The Memoirs

Lionel liked to pride himself on his temper. Especially on the fact that he reigned it in, especially around strangers, but on the flip side of that, it meant his family bore the brunt of it.

Unfortunately, the conversation that he had just had with his husband's therapist had not brightened his mood.

At all.

In fact, he was downright angry and upset, but he didn't say anything about it. Instead, after talking with Eduard, Lionel had made several phone calls to old friends and people who owed him favors, and very soon, Dominic's replacement therapist was on the way to the mansion.

Part of him wanted to be at home when Dominic met the man.

Part of him wanted to be on the other side of the world.

His fingers drummed impatiently on his desk as he waited for Dominic to pick up the bloody phone.

Dominic was sitting in front of his laptop in the bedroom he shared with his husband. He'd been trying to do some work, but he'd gotten frustrated with that fairly quickly, and now he was sitting in his chair, having himself the brood to finish out all broods.

And his phone was ringing nonstop.

He knew it was Lionel. He knew Eddie had gone to Lionel and told on him like a bad wittle boy, and he knew that he was in deep shit, and he knew that things weren't okay right now and Lionel would very likely be angry at him.

He didn't care.

Finally, after the third call, he picked the phone up, and muttered, "Luthor."

"Thank you for deigning to take my call; I'm touched you could be troubled to answer the phone, what with all the sulking."

He didn't respond to that. "What is it that you need?"

"For you to go downstairs; your replacement therapist should be arriving in the next half an hour to finish out tonight's appointment; you'll be working with him until seven tonight, to make up for the time lost with this little episode. He will then be here sharply at nine tomorrow morning to continue Eduard's schedule."

"I'm not continuing anything," Dominic answered, quietly.

"Yes, you are," Lionel said, just as softly. "Because if you do not, I will be quite angry with you, do you understand me?"

"You can't be angry at me for wishing not to do this," Dominic said, in the same tone. "Leave me be."

"Oh, yes, Dominic, I can be. I can be quite angry over the fact that you have run Eduard off, I can be quite angry that you have given up, and he refuses to come back and finish your therapy because of it, and I can be quite angry that I am having to switch therapists mid-stream for your treatment because you are sulking like a child. If you are not downstairs when the therapist arrives, he has been given the run of the house and will come look for you."

"I am not a child," Dominic grit out, forcing his voice not to break again. "Stop treating me as if I haven't a brain cell left in my head! Fuck Eduard, and fuck you!" And he slammed the phone down and off, and snarled, barely keeping himself from throwing it across the room as he covered his face with his hands.

Lionel hung up, and called the replacement therapist. "Yes. I talked to him; you're likely going to have to search for him and take him downstairs." A pause. "Yes, thank you. I appreciate this more than you realize." Lionel hung up the phone and looked at his watch. The therapist should be walking in the door any moment now, and he was just waiting for his phone to ring. Then, he did something quite mean.

He picked up the phone, and buzzed his secretary. "Cecelia, I'm going to be working on something for the remainder of the afternoon; please hold all my calls. If it's an emergency, take a message and I will take care of it promptly."

The secretary agreed, and Lionel sat back in his chair, and waited for the explosion.

Dominic was barely holding himself together. He never, in his wildest dreams, thought it would be so hard and so painful to try and walk again. It wore on his pride, on his self esteem which was barely held together by a thread. The enormity of what he had to accomplish scared him--not because he was afraid of doing it, but because he was all too aware of what could very possibly happen. He wouldn't walk again.

He let his hands fall to his lap, where he stared at them, without seeing.

A fist started pounding on the door downstairs, and the indistinct muffled yells of the person on the other side filtered up the staircase as the pounding grew harder.

Everyone in the house had been informed, by Lionel, that they were not to answer the door. The therapist had picked up a key to the front door before coming over, and was capable of entering the house himself should Dominic choose not to let him in.

Dominic heard the yells, but he paid them no mind--people screamed in this house like it was going out of style. Instead he shifted, turning to his computer again where he began to surf the web idly, not paying attention to anything he was reading.

A key clicked in the downstairs lock, and the front doors flew open like they'd been kicked.

Which, actually, they had.

"All right, you stubborn sumbitch, get your potato-suckin' Irish ass down here before I come chasin' you down!"

Dominic lifted his head, hearing the howl but didn't quite comprehend it. It was said in Redneckese, a language Dominic wasn't entirely familiar with yet.

"I ain't kiddin' you, Dom'nic! Get your ass down here right now before I have to come look!!"

Oh, God.

No.

No.

Dominic's hands began to tremble as he grabbed the wheel chair, and wheeled toward the door. Had it been… no. It couldn't be.

No.

"One more chance, you damn bastard, and then I'm kickin' your ass outta that wheelchair all the way down the steps!" Jonathan Kent's workboots clumped hard on the stairs as he started climbing them.

Dominic gasped, hard, and rolled backward as his fingers let go of the wheel mid roll. No. No. No. Lionel wouldn't... he wouldn't. No. He gaped at the closed door, staring, shocked, his fingers scrambling for the cell phone he'd set in his lap that he dialed.

Busy signal.

No. No. No.

Jonathan kept bulldozing up the stairs. "Can't believe you stubborn sumbitch!" he bellowed out. "Runnin' off your therapist in a damn sulky fit! I got a damn mule in the paddock that ain't half as stubborn as you are!"

"Go... away," Dominic croaked, about as loud as he could get right now as he hit redial on the phone. "Go away, goddammit!"

"Y'ain't runnin' me off, get yer pansy fuckin' ass out here right now, or I'm draggin' ya!"

Lionel had done what Dominic didn't think he'd ever do. He'd betrayed Dominic so badly that right now, he was sure Lionel himself didn't understand the gist of what he had done.

He could, would not. No. Not with Jonathan fucking Kent.

"Get out, I don't care what you've got to fucking say! Leave!"

"Ain't got a damn thing to say, but I do have a job t'do, and that's get you on your feet!" Jonathan threw open the bedroom door and put his hands on his hips. "Now, you comin' quietly, or am I draggin' you kickin' and screamin'?"

Dominic looked up at Jonathan Kent--when had he gotten so big? Must be all the cow fucking, great for the metabolism--and didn't even have it in him to scowl. "Go away. You're not coming near me with a fucking ten foot pole, you bastard."

"'Fraid you got that wrong, Dom'nic. I'm here to fill in as your ther'pist."

"And I'm afraid you have that wrong. You're not touching me. Go away."

"Tell that to yer husband." Jonathan snorted. "What Ly wants, he gets, and what he wants now is your sorry ass walkin'. So we're gonna do that. And if you got a problem with it, you c'n take it up with him."

Dominic looked up under blond lashes at the pig sucking bastard and dug his heels in. Figuratively, anyway. "That's IT. I've had ENOUGH of being controlled by him or you or ANYONE else! I'm tired of being told what I need and what I don't need, I'm tired of other people judging my limits for me, I AM TIRED of not being listened to! IT IS MY BODY! I'll do with it what I fucking well please, and YOU, Mr. Kent, will get off of this property before I CALL THE BLOODY POLICE!"

"Call 'em. Ethan'll come out here, find out that I bin hired by Li'nel t'do a job, and tell you not t'waste his damn time."

"Get. Out."

"Ain't gonna."

"Then you're wasting your precious afternoon, Mr. Kent, because I'm not doing a goddamned bloody thing."

"That's it." Jonathan stalked over to the wheelchair, put his hands on the handles and started pushing. As quickly as he could. "Now, we're goin' downstairs, and if I gotta drag you by the belt on your pants, you're gonna do this."

Dominic grabbed the arm rests tightly as Jonathan grabbed the chair, and yelped as they went to fast and his head swam. "Stop it, you bloody cur! HEEL!"

Jonathan didn't stop. "Not a dog, an' I don't heel."

"Let go of me, right fucking now," Dominic hissed as they rolled down the hall. "Bloody fuck, I'm not a child!"

Jonathan jerked the wheelchair up short. "Then stop actin' like one!"

Dominic grabbed the chair harder, struggling not to pitch out of it as his lunch came up in his throat. "I'm not acting like a child."

"Sure are," Jonathan countered, pushing the wheelchair towards the elevator. "Not wantin' to do your therapy, blowin' up like a hoppytoad at the poor kid tryin' to help you, and runnin' him off? Yep, you're actin' like a five year old havin' a tantrum."

"I'm not acting like a child," Dominic said, trying as hard as he could to be firm about that when he was being pushed around and he could bloody well do it, but knowing the fucking cow fucker his fingers would scrape off or god knew what. "Leave me alone. I'm not doing anymore therapy, and no one, not even you, are going to manipulate me into doing so."

Jonathan thumped Dominic's bicep with his thumb and forefinger. "Don't gotta manipulate you. Little as y'are right now, I can lift your body and do it for you."

Blow after blow on his masculinity.

"Leave. Me. Alone."

"Ain't gonna."

"I'm not going to do anything. I'm not going to do any therapy at all. So you can bloody well buzz off," Dominic hissed.

"Y'add a nyah nyah, you can't make me, onta that and you'll be soundin' more like you're actin'."

Dominic's fingers clenched. "Stop doing that, if you can manage to stop being your hillbilly, redneck, cow fucking self for a half a minute."

Jonathan snorted. "I'll stop if you'll stop bein' a stuck-up sumbitch." Then he had the audacity to wink. "An' I won't even tell Martha y'called her a cow."

Dominic craned his neck to stare up at him. "You are a low class, little learned mother fucker, Jonathan, with more unmitigated gall then I've ever met in anyone. You assume I'm going to let you do God knows what while I sit here passively? You're not touching me, you're not helping me, and I don't give a shit if Eddie is gone."

"You oughta take a listen to y'self, Dom'nic. Me me me, I I I, I'm not, I don't want, I'm not gonna, all you. Don't give a shit-lickin' bitta thought to anyone else. Like, maybe, Li'nel, who wants t'see you back up on yer feet, God only knows why."

Dominic's hands shook in his lap. "Shut your fucking mouth, Kent," he said, as calmly as he could. "You know nothing about my life or Lionel's life. Shut up."

"Know he loves you, for some stupid reason. Know he wants you to feel better, get back on your feet so you stop mopin' around and thinkin' you're useless'n all. Which we both know you are, but let's not tell him, kay?"

Dominic's stomach clenched, and his hands shook all the worse as he grasped the blanket in his lap. "I'm not useless," he growled out, though it sounded more of a croak. "Go away, I don't want you anywhere near me, get OUT of my house!"

"Y'ain't? Prove it."

"I don't have to prove anything to you, Kent," Dominic hissed.

"Course not, cause I already think you're a pansy ass potato-suckin' Irish coward," Jonathan said, dragging Dominic and the wheelchair onto the elevator and pushing the down button.

"I'm not a coward," Dominic cried, voice shaking with the power of the yell. "I'm not a coward, god DAMNIT!"

"Sure you are," Jonathan countered, ignoring the yells. "Too scared of fallin' on yer ass and failin' so you don't try."

"Don't you ever assume such a stupid thing again, you cow fucking bastard. I'm not scared of that--if I was I wouldn't have done it all morning, now wouldn't I have?"

"Stop insultin' Martha, first off, and second off, why'd you send Eddie off if'n you weren't scared of not bein' able to do it after you fell down a couple of times?"

"Because there isn't any use, you stupid fuck. I'm never going to walk again, and that's that. No one will accept it but me, and it's getting on my last bloody nerve!"

"Y'know, when ever'body dis'grees with you? Maybe it ain't them that's the problem. Ever think of that, or you too busy feelin' sorry for yerself?" Jonathan waited for the elevator doors to open, and he pushed the wheelchair down the hallway towards the gym.

"I don't feel sorry for myself," Dominic hissed out, throat too tight almost to speak. "I don't want to do this, so leave me alone. You can't manipulate me, Kent."

"Course you don't wanna. You'd rather mope around upstairs about how you're never gonna walk again," Jonathan nodded sagely. "Rather than get up off your lazy ass and try."

"Why… are you saying these things to me? Get the bloody hell out of my house!" Dominic cried. "Leave me ALONE!"

"Don't like hearing the truth, do ya?" Jonathan parked the wheelchair in front of the parallel bars. "Now, get your ass up and take a step."

Dominic glared at him with all the hate he could muster, reflecting out of his green eyes. "It's not the truth. I'm not moping, I'm not feeling sorry for myself, I'm not doing any of these hateful things you're talking about."

"Hell you ain't." When Dominic didn't move, Jonathan did. He walked back behind the wheelchair. "Get up or I'm dumpin' you out."

Dominic crossed his arms and glared up at him.

Jonathan put his hands on the wheelchair handles and tipped the chair forward.

And Dominic pitched out. He fell with a hard thump on his bad knee, and he screwed his face up tight as he fell forward onto his side and hands. The pain was horrible but he struggled to keep his mouth shut, which he did after a moment of biting his lip.

When he looked up, his voice was thick with pain and hate. "Get out of my house."

Jonathan stood one step away, between the bars. "Come and make me."

"I. Can't. Get. Up. What part of that do you not understand in your thick hillbilly head?"

"You just told me you spent all mornin' on the bars. So, get up on 'em."

"I spent all morning falling off of them, you stupid git. I can't get up on them on my own."

"Sure you can. Reach up, put your arms on them, and lift up."

Of all the undignified, shitty things anyone had ever done to him, this took the cake.

"I. Can. Not. Do. It."

"Then I guess I ain't goin' anywhere, am I?" Jonathan smirked down. "Tell you what. Cause I feel sorry for you, I'll give you a boost. I'll get you up on your feet. Then, if you can make it to me, I'll get out of your house for the day."

Dominic's insides turned to ice and he didn't say anything, his expression closing up and his heart slamming in his chest hard, fast, and furious. "Don't touch me," he croaked, but he knew he couldn't get up on his own at all. Fuck.

Jonathan shrugged and leaned against the bars. "This oughta be fun," he said, crossing his arms over his chest

Dominic clenched his teeth, and struggled, as hard as he could. He reached up to grasp the left bar, then the second, and he just didn't think he had the strength. IN fact, he knew he didn't. He pulled though, trying, goddammit, trying.

Jonathan just kept his eyebrow raised as Dominic's torso started lifting up off the mat. "Might help a bit if you throw your shoulders back, like you're reelin' in a fish as you pull up."

"Don't tell me what to do," Dominic hissed.

He tried it anyway.

And couldn't do it.

His fingers let go and he fell back onto his hip with a thump, making him wince as he struggled to keep himself at least partially upright.

"Y'almost got it. Start with your shoulders back, and pull up. Y'got upper body strength you're not usin', cause you're holdin' so rigid."

Dominic ignored him. Totally. His knee hurt like fucking hell, and he rubbed it once, pulling in a deep breath before reaching up again and grabbing the bar. He pulled, tried, goddammit he tried, but his little bony arms weren't doing anything for him today.

He fell back again, breathing noisily out of his nose.

Jonathan walked a step forward, and held out his hand silently.

Dominic looked at it, warily.

Jonathan didn't move, just left it hanging in the air.

Dominic looked at it... glared… but took it.

Jonathan used the grip on his hand to haul Dominic up to his feet, bearing the brunt of Dominic's weight on his shoulder. "Now, put your hands on the bars, throw your shoulders back, and pull your weight with your torso."

Dominic grasped the left bar, tightly, elbow shaking as he grabbed it, and with the other hand he reached back and punched Jonathan Kent in his big fat cow fucking nose.

And after he was sure his fingers weren't broken, with a quick shake of them, he grasped the bars as tightly as he could as he straightened up from his hunch.

"That's one," Jonathan said calmly, stepping back. "Next time, I hit back."

"Next time I'll lay you flat, Kent," Dominic snarled, though he felt his skin losing its flush as he held onto the bars and his elbows shook.

"You can try it. But first? You gotta get to me." He snorted. "Come and get me, Senatori, and I'll let you have another one free."

"No... amount... of… gro… veling… in the world... is goi… ng to... save Lionel today," Dominic grunted, holding on tightly as he could. He didn't want to do this, but he didn't have much else choice--he could stay sprawled on the ground until someone found him, but god, that was a worse thought, so he let the fucking bastard ass cow fucking cunt taunt him. "I... hate... you."

"Yeah... I wouldn't take into consideration the fact he's doin' this to help you," Jonathan snorted. "I hate you too, we know this, so stop your bitchin' and start movin' those chicken legs."

"They're… not... CHICKEN LEGS!" Dominic yelled, but the force of the cry almost made him lose his footing, and he cut it off abruptly, holding on tightly and hunching down slightly to hold tight. He moved his left leg as he'd been doing, first, and his bad knee buckled as he knew it would, nearly making him pitch forward.

Jonathan moved forward and caught him before he hit the ground. "Son, did that boy give you a brace for that?"

Dominic glared upward with all the fierce hate in his face saved only for him. "No."

"Dumb sumbitch," Jonathan grumbled. "First goddamn thing you gotta do when a player's down is make sure he's got support."

Yes.

How typical.

Eddie had run off, and the first person Lionel got was an ex-football player who hadn't played in over twenty years.

Yes. How fantastic.

"He didn't mention anything about a support."

"Cause that boy's never been on a football field a day in his life. Sit yer ass down in that wheelchair while I have me a look 'round." He pushed the wheelchair closer to the bars as he ambled over to the big cabinet, and started rooting around.

Very, very, very slowly, Dominic let go of one bar, grabbed the arm of his wheel chair, and then used the other to lever himself downward with a heavy huff, wiping his face with the back of his hand with a cold hand. He turned his eyes to regard the man looking through the cabinets Eddie had had brought in, and glared at his back. "I doubt he doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Yeah, yeah, and I'm just a cowfucking hick farmer," he said, with a middle finger flipped up towards Dominic. "But I was also the football team's trainer in college, and I've worked with more leg injuries on guys bigger than you, and the first thing you do is shore up the joint so you don't damage it before you start buildin' it up. That's the damned dumb thing about those boys today, don't teach 'em the logical shit. Forget building the knee up, ain't gonna do you a shit's bitta good if you can't use it."

Dominic lowered his eyebrows and growled low in his throat. "Do not suggest I am small, Mr. Kent," he hissed, even as he stopped growling long enough to listen to him, as horrifying and terrible and miserable an individual he was. Dominic didn't forgive and never forgot when it came to being threatened with the people he loved.

But he was stuck with this until Lionel came home.

And then he was going to pay. Dearly.

Jonathan just laughed. "You ain't no fuckin' linebacker, Dom, I don't give a damn how much that hurts your vanity."

Dominic glared all the harder for it, ego wounded. "No, but I'm not small, either."

Another snort. "Whatever you say, Dom."

That hurt him again. He wasn't little. He was thin. And short. But he wasn't little. He glared at his lap.

Jonathan gave a pleased yelped of discovery, and pulled out a hinged metal and fabric brace. "Get ready to walk, boy."

"I am not a boy," Dominic muttered, darkly, under his breath, with a few Gaelic curses added to it until he was muttering under his breath like a demented house elf. He gave a frustrated glare up at Jonathan as he came back toward him.

"Younger'n me," Jonathan countered. He brought the brace over, and held it up. "Now, lemme see that knee that keeps givin' out on you."

"Younger by what, a year?" Dominic glared, even as he shifted his leg a little bit but winced again. It was whining at him, loudly.

"Try bout ten," he snorted.

Dominic glared. Just glared. "Do you need me to pull my pant leg up, and could you budge over a bit so I can kick you in the groin?"

"Yeah, do need the leg up, and if you kick me in the nuts, I'll kick you back in the same place despite the fact that Ly'll have my ass in a sling. So stick it out and shut up."

Dominic glared and pulled at his pants leg, tugging the loose material up over his knee. The whole thing was still bandaged and ugly, the stitches underneath tugging lightly every time he moved it, and he winced again as he shifted it. He'd rather stab himself then admit it hurt like a bitch.

Jonathan held this up. "Can't guarantee it'll make your knee stop hurtin', but it's built to take the weight off'n it." He pointed to the hinges. "This'll make it so the brace can bend with the knee--hey, pay 'tention. You'll need to know how to get it off." He pointed to the little slip-locks at the back. "Reach'n behind your knee, and you'll feel the release button. press it, the locks open, and you take it off."

"Fine," he muttered. "My attention span isn't what it used to be, especially when listening to cowpoke farmers. Now put the damn thing on so I can get back up, walk, and make you leave."

"Yeah, but this farmer knows what he's talkin' about," Jonathan said, snapping the brace into place over Dominic's knee. "Now, get up and grab onto the bars and see how that works."

Dominic moved his leg until Jonathan got it on, and he frowned a little over how snug it was, but reached up to grasp the bars. He levered his right foot, by far the stronger one, and after grasping the bars, pulled until he was able, with a short, strangled cry, to heave himself up out of the chair. His muscles all ached like he'd run eight miles without a break, and he heaved a hard breath as he pulled himself straight, holding himself tightly with shaking elbows again.

"There you go. Now, how's it' feel standin' on that brace?" He smirked, and crossed his arms over his chest as he stood about a step back from the start of the bars.

"Fuck," Dominic shifted and moved, plunking back down in his chair and reaching down with a hiss, eyes teared with pain. "It pulled on the bandages, and the stitches are going with it," he said, as he pulled the thing off like Jonathan had shown him. He moved it down his leg a bit, not entirely taking it off, as he carefully fixed the tape around his mangled kneecap. "There should be some padding in one of the drawers over there."

"Paddin' coming up." Jonathan ambled back over to the cabinet and rooted around until he came back with several strips of foam padding and adhesive tape. Getting on his knees, he wrapped the padding around the metal pieces, taping it in place with the adhesive tape, then sliding it back up to test the position of the padding.

Dominic let out a slow breath. "Better." He stopped a moment… looked up. "I don't like you. Why are you doing all of this?"

Jonathan didn't look up. "Because I like your better half."

Dominic's nostrils flared. "Mine," he hissed, giving Jonathan a push back and leaning down to hook the pieces back together and snap the whole damn thing shut.

"Yeah, he is. But he's still my friend, and you make him happy. Long as you do that? I'll get you back up on yer feet for 'im."

Dominic glared at him and didn't say anything, as he got the thing hooked back on and reached for the bars again. He was exhausted, bone weary down to the marrow, but it didn't stop him from pulling himself back up, shifting some of his weight onto his bad leg and feeling the brace keep him held up, now without the bandages tugging agonizingly. "Better."

"Good. "Now, move your ass."

"Fuck off," Dominic muttered, as he got himself ready. He grabbed the left bar with his left hand, tightly, slightly forward, and with the other, held his weight more firmly. He lifted the left leg with all of his strength, muscles screaming, and when he set his foot down, the knee, and the brace, held. He wobbled, horribly, for a moment, before almost falling, but he grabbed himself, tightly, as tightly as he could with white knuckled hands, and this time shifted the weight to the bad leg, and he knew it wasn't gonna last so with all his might, he pulled his right leg up and took a step.

Jonathan shifted back half a stance. "You're almost there. Come on, you know you want to deck me. Just take that step, son, and I'll let you."

Dominic set the right foot down, his entire body shaking with the effort, and his face screwed up tightly as he held on, held on, and took one more step, with the left foot. The brace held but his energy did not, and he knew he was about to hit the floor. "Can't... falling, going..."

"You're not gonna fall, boy!" Jonathan bellowed. "Pick that fucking foot up and put it down, right now!! You're not gonna give out on me!"

Dominic did. He set his foot down, and his knee was shaking terribly and his fingers were numb from holding the bars and he gave a short cry as he lifted the right leg again, took another step. Four steps. He was going to fall flat on his ass.

Yeah. He didn't even realize he'd let go until he was face up on the mat, panting like he'd run the mile and twitchy all over.

And Jonathan was smirking to beat the band. "Turn around and look."

After a moment more of catching his breath, which he sorely needed, Dominic got up on one elbow blearily, and looked over his shoulder.

Oh. Well. His wheel chair was a ways away. "Did I fall far?"

Jonathan snorted. "No, son, you walked that far."

"Oh."

Well.

"Can I stop now? And if you call me 'son' one more time, so help me."

"You ready to stop? Or you think you got a few more steps in you after this breather, boy?" At least it wasn't son.

Dominic glared, but sat up a little more and shook his head. "I can't. Not today."

"Ah, well. Didn't think you could."

Dominic didn't bother glaring. "I haven't done this much in six months. I can't, Kent, so stop pushing me."

"Can't? Or won't?" Jonathan hunkered down in front of Dominic. "I think you're a tough old sumbitch but you're too scared to go until you're blind with the hurt. Or don't you want that magnificent bastard back in your bed? Maybe he's gotten worse since I slept with him last, but I'd have busted my nuts to get to him."

Dominic's breath hitched at Jonathan's words, and he scowled, horrified to feel himself blushing softly. "I'm. Not. Scared. Stop saying that. I'm not scared!"

"Course you're not. Guess Ly's lost his touch in the sack then." Jonathan straightened and rubbed his knee as he did. "Ready to go back upstairs?"

"He's not lost touch with anything, you bastard! Don't you dare talk about him like that, like you've anything to say about it! I swear to God, the next time you say it I'll flatten your farmers nose."

"Funny thing, you got the energy for this, but not for gettin' up off your ass," Jonathan pointed out.

"Screaming doesn't take much. Moving myself when it refuses to move is a different thing altogether, Kent, and you know it, so stop saying these things," Dominic growled. "Eddie told me not to overtax myself the first few days I did this."

Jonathan surveyed Dominic with a trainer's eye. "You ain't there yet, boy. Couple more steps, and then you'll be at the stoppin' point."

Rather then glare, Dominic sagged with defeat. "This is like hell."

"Hell's funner. I ain't there." He held out his hand. "Need a hand up?"

Dominic would have rather stabbed himself around the midsection then take it.

But he couldn't get up regardless. "Yes."

Jonathan held out his hand, and pulled Dominic up carefully, holding onto his waist until he was sure Dominic had a grip on the bars. "Okay. Let's try that again."

Jonathans hands along his waist were disturbingly intimate, and it made him kind of sick, so he made a face and grabbed the bars tightly, in both hands, and forced his back and legs to hold up his weight. They shook again until he had his hold, and he was so bloody tired and everything hurt, but he still held up, held on, eyes clenching shut before opening.

Jonathan surveyed the situation again. "Okay. We're gonna do this one step at a time, and if you lose your balance, I'll catch you."

"I'm really tired," he croaked out, in reply. "I've been falling on my arse for the last two hours, I'd rather not anymore."

"Do I really look like I care about your rathers and your rather nots?" Jonathan demanded.

"I don't think you've a be… ating heart in… there," Dominic panted, as he held on all the tighter, and began to move, slowly, methodically, feeling horrible because two year olds got this easier then he was having it right now, and they were lucky, the little shits. Less height from them to fall from. He slowly moved, wincing in pain at each tugged muscle.

"Sorry, but I do. Beats for m'wife." And Jonathan'd never, ever admit that he was having fun tormenting Dominic as they did this, because Dominic had Clark's confidence, and he didn't.

But, on the other hand, he had to admit to a grudging respect for Dominic, because he was halfway down the bars. "C'mon, less yappin' and more movin'."

Dominic gave another step with the right foot, then one more with the left, and his limbs began to tremble again. "Jonathan, I can't, not anymore, I can't," he was so tired he felt like all his muscles were about to go lax. "I haven't… mov… ed… this much in months... can't, I can't, not anymore."

"Take one more, and then you'll be done fer the day," he answered. And at the end of the bars, he thought to himself.

He took one more step, and then nearly sagged. He probably would have pashed a tooth or three out of his face if Jonathan didn't have a hold of his waist, and his legs began to tremble badly, shoulders and elbows strained. He grunted, quietly, looking over his shoulder not at Jonathan but at what he got accomplished.

Seven steps all together.

Fantastic.

Now he wanted a hole to go die in.

Jonathan supported Dominic until they got the final step together, over towards the bench, and then let him sit down. "Now. Lookit what we got done together," Jonathan pointed out.

"Look at how much my patience kept me from strangling you, cow fucker," Dominic muttered under his breath between the pants, as he slumped against the bench. He was exhausted, totally and utterly, and he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

"Jus' think how glad Ly's gonna be to hear this," Jonathan countered.

"You make it sound as if I will be speaking with him this evening," Dominic answered, but turned his head to look at him. "Are you going to be here every day?"

Jonathan nodded. "Sure am. Since you run Eddie off, I'm it, at least until Ly can find a replacement. But that's gonna take a couple weeks, cause of everybody being booked and he can't play the family card to get them to abandon other patients."

"Wasn't hard to run him off. Lightweight punk," Dominic muttered. "Just out of nappies, like he knows a damn thing about life." He looked upward, with a sense of detached misery. "Fantastic. I need to go upstairs."

"What I heard, you gave up and he refused to work with ya." He patted Dominic's leg. "Lemme go get the chair for ya, and I'll wheel you on up."

"I didn't give up," Dominic snapped, but bit his other comments about inbred red necks back. Not right now.

Instead he waited for Jonathan to roll the chair over, and then legged himself into it, though it hurt everything from the hairline down to do so, and he slumped in his chair.

He was barely aware they'd rolled out of the room, hardly heard it as they got in the elevator and went up to the second floor. Hardly was aware of the fact they'd rolled down to his and Lionel's room until he opened his eyes and looked around. "Huh."

Jonathan was quiet as he pushed Dominic back upstairs and up the elevator, then into the bedroom. "Want me to fix you somethin' to drink before I go?"

He cleared his throat a little and shook his head. "No, I'll be fine." And now, he felt a little awkward, as he stared blearily up. "For being a cow fucker, you're not so bad."

"And you're not so bad for a potato-suckin' bastard Irishman. But, repeat it and I'll deny I ever said it."

"Ditto. Now go away. I'm going to call Lionel," Dominic said, as he glared him out of the room.

"Go 'head." Jonathan snorted. "Be here sharp thing nine AM, so be ready."

"Yeah, yeah." Dominic muttered, and he watched Jonathan leave, with a click of the door.

The first thing he did was take a piss. He moved much, much more gingerly now that Jonathan was gone, because everything hurt bad, but after a few hisses, and teared eyes, he got himself on and off the lift all right. Washed his hands and didn't bother getting dressed again, just saddling over to the bed, and after putting the break on his chair, levered himself into be with a heaved huff and squeak of pain.

He got comfortable, all his muscles giving out as soon as he they felt warm and soft, and picked up the cordless phone by their bed.

He dialed Lionel's office.

Cecilia picked up the phone as she typed a memo to the accounting department for Mr. Luthor. "Lionel Luthor's office."

"Put Lionel on the phone, Cecilia. Don't give me any crap that he isn't there."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Senatori, but Mr. Luthor is in a very important meeting right now and he's asked for all of his calls to be held, and only emergency messages passed in."

"Cecilia," Dominic said again, calmly, "Get. Him. On. The phone."

"I can't do that, Mr. Senatori. It's more than my job is worth."

"Tell him I called," Dominic answered her, and hung up he phone carefully, lest he throw it across the room.

He dragged his fingers through his hair, tightly, before turning and grasping the pillow tightly under his head. His body was so tired but his mind was not, and it was filled with depression he couldn't put a finger on, but didn't care anyway, as he closed his eyes.

"Yes, sir."

And as soon as she hung up the phone, she hit the office intercom. "Mr. Luthor? You asked to be notified when Mr. Senatori called. He just called."

Lionel nodded. "Thank you. If Mr. Kent calls, put him through right away." He walked to the sideboard, poured himself a drink, and paged through several files before picking up the phone and speed-dialing Dominic's number.

Dominic hadn't even had a chance to relax. He knew it was Lionel calling. Part of him wanted to be spiteful and ignore the phone.

He picked it up anyway. "Hello?"

"Dominic?" Lionel's voice was carefully modulated to concern. "Cecelia called and said you sounded quite urgent?"

"It is not in your best interest to come home tonight."

"You also sound quite a bit hostile," Lionel observed.

"How could you, Lionel?"

"I assume you're referring to your short-term replacement therapist?" he questioned, taking a drink of his scotch.

Dominic didn't have it in him to be snide. "Yes."

"I do apologize for that necessity, but after speaking with several therapists over the course of an afternoon and being told that they were unavailable or unwilling to leave that moment and abandon their other commitments, I had no choice but to call Jonathan, temporarily."

"You had every choice. There are over fifty thousand registered therapists in the nation, and had it been any other time you would have bloody flown them in from Alabama if you had to. This isn't about that, Lionel, and I would appreciate it if you didn't insult my intelligence."

"You're quite right, there are. Most of them, as you know for you have helped me in doing the research, are currently employed by hospitals, hospices, rehab centers, and rehab clinics. The ones that were available for private practice came to a list of no more than three hundred, ten of which were in Kansas. I spoke to every one of them and they were all busy with prior engagements, and could not be persuaded to abandon them. I will, if you so desire, provide you with the information to call them yourself."

Dominic fell silent, for a moment. "I'm sorry."

"For accusing me of manipulating a situation? Don't be, it's something that I'm perfectly capable of doing, and are within your rights to suspect it. However, do NOT think that I would manipulate YOU in such a way."

"Do you remember a few weeks ago, when you told me you were a man of station, and really didn't want me to tease you in public? You've done me the same injustice today you spoke of me doing to you. You told that man, that man, of whom you know I cannot tolerate whatsoever, to come to our home and help me walk, in which totally losing all of my self esteem was going to be a part of the process, including what very little of my ego and masculinity is left. I have been humiliated beyond even my wildest expectations today, Lionel, and I wish to God the world would open and swallow me up. Did you not stop to think that I sent Eddie away because I did not want to do it anymore today, because I have not walked in over six months? Did you know that when you send Jonathan here, Jonathan Kent, against my wishes, that I would push myself into the state I'm in right now? I'm an adult, and have been so for quite some time, and I do not need someone coming after me and telling me what to do and how to do it, Lionel."

"But did you walk?" Lionel asked softly.

"Yes, I walked," Dominic snapped. "That hasn't anything to do with it."

"It's everything to do with it." He smiled, though he knew Dominic couldn't see. "Dominic... you walked."

"I don't bloody care!" And now, the anger, and the hot flush of tears, were building in his throat. "You're not listening to anything I'm saying! I'm not a fucking child, Lionel!"

"No, you aren't. You're my husband, my lover. Who knows now he will get better, he can get better."

Dominic... couldn't believe it. After all he'd said, and.. "This is unbelievable. I'm going to sleep."

"Do you wish me to bring anything home for dinner before I return to the office?"

"No."

Lionel just nodded. "Then I will see you... likely tomorrow evening?" he asked, letting the question hang between them.

"This is your house as well as mine," Dominic snapped. "You haven't listened to anything I've said since you called, so why break the record now?"

"Dominic... I've listened to everything that you have said. I simply feel differently; that your accomplishment in actually walking today outweighs and justifies anything else that we can say to one another. You've asked me not to come home, and so I won't inflict myself on you," he said softly. "I will hear of your progress through third parties."

"Martyrdom doesn't become you, so shut up, won't you?" Dominic said, from between clenched teeth. He didn't know why he was feeling like this, but he felt utterly wretched, and he didn't know how else to let it out. Lionel obviously didn't care to see the wrong he'd done on Dominic today, and so many words were bubbling inside of him to come out, but all that came out was a defeated, "You can come home, if you like."

Lionel gave a shake of his head. "No, Dominic. I think you were right in that I shouldn't."

"You can. It's all right."

"Yes, I know it's all right. I do own half of the house," he agreed. "But the question is, not can or can't I, but do you want me to."

"You hurt me." His voice croaked without him wanting it to.

"And your refusal to work with Eduard hurt me," Lionel countered. "I know how difficult it is for you to be ill like this; I only want you to get better."

"I didn't refuse to work with him, I was tired and I wanted to stop. I know the limits on my own body. I knew I'd feel like I do now."

"Neither Eduard nor Jonathan would have let you come to harm," Lionel said.

Then why did he hurt so bad everywhere? "I'm going to sleep, now."

Lionel nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow, little cricket."

The sob caught in his throat again. "I said you could come home."

"But you never said you wanted me to," Lionel reminded him. "When you didn't answer, I assumed you didn't."

"You told me you'd never leave," Dominic said, quietly.

"And I am not leaving, Dominic. I simply refuse to shoehorn myself into your space when I'm not wanted. I... learned my lesson trying to do that before, and I will not put myself through that again. If you want me to come home, I shall. If you don't want me to come home, then I won't. The choice, Dominic, is yours."

"Have I made you feel unwanted?"

"You told me that I shouldn't come home tonight. I think that was a rather clear signal that you didn't want me around at the moment."

He would not beg, goddammit. He would do a lot of things, but this, right now, he would not do. He knew he wasn't wrong in being upset, and Lionel was twisting it around, just as he always did, to make Dominic apologize first. Well, no, dammit.. "I told you already, you can come home if you like, I don't really care one way or the other, because I'm very tired and I'm going to sleep until tomorrow."

"Very well, Dominic. I will see you at dinner tomorrow evening. Rest well." He hung up the phone, and reached for his glass, draining the rest of it in a single gulp.

This time, Dominic didn't quell the urge the throw the phone. He did, as hard as he could, across the room, and he heard it slam into the wall and fall to the floor before he turned, curled around his pillow, and fought not to cry.

 

-fin-

go on to the next part