Note - this is the sequel to a very sexually explicit story I wrote called "The Narrows" it can be found in its entirety at either "Two of Us" archive or "The Sullivan Chronicles" whose links I have given in my author profile. The basic idea of this AU set up is that Clark, after season two, never returned to Smallville and instead stayed drugged out of his mind on Red Kryptonite in Gotham. Eventually, Chloe found him, saved him, and he has a relationship with her currently and an uneasy alliance with Bruce.

And onward we go!

The Bat knew what went on in hiscity. Clark hoped, at least, that Chloe didn't know, didn't know that he came to the outlook over the bridges separating The Narrows and Arkham from the rest of Gotham.

He'd never been put in the asylum. The idea that he would have been was ludicrous. No place on Earth-save perhaps the Watchtower-could hold him. He'd been ready when he'd come clean to Chloe and to Bruce to go to prison, to humor the authorities and do his time. He had hundreds of years; he could feel it. Maybe he had more like Diana. He could have spent fifty years doing his time to atone for the swath of damage he'd cut through Metropolis and then through Gotham.

They'd have sent him here.

It was where all the metas of Gotham were sent, where the fiercest and most violent criminals were condemned. Revolving door, yes, but the best idea the GPD had come up with to contain the likes of the Joker and Clayface.

Clark sighed and felt the wind blow hard against him. It ruffled his hair and bit into him. Had he been human, a night this cold would have left him shivering.

"Maybe I deserve to be there."

He hadn't meant for that to come out. It was always a silent vigil, but he felt that it was true. He was Clark almost always with Chloe, who he'd been back on the farm with his family, the hero he'd always tried to be so hard in Smallville. Under the surface, however, he knew Kal was there. He could feel him. He'd been split for so long that it didn't recede. The ring enhanced it, let his fears slide away so that Kal would and could come out.

He was always there, though.

Clark some days still wanted to turn himself in. The son Jonathan and Martha raised paid for his crimes, wanted to do the fair thing. Kal snorted in contempt at such an idea. He was powerful; he was strong. Let Arkham try and contain him. They thought Poison Ivy or Mr. Freeze were a problem?

He'd show them all.

Arkham meant being away from Chloe and that wasn't acceptable, no matter what. Both sides of himself agreed on that. They lived for her. She was was his anchor to the honest world, the one who brought him back after what he'd done to his unborn sibling had driven him away.

He needed her.

Clark sighed and pulled his coat tighter around him.

It was time to go home.

"You're quiet," Chloe said. Her eyes were keenly trained on him as he sat on the edge of the bed, starting to strip off his jeans.

"Long night patrolling."

"I'm sorry I had an emergency with J'onn and Bruce in New York. I like going with you."

"It doesn't have to be a buddy thing," he replied, hesitating over pulling off his shirt. Clark had never gone in the for spandex. The idea of looking like the others embarrassed him. It was so revealing. Kal wouldn't be caught dead dressed up like an acrobat. He wore black jeans, boots and a t-shirt with his house symbol over it. The figure eight in silver covering up the imprint of the scar just underneath the surface. It had been an idea not to brag about his origins, but to try and hide his deformity.

He wished it would just go away.

"Clark?"

"I'm fine."

"I didn't actually ask that."

"Sorry. I...long night."

"Come to bed then. I'm not so tired from the City that Never Sleeps that I can't have some fun tonight."

"Sure." That was something. He was just moping. He had a habit of that. Had cultivated it ever since he'd been a kid on the farm. Chloe helped to keep him from falling to far.

He started over to his side of the bed, fishing out the ring box, in his case coated in thick lead. Chloe reached over and grabbed his bicep. "Don't you want to try without it?"

"Without?" His voice caught. It always did.

"Clark, you're not going to hurt me. When you wear the ring, you have perfect control."

"Kalhas control."

She laughed, crinkling her nose as she did. "You are Kal. You don't need the ring like a crutch."

"Kal can do it. I just...I end up along for the ride."

She frowned. "I don't like it when you think that way."

"It's not thinking," he replied, opening the box. "It's the truth. He's better at these things than I am. That's all."

"Clark, it's all just you. There's Fawkes and Chloe but it's just a mask. Batman is Bruce letting his inner child out to kick ass. Alter egos don't require third person conversations."

He shoved the ring on his finger and shuddered. It felt almost orgasmic to have the rush of red K run through him, to have his veins pop out, red and burning. "God."

Chloe sat up in bed and glared at him. "I thought we were having a conversation, Clark."

"It's Kal, darlin'."

"It's always just Clark. The ring makes you an asshole."

"The ring lets me out."

"The ring shouldn't even be here!"

He leered and from some deep corner Clark watched. "You let me keep it for a nice fuck now and then. As long as I get you off, Fawkes, we can keep it."

"It makes you do things."

"Yeah, notice how much I've robbed banks in this last year. You know you love the red Kryptonite as much as I do. It makes everything fun, makes it challenging."

"I thought you'd be able to wean off of it. If we made the compromise, that eventually you wouldn't need to have it to make love to me."

"To fuck," he corrected. "You were wrong." He smiled back at her, the expression feral and hungry. He stretched out on the bed and waited. "You ready yet?"

She turned over and on side.

Bitch.

"Good night, Clark."

He blurred out so fast even he almost forgot the rest of his clothes