that to her. I love her too much."

"You love her enough to make sure she isn't left holding the
ball if you die?" House snapped. "You love her enough to make
sure she doesn't have to explain why Clark Kent vanished from
her life? *Tell them,*" he commanded in a harsh, biting way.

"It's not that simple," Clark countered once more. "What
if...what if they hate the idea of Lois being with me so much
they decide it's better if they let me die?"

Clark paused. He hadn't even been aware of that fear until he
voiced it, but it was true. He *was* afraid that Sam and Ellen
might hate his alien roots enough to let him die. Of course, if
they loved Lois, they would fight for Clark's life, but Clark
couldn't muster up enough hope in his heart that that would be
the case. Perhaps it was because his head was now throbbing in
pain and he was so tired he felt like he could sleep for a
thousand years.

"You're a coward," House accused, ignoring Clark's concerns.
"Interesting."

"I'm not a coward," Clark shot back a bit more heatedly than
he'd intended.

"Yes, you are. Which is weird, considering your choice of attire
while in public," House smirked, gesturing to the vibrant blue
and eye-catching red of Clark's tightly fitted suit. "You run
the risk of people deciding to hate you every day, every time you
fly out of the sky to lend a hand. From what I've seen, that
hasn't stopped you yet. But you can't muster up the guts to
tell your girlfriend's parents that you've got the honeymoon
flight all taken care of."

His attempt at a joke came off less than funny and closer to
sneering. Clark shook his head ever so slightly. "You think this
is easy for me? The lies? The excuses? The hiding?"

"So tell them," House offered, tempering his voice to a
statement, rather than a command. "Stop making excuses. I know
the Lanes. They're not going to let you die. Doing that would
only ensure..." House said, but he did not finish his statement.
A light kindled in his eyes as some mysterious connection was
made in his mind. "I have to make a phone call." He stood,
using his cane to lean on once he was up. "*Tell them*," he
urged once again, just before he left the room.

Clark didn't want to. He wanted to sleep. But the idea that he
might never wake up from his fevered dreams scared him more than
the Lanes' potential rejection. He gave House a minute to get
out of ear-shot, then gathered his courage.

"Lois?" he called out, his voice a creaking squawk as he forced
it to be loud enough to carry into the living room and be heard
over the television. He could hear the *rat-tat-tat *of machine
guns in some old war movie.

Lois was at his side in a flash. "Hey, what's wrong?" she
asked as soon as she was over the threshold.

Clark closed his eyes before making the leap. "I think we need
to talk to your parents. They should know about me, in case..."
He couldn't force himself to add 'I die tonight.' He didn't
want to scare Lois.

"It's not going to happen. You're going to beat this thing,
whatever it is," Lois said staunchly.

Clark cracked a small smile. "I love that about you, you know.
That stubbornness. That drive to set right all the wrong things
you come across." He had to pause and catch his breath. "I'm
fighting, Lois. I promise. And I'll *keep* fighting. But this
thing...whatever disease this is...it's getting stronger and
I'm not sure I *can* win this fight, even with Dr. House and
your parents on my side. And if that happens, I need to make sure
you've got the support you'll need...not nosy and scathing
questions about where Clark is now that your friend Superman is
dead."

Lois' lower lip trembled and she pressed two fingertips to it to
hide the wobble from Clark. Water was pooled in her eyes. "I
don't..." She stopped and started again. She sat and took his
hands in her own. "It's your choice. But...when you get better,
are you *sure* you want them both to know? Once it's out there,
we can't just...take it back," she gently reminded him as she
put the back of her hand to his sweaty brow, checking his
temperature.

Clark shook his head -- a barely-there movement. "It's not my
first choice to have them know, but I don't see any other choice
under the circumstances. And, to be honest, we won't be able to
keep the secret forever. They're bound to find out sooner or
later." He smiled again, weaker this time. "Either I'll be
called off to a rescue where we can't explain my absence, or
they'll be babysitting, and our kids will start to fly, or..."
He deliberately let his voice trail off.

Lois appeared to think it over, but she did smile a little at the
thought of their future together. "You're right," she
decided.

"Can you bring them in?"

"Right now?" She seemed surprised.

"No time like the present, especially with my clock ticking as
fast as it is," he regretfully replied. He sighed. Lois stood
and went to take a step, but Clark clumsily grabbed her hand,
stopping her in midstride. He waited until she sat down again.
"Do you think they'll hate me?" he finally asked, trying his
best to keep his worry from showing and make it sound more
natural.

"How could they hate the man who's made their daughter so
happy?" she replied, skillfully side-stepping giving a 'yes'
or 'no'. She took up the abandoned washrag from the night stand
and dipped it into the cool, but not quite cold, water and wiped
his fevered forehead. "I won't *let* them hate you," she
vowed. She cleaned his brow of the beads of sweat that had long
since sprouted there and gently kissed his clammy skin.
"Everything's going to be okay."

But a knot of dread had coiled in Clark's stomach and he
suddenly felt very unprepared for the conversation ahead. "Lois?
I...maybe I should let my parents know first. About what I'm
going to do. It's only fair...they shouldn't have it dropped on
them in the moment like that," he said, fumbling his words, a
bit too quickly.

Lois smiled at his nervousness. "Okay," she said. "I'll get
them for you."

But before she could so much as stand, House reappeared, the
regular thumping of his cane against the wood floors even and
measured, though quicker than usual; almost with a sense of
urgency from the way it sounded. Clark wasn't sure if that was a
good thing or a bad thing. Either House had conjured up some plan
of attack to beat the Kryptonian illness that was killing Clark,
or Clark had run out of options and it was only a matter of
waiting for Death to arrive.

"Everyone, gather around in the bedroom," House commanded as he
continued to limp his way to Clark's bedside. Clark could see
the man gesturing in a 'hurry up' manner out of the corner of
his eye.

"What is it?" Clark heard his father ask.

"Maybe Dr. House has a new treatment or drug to try?" Martha
commented hopefully.

"That was an awfully quick phone call," Clark heard Sam mutter
dubiously under his breath.

"Not everyone takes a million years to make a decision," Ellen
half-heartedly jabbed at her ex-husband. But the usual venom of
their exchanges was definitely lacking, Clark noticed
distractedly.

"Did you figure out how to save him?" Lois asked, loudly
voicing the question burning on everyone's tongue.

House's eyes closed for a second as he shook his head and drank
in the tension in the air. "Nope!" The word came out sounding
optimistic. He opened his eyes and lowered them, appearing to
look at everyone and no one in the same instant. "I figured out
how to kill him."

***

"*Kill him?*" Lois screeched in a strangled cry. Clark
half-imagined that she might launch herself straight at Dr. House
and tear out his larynx for saying such a thing. She wheeled on
her father, her eyes flashing. "*This* is the so-called
'brilliant' doctor you said could save Superman?" She threw
her hands up in anger and exasperation. "I don't think *Dr.
Kevorkian* gets this much pleasure out of someone's impending
death." She brought her deadly gaze back to House, daring him to
speak.

House appeared unfazed by Lois' accusations. In fact, he looked
rather...at peace, Clark decided. He held up one hand like a
traffic cop calling for a stop, dismissing her in that single
motion. "Superman, can you get me some Kryptonite?"

"Why would you need that?" Jonathan bristled angrily. He took a
step forward like a bodyguard protecting his son.

"I already told you," House replied chipperly. "I'm going to
kill him."

"Over my dead body," Lois and Jonathan growled together.

House threw up his hand again in a gesture of pacification.
"I'm not going to *kill him* kill him. Just...kill him
enough."

"You'd *better* explain yourself clearly right this instant,"
Martha fairly thundered. Clark nearly smiled at the tone. He'd
heard it more than once when his mother had been so angry with
him that she'd threatened to "tan his hide like cheap
leather," if only she'd been able to.

Sam snapped his fingers as he made some connection. "Oh, I get
it!"

"Care to share with the rest of the class?" Ellen snapped
irately.

Sam cleared his throat and stepped forward a little -- a brave
move considering how close it put him to his fuming daughter.
"There's a theory out there. Mind you, it's *only* a theory.
But, basically, if you bring a host body to the point of death,
but not too close, you can kill off a disease. As the body starts
to die, it can't support the bacteria or virus or whatever is
causing the illness. Once the body is free of the active, living
disease, the idea is that you can bring the person back from the
edge and they'll be completely healthy again as the body is able
to recover," Sam explained with a sure, quick tone. He gestured
vaguely with his hands the entire time, as if indicating the host
body and the dying illness.

"Sounds like something only a lunatic would try," Ellen
complained.

House grinned. "I'm flattered," he quipped sardonically.

"No, no, it's a solid theory, if mostly untested," Sam
defended his friend. "There's been rumors of it being tested on
mice to see if scientists can cure them cancer."

Lois' face was a picture of shock. "Does he look like Mickey
Mouse to you?" she nearly screamed as she sliced her hand
through to air to indicate Clark.

"It's the only way," House calmly rebuffed.

"Like hell it is," Lois snapped.

"Lois...let them speak," Clark quietly interrupted before
anyone else could argue.

"Don't tell me you're *actually* considering this?" Lois said
with disbelief, turning to him with wide, staring eyes.

"I don't see that I have a lot of choice," Clark gently
replied, aware of just how many times he'd repeated that phrase
recently. "I need to do *something*."

"But..." Lois went to argue, but Clark was already looking at
House.

"I can get some Kryptonite," he confirmed. "How much will you
need?"

House shrugged. "How much does it take to affect you?"

Clark grimaced as unpleasant memories of the green rock surfaced
in his mind. "Very little."

"Let's get the next size up from 'very little', just to be on
the safe side," House instructed.

"This is madness," Jonathan grumbled, but Clark could hear how
defeated his father sounded. It was no secret that his father
hated the plan, but, like Clark, perhaps he didn't see any
alternatives either.

"Oh, try not to worry there, Farmer Brown, I know what I'm
doing," House said, feigning woundedness. He patted Jonathan on
the shoulder.

"Oh? Have you done this cockamamie 'treatment' of yours
often?" Jonathan challenged, stepping to the side to be free of
the doctor's touch.

House shrugged. "There's a first time for everything."

"Then how do you *know* you won't screw this up?" Martha
exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation.

"Look, Betty Crocker, *I'm* the one with the medical degree,"
House snapped hotly. "I've pulled off more dangerous stunts
than this."

"Yeah, really comforting," Martha muttered darkly.

Clark tried to crane his head enough to see his mother, but she
was standing too far behind his head. "It's okay. Let him do
it," he said, trying to make it sound like he was completely at
peace with the decision. "Lois?" He could see her well enough
as she sat just to the side of him. "Can you call Dr. Klein for
me and explain what's going on?" He took a shuddering breath.
"I'm not sure I have the strength to go through all the
details."

"Okay," Lois replied with a solemn nod. "If you're *sure* you
want to go through with this..."

"I am," he assured her, wishing in his heart that there was
another way.

"Great!" House said, rubbing his hands together. "Make the
call and let's get this party started."

Lois took Clark's hands in hers, gave them a squeeze, then stood
up and left the room. Clark could only just hear bits and pieces
of her conversation as she paced the living room. After what felt
like an hour, she returned to the bedroom, still holding her cell
phone. She held it out to Clark.

"Dr. Klein needs to confirm your voice print," she hollowly
informed him. Her inner torment was so real it brought a lump to
Clark's throat. He hated himself for having to put her in this
position -- torn between wanting to save his life and wanting to
protect him from the deadly thing that might stand a chance of
doing just that. "Here," she said, putting the phone to his ear
for him.

"Dr. Klein?" Clark croaked out as a spasm in his chest left him
nearly breathless. He waited for Dr. Klein's confirmation that
it was, indeed, him. "It's me. Do as Lois asked, please."

Lois gently pulled the phone away from his ear and left the room
again as she finalized the plans with Dr. Klein. Clark could only
imagine how his friend must have been fretting over the potential
consequences of letting Kryptonite out of the lab's vault.

"Okay, Dr. Klein is getting the sample ready as we speak. It
should be here within the hour," she informed everyone as she
walked back into the room, now with empty hands.

Before Clark could thank Lois for her help, House nodded,
pleased. "Good. In the meantime, I'll let you all enjoy a
little family time together while we wait."

"Family time?" Ellen asked, lifting her head up in interest and
confusion.

Clark felt his cheeks redden with heat that wasn't from the
rampaging fever in his body. He kept his mouth shut and wondered
if he should play it off, say nothing, or dive right into the
truth.

House rolled his eyes.

"You didn't tell them," House stated matter-of-factly, though
he sounded mildly annoyed. But then again, when *didn't* the
doctor sound irritated?

"I...uh..." Clark stammered, very aware of the intense look the
Lanes were giving him. He could feel his parents' worry. And he
could see how badly Lois appeared to want to shrink away from the
conversation. "There wasn't time, earlier."

"Tell us what?" Ellen asked flatly.

House rolled his eyes again so hard Clark could have sworn the
man had been able to see his own brain. "Coward," he said,
jutting his chin out at Clark.

"Hey now!" Lois bristled, standing directly in front of House,
getting in his face. "That's not fair! You never even gave him
a chance..."

"Lois, it's okay," Clark told her soothingly, but Mad Dog Lane
had been activated and would not be satisfied until her target
was destroyed. He lolled his head to the side, to look at Sam and
Ellen. "There was...something I needed to say. Before it's too
late and I can't anymore. Something that I hope won't affect
the way you think of me. Or of Lois," he amended." He struggled
for a moment to sit up straighter and failed, so he contented
himself to remain laying as he was.

"Oh, God, don't tell me Lois is cheating on Clark with you."
Ellen groaned. "As if we didn't have enough of that in this
family," she muttered in a slightly lower tone.

"Mother!" Lois exclaimed, shocked. Clark was surprised when
Lois didn't raise a hand to strike her mother, as he so briefly
imagined she would.

"I'd be the woman with the cheating husband *and* the daughter
who..." Ellen complained but she didn't get the chance to
finish.

"Mother, you are insane, you know that?" Lois yelled.

"Nothing like that!" Clark tried to assure the Lanes, but his
voice was fading fast and it got lost in the explosion of voices
all around him.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Martha asked him, leaning
in close to be heard over the din while Sam started to holler
about something that got lost in the noise around Clark.

"I have to," Clark said. "It's bound to come out one way or
another, and it's better it should come directly from me." He
tried to smirk but knew it failed. "I've learned my lesson
about lying to members of the Lane family."

Martha looked wary but nodded. "It's your choice," she told
him, neither trying to convince him that he was doing the right
thing, nor trying to convince him to keep the secret.

"Just let Superman talk!" Lois yelled at her mother.

"All right, everyone, *shut up!*" House commanded, picking up
his cane and whacking it on Clark's night stand. The sound went
off like a gunshot and silenced everyone immediately. "You," he
said, pointing to Ellen. "Your son-in-law is *dying* and all you
care about is your precious reputation. Pathetic."

"Dr. House!" Lois snapped, her face darkening like a storm
cloud.

House dramatically put his hand to his mouth. "Oops, my bad,"
he mock-apologized. "Was I not supposed to say that out loud?"

"I'll have your medical license for this," Lois swore.
"Doctor/patient confidentially is kind of a big deal," she
thundered.

House gestured to Clark. "He was going to tell them anyway," he
blithely defended himself.

"Lois, it's okay," Clark told her again.

"So...wait a minute," Sam said, waving his hands before him,
his face wrinkled in confusion.

Clark sighed. "I was going to tell you. Now wasn't my first
choice, but just in case anything happens to me...it's better if
you find out straight from me. Clark isn't on assignment. The
reason he hasn't been around is because...I can't split myself
in two. I'm Clark."

"But...you're Superman," Ellen gaped.

"He's Clark first and foremost," Lois helpfully supplied. She
put her hand on Clark's shoulder and he felt like her touch gave
him strength. "He takes on the alias of Superman when he needs
to help people. It's the only way he can use his powers in the
public's eye while protecting himself from nutjobs who would try
to extort or kill him."

"And you were going to tell us this...when, exactly?" Ellen
asked her daughter. She sounded exhausted and like a woman at the
end of her patience. She pinched the bridge of her nose and
sighed.

"Honestly, I'm not sure I ever would have, unless we needed
to," Lois replied evenly. "Not because I don't trust you, but
because the more people who know his secret, the more dangerous
it is for him that it might get out." She tore her gaze from her
parents and looked tenderly down at Clark. "I know this probably
isn't what you expected, and I know it's a lot to take in,"
she told Sam and Ellen, "but you both *know* Clark. Him being
Superman doesn't change who he really is."

"I'm sorry," Clark whispered. "I don't like living a lie
but...Lois is right. It's nothing personal that we never said
anything. It's strictly been for my safety...and yours. If
people discovered that you might know where Superman hangs his
cape at night, you'd be in danger."

"He's right," Jonathan said, backing Clark up.

"Clark's parents were almost killed by a government psycho that
thought Superman was going to usher in an invasion of
extraterrestrials," Lois added.

"I...uh..." Ellen stammered. She shook her head. "*Of course*
my daughter would wind up with Superman," she said, throwing her
hands up in the air.

"At least we know he'll be good to her," Sam said with a
casual shrug, though it looked like he was still trying to
process everything. "She couldn't possibly find anyone better
than him."

"I didn't say it was a bad thing," Ellen quipped crossly,
folding her arms across her chest.

"I didn't say that you did," Sam replied soothingly, his hands
up in a gesture of pacification. "I've met Clark. *You've *met
Clark. As far as I know, we were both very impressed with him.
This," he said, gesturing to the S on Clark's chest, "means
nothing, as far as I'm concerned."

Clark let out the breath he'd been struggling to hold. "I'm
glad to hear that," he admitted. "I was worried that you might
take issue with my...unique origins."

Ellen shook her head. "You make my daughter happy, that's what
matters. Not that you're from another planet." She shook her
head again and laughed to herself. "It *figures* that the only
man for Lois had to *literally* be from out of this world."

Clark took her lighter tone for a good thing. Relaxing a little
for the first time since his illness had begun, he found himself
drifting into the tempting void of sleep. He tried to fight it,
but the slope was slippery and he slid easily into the
blackness.

***

"Clark? Hey, it's here," Lois said, shaking his shoulder
gently to awaken him.

"It?" he slurred in his half-asleep, still fevered state.

"The Kryptonite," she said, choking on her words, as though her
hatred of the stone was strangling her.

"Oh...oh!" Clark replied as the realization hit. This was it.
He was about to willingly allow the stone to sap his life away.

"Look," Lois said, taking his hands in hers. "You can change
your mind," she urged. "There's still time..."

"Sorry, but there isn't," Dr. House interrupted as he and Sam
wheeled a rolling cart with a heavy lead box into Clark's room.
They pushed it against the wall so that it would be close enough
to Clark but not in anyone's way. House threw a glance at Lois
and Clark, sizing them up. "You understand that this technique
is experimental and as much as I wish I could guarantee
everything will go as planned, I can't." For the first time
since his arrival, Clark heard nothing but absolute
professionalism and straightforwardness in the man's tone.

"We do," Clark answered for Lois.

House nodded gravely. "Okay then. Let's get started, shall
we?" He turned slightly to Sam and gave him the command. "Open
the box."

Sam swallowed hard and cut the seals on the box. For half a
second, he hesitated, muttering to himself so quietly that no one
else could hear him. But to Clark, the pain in Sam's eyes made
it look like the man was seeking cosmic forgiveness for what he
was about to do. Then he carefully opened the lid of the box.

Instantly, Clark found himself thrown into a deeper level of the
hell he'd been living in since first contracting his illness. He
gripped Lois' hand for support as his body instinctively jerked
away from the glowing stone of his home-world. His body
jackknifed of its own accord into a nearly fetal position. On a
vague level, he was aware of the cruel irony of his life. So far,
he'd encountered only two things native to Krypton -- tiny
pieces of the planet itself and now this, a disease he imagined
must have killed scores of Kryptonians in its day. And all he'd
learned from them was how deadly they were to him. Only the
things that should have been alien to him -- Earth's yellow sun,
the bright blue sky and salty oceans, the rolling green hills and
majestic, snow-capped mountains, the open farmlands filled with
fertile soil and the thrill of growing things, the people -- were
the things that made him thrive.

And Lois.

She made everything about his world better. She'd taken away
every hurt, every scar, every doubt the world had caused him and
had healed him with nothing more than her gentle soul. She, more
than anything else, had cemented Earth as the place where he
belonged. It hadn't been his upbringing. It hadn't even been
the love of his parents. It had been because one woman had fallen
in love with him for who he was, not who he could be or the
things he could do.

"Let's give them some privacy," Sam said to the others.

Heads nodded, then everyone filed silently out of the room,
though Clark heard his mother's muffled crying. He would have
given anything to be able to comfort her, to promise her that he
would be alright. But he was in too much pain and too weak to do
anything. Even thinking was a struggle with the Kryptonite
dueling the virus for the right to claim his life.

How long he lay there, he wasn't sure. He was only abstractly
aware that Lois kept vigil over him. At some point, he wasn't
entirely certain when, he felt like he'd moved beyond the pain.
Numbness took hold and it was a new sensation for him. As close
as he'd come to dying in Lex Luthor's Kryptonite cage, he'd
never gotten to this point, and he knew he was getting close to
the edge of the abyss as a chill ran down his spine and turned
the raging fever into a river of ice in his veins. He was
terrified, but there was a part of him that felt oddly relieved
to know that his suffering was coming to an end.

"Can you forgive me?" Lois asked him at one point.

Clark's voice was almost gone, and he had to force a whisper
out. "Forgive you?" he croaked through dry, cracked lips.

"For putting you through this," Lois elaborated, brushing a
wayward lock of his hair from his forehead. He'd sweated so
profusely over the last day or so that it had loosened the hold
of the gel that normally held his hair slicked back in
Superman's trademark look.

"You had no choice," he told her, barely getting the words out.
Black spots floated before his eyes. "*We* had no choice."

Lois sniffled and wiped her eyes. "Can you forgive me for being
selfish? Competitive at work? Too busy too often?"

He tried to smile but that was outside of his abilities at the
moment. "Don't apologize for the things I love about you. Your
fire, your strength." He paused to take a shuddering breath.
"This is hard on my parents. Please...take care of them for me.
They'll need you..." He found that he was unable to finish.

Lois tearfully nodded. "I will," she blubbered for a moment
before she regained control. She wiped at her eyes, trying to
remove the evidence of her tears. "Remember once I asked you how
you felt about me...and you said being with me was stronger than
you alone?" She didn't wait for his confirmation, but Clark
remembered the conversation clear as day. "Grab onto that
strength now."

Clark felt the darkness closing in. "I love you," he said,
wanting his last words to be meaningful and true.

"I love you too," she told him, leaning in to kiss his lips.

That was the last thing Clark was aware of before oblivion
crashed down around him.

***

"Daddy!" Lois screamed, but to Clark's unresponsive form, her
words fell on deaf ears.

There was a rush of footsteps, followed by one slower, hobbling
gait. Sam's hands flew to Clark's body, checking for signs of
life. His face fell with every check he made.

"Is he dead?" House asked, a bit harsher than anyone with an
ounce of compassion would have.

"Coma," Sam corrected him, his voice thick with worry.

"Close enough for our purposes," House responded with a
distracted nod of approval. He scratched at the stubble on his
chin, looking deep in thought.

"What can we do for him?" Martha asked.

"There's not much we *can* do," Ellen offered, in an oddly
subdued tone for her. She put an arm around Martha's shoulders
in a show of support.

"We watch and wait," House added. "It's all up to him now."

"Can we at least close the lid on that accursed box?" Jonathan
asked, eying the Kryptonite with disdain.

House waffled for the span of three or four heartbeats, then
nodded curtly. "Okay," he agreed. "It's probably done as much
as it's going to."

"As much as it's going to?" Lois parroted back, incredulous.
"Coma or not, that *thing* is still killing him! I thought the
point was to keep him balanced on the edge."

"Which is why I'm closing it," House patronizingly told her,
shutting the box with deliberate care and slowness. "See? It's
closed. No need to call for my head. Sheesh!"

Lois looked at him like the doctor had suddenly sprouted a second
head. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

House shrugged. "So my team tells me all the time. Doesn't make
me any less right about my work."

"Let's not fight," Sam interjected. "Clark's been through
enough and the hardest battle is still before him. Now, I can't
prove that he can or cannot hear us while he's in a coma, but
there's some evidence that suggests that coma patients *can*
hear the voices of their loved ones. He needs to hear positive
messages, not fighting."

Lois glowered for a moment, then nodded. "Fine," she agreed
through gritted teeth. "For Clark, I'll let things go. For
now."

***

For what felt like eternity, Clark wandered in the darkness. He
saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing. He wondered if he was
dead, but this felt nothing like what he'd always been told
happened after the spirit left the body. There was no choir of
angels, no fluffy clouds, no light, no pearly gates, no deceased
relatives or even pets to welcome him into the hereafter.
Likewise, there was no heat, no flames, no demons, no grinning
devil, no screams of the eternally damned. There wasn't even a
waiting room, the way he'd always pictured the description of
Purgatory to look like as a young boy sitting in Sunday School.

*Maybe they were all wrong. Maybe all the preaching of an
afterlife was wrong. Maybe there is nothing after all, just
oblivion.*

But that couldn't be right either. If there was no Heaven, Hell,
or otherwise, how could he still have a consciousness? Shouldn't
*all* of his awareness have been snuffed out when he'd fallen
off the cliff's edge into the void?

"Clark?"

In the darkness, Clark's attention snapped immediately to the
direction where a fading echo of Lois' voice had come from. He
wanted to call out to her but it was as if his lips had been
glued shut. He couldn't open his mouth, couldn't part his lips,
couldn't utter a sound. Frantically, he started to move toward
where he thought she was, but it was as though a maze had been
erected in the total darkness while he'd been standing still. He
felt his way along the glassy-smooth walls, walking as fast as he
dared.

"Clark?" she called again and his love for her lit up his heart
like an actual fire. He felt some strength returning as hope
flooded him.

He quickened his pace to a fast walk, then a trot, and finally an
outright run. He crashed into walls seemingly at every turn, but
he was dimly aware that he was making progress, though he wasn't
entirely sure how he knew that.

"Clark!" she called again.

With a final burst of speed and a tremendous effort, he tore his
fused lips apart and her name ripped from his parched throat as
he broke through a final barrier and into a land of light so
bright it stung his eyes.

***

"Merry Christmas!" Sam Lane decreed later that night, though it
was, in fact two hours and thirty-three minutes from officially
being Christmas Day.

Clark held his glass of champagne aloft as he echoed the
sentiment. "Merry Christmas!"

It had taken Lois and himself the better part of the day with the
police as they'd pinned the attempted attack on Lois and the
Kryptonian virus on Joey Bermuda, thanks, in part, to recordings
Sam's android creation, Baby Gunderson, had taken while the man
had been in Lois' apartment. The Handyman, as Joey was known,
had insisted that Mindy Church had been the one to hire him.
He'd admitted that she'd tasked him with creating a virus that
could kill the Man of Steel. Clark had been mindful to return as
Superman after he and Lois had officially left the scene, just to
make it known to Joey that his biochemical weapon had failed.

But now all of that was behind them and he and Lois could
celebrate a somewhat quiet night in, celebrating life and
Christmas Eve. Dr. House had been invited to stay for the
celebration as well, and, after some heavy persuasion on Ellen's
behalf, had accepted. Clark suspected that House was, perhaps,
glad of the company on such a night, though the doctor insisted
that he was only there to ensure that his patient didn't
suddenly keel over and die from some unintended complication of
the treatment he'd received. But Clark felt fine, much to his
own amazement. It was as though he'd never been sick at all. He
felt completely healthy and normal, all of his powers were
functioning as usual, and he had boundless amounts of energy.
Yet, for all of that, he was subdued as he enjoyed the intimate
party at Lois' apartment. As much as he could have flown up into
the heavens and shouted his jubilation to the world, he had no
desire to do much more than just laugh and talk with the people
closest to him, and the man who'd saved his life.

"Dr. House," Clark said as the night wore on. "Can we talk for
a minute?"

House nodded once, reluctantly, a look of uncertainty flashing in
his eyes for the span of a single heartbeat. "Sure."

Clark led House out onto the fire escape. Outside, the air was
crispy, cold, and filled with the fresh scent of the lightly
falling snow. "I wanted to thank you, again, for saving my life
tonight," he stated as the doctor leaned against the steps that
led down from the apartment above. "Without that, admittedly
insane, treatment of yours, I'd be dead by now." He hung his
head, humbled by how close he'd come to his own mortality.
"It's not something I'm used to admitting, but...there it is.
The world can't ever know it, but, without you, Superman would
be gone."

He looked in through the window where Lois was holding a glass of
white wine in one hand, her other hand across her stomach as she
laughed deeply at something his mother had said. "Without
you...my parents would have been burying their son, instead of
celebrating a holiday. Lois..." He shook his head, hating the
thought of Lois grieving for him. He looked sharply back at
House. "All I've ever wanted in my life was to be
accepted...loved...by someone who I didn't have to hide from. As
soon as I found Lois, I knew she was the one. I fell in love with
her the moment I met her. I've wanted to marry her for a long
time now. Because of you, I'll get that chance."

House nodded again, this time with confidence and acknowledging
Clark's thanks. "So...you're *not* mad at me for blowing your
secret to the in-laws?" he quipped lightly.

Clark chuckled and shook his head. "No, I'm not. Maybe that
makes me crazy, but...after all that's happened in the last
couple of days, I'm just happy to be alive. Everything else
seems so...insignificant in comparison."

"They could have rejected you," House said, and Clark followed
the man's eyes to where they rested on Sam and Ellen, who were,
oddly enough, seemingly getting along quite well.

Clark kept watching his future in-laws. "They could have," he
agreed. "Six months ago, today, ten years from now...what's the
difference? It would have come out eventually." He shrugged.
"What'd they say to your offer to come work for
Princeton-Plainsboro?"

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop on the conversation between House,
Sam, and Ellen, but he'd inadvertently heard House make the
offer to them to come and work for him. House looked unsurprised
that a man with super hearing had heard something he hadn't been
meant to hear.

"They turned me down," House replied, his breath frosting into
white puffs of smoke in the freezing air. "Ellen's comfortable
with her current position as head nurse and, quite frankly, who
can blame her? And Sam...he's a good man. Hard-headed and prone
to making bad decisions, but...he said he can't accept, that it
wouldn't be right, in light of that boxing scandal a couple of
years ago."

"He's mentioned a need to step back from the medical world and
atone for his mistakes," Clark said with a single nod.
"Hopefully he'll realize that it wasn't really his fault. He
was under duress; Luthor would have had him killed -- almost did
-- for disobeying his orders."

House nodded mutely, and Clark wondered if the conversation was
over. But neither man made a move to climb back in through the
window, back into the warmth of Lois' cozy apartment.

"She loves you," House commented after half a minute of
silence. He nodded once in Lois' direction.

"Sometimes I wonder why, but I'm always thankful for that,"
Clark remarked.

"Hold on to her. Good women are rare finds." Was Clark
imagining the tinge of sadness he thought he heard in House's
words?

Unsure of how to respond, Clark merely nodded and kept watching
Lois in silence.

"I probably should get going," House said after a minute or
two.

"You don't have to," Clark reminded him.

"Unfortunately, that's not true. I didn't exactly ask for
permission to make this little house call. Cuddy is going to have
my head when she finds out I skipped clinic hours...again." If
he'd meant to sound contrite, he'd failed.

"Perhaps I can help with that," Clark said with a half-smile.
He spun into his Superman suit. "I'll fly you back to the
hospital and be certain to thank your boss for allowing me to
borrow you on such short notice to assist me with a case. She
can't *possibly* fault you for that."

"You don't know Cuddy," House wisecracked, but he gave a nod
of approval. "Okay, you're on. Who knows...maybe you and I will
*both* cheat death tonight."

THE END