Chapter 4: POISON METAL
[DEO Headquarters, Medical Bay — September 2016, 9:23 AM]
The needle broke against my skin.
Dr. Hamilton frowned, adjusted her grip, and tried again. Same result—the tip bent sideways instead of penetrating. She muttered something under her breath and reached for a different drawer.
"We have specialized equipment for subjects with enhanced dermal density," she explained, producing a syringe that looked more like a precision drill than medical equipment. "Designed for Kryptonian-level physiology. Should work on you."
Should. Comforting.
This needle punched through. The pain was minimal—a pinch rather than a sting—but watching my own blood fill the vial triggered something primal. The liquid was darker than I expected, almost burgundy, with a faint luminescence that probably came from solar energy saturation.
Alex Danvers stood against the far wall, tablet in hand, monitoring every reading. Her expression hadn't changed since she'd entered thirty minutes ago—clinical, detached, professional. I could work with professional. Professional meant predictable.
"Blood oxygen levels are off the charts," Hamilton murmured, studying her screen. "But that makes sense given his cellular structure. The solar absorption must oxygenate at a molecular level."
"What about the neural scans?"
"Still processing. Early results suggest significantly enhanced processing speed compared to human baseline. Reaction times should be—" Hamilton paused, checking another readout. "Impressive. Once he learns to use them."
Once. Not if. I appreciated the optimism, even if it came from scientific curiosity rather than actual concern for my wellbeing.
The examination continued for another hour. Range of motion tests—I could bend in ways that would snap human joints. Pressure tolerance—they squeezed my hand in a calibrated vise and watched me smile through force that would crush steel. Sensory assessment—I identified smells from sealed containers across the room, heard conversations three floors down, read text on Hamilton's tablet from my position on the examination table.
Everything worked better than human. Everything except my control.
"Visual acuity is remarkable," Hamilton noted. "He's reading in the microscopic range without magnification. But the filtering..."
"What about the filtering?"
"Nonexistent. He's receiving all sensory input simultaneously without any natural dampening. It's like—" She searched for an analogy. "Like trying to drink from a fire hose. The capacity is there. The ability to regulate isn't."
Alex made a note on her tablet. "Trainable?"
"Unknown. Kryptonians develop filtering naturally over time. His physiology is similar but not identical. We won't know until we try."
I sat on the examination table, listening to them discuss my body like it was a machine they were reverse-engineering. Which, fair enough—that's exactly what they were doing. I was a puzzle piece that didn't fit any existing patterns, and the DEO needed to understand the shape of me before they could decide where I belonged.
"There's one more test," Alex said.
Something in her tone made my stomach tighten. She reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew a small metal case, the kind scientists use for delicate samples. Her movements were careful, deliberate—the body language of someone handling something dangerous.
"Lead," I said.
Not a question. The word came out flat.
"We need to confirm the vulnerability." Alex's voice was professionally neutral. "Our information about Daxamite physiology is limited. The pod's database mentioned lead sensitivity, but we need to verify—"
"The severity. I know." I held out my arm. Might as well get this over with.
Hamilton positioned monitoring equipment around me—heart rate, brain activity, cellular response. Alex opened the case slowly, revealing a small cylinder of dull gray metal. Nothing special to look at. Just lead. The same material humans used for pipes and batteries and radiation shielding.
The same material that could kill me.
"We'll start at a distance," Alex explained. "Move closer gradually. Tell me the moment you feel something."
She held the cylinder three feet from my arm.
Nothing.
Two feet.
A whisper of discomfort. Like the beginning of a headache, but lower, in my chest.
One foot.
The whisper became a shout.
"There." My voice came out strained. "Something's—"
Six inches.
Pain. Not surface pain, not the kind that comes from cuts or bruises. This was inside me. Every cell in my arm screamed in protest, flooding my nervous system with distress signals that my brain couldn't process properly. Weakness flooded down from my shoulder, turning muscle to water. My fingers twitched involuntarily.
"Stop," I gasped. "Please—"
Alex pulled back immediately. The lead returned to its case, the case to her pocket. The pain began fading, but slowly, like a bruise rather than a cut.
The monitoring equipment beeped frantically. Hamilton studied the readouts with wide eyes.
"Remarkable," she breathed. "Full cellular disruption beginning at point-seven meters. If we'd maintained exposure for another thirty seconds—"
"I know," Alex cut her off. She was looking at me with something new in her expression. Not sympathy, exactly. Recognition.
"That bad?" I tried to keep my voice light. Failed.
"The projection models suggest..." Hamilton hesitated.
"Tell me."
"Prolonged exposure would be fatal. We're talking hours, not days. Your cells can't function in the presence of lead—it interferes with the solar energy processing at a fundamental level. Without that energy, your enhanced physiology collapses."
I stared at my hand. Still trembling slightly from the exposure. In my previous life, I'd feared car crashes. Cancer. Heart disease. The normal human catalogue of mortality.
Now I could be killed by a fishing weight.
"The good news," Hamilton continued, "is that recovery appears rapid once the lead is removed. Your cells are already normalizing. In an hour, there should be no trace of the exposure."
Small comfort. I could heal from lead exposure—as long as I got away from it fast enough. As long as someone didn't trap me in a lead-lined room. As long as no one figured out that the common element humans used for everything from pencils to bullets could end me.
Alex moved toward the door, then paused. Turned back.
"The lead-lined restraints we discussed," she said. "I'm canceling that order. We'll use standard equipment from now on."
I blinked. "I thought—"
"We know what hurts you now." She held my gaze. "That doesn't mean we need to use it."
It wasn't kindness, exactly. More like... acknowledgment. She'd seen my vulnerability and chosen not to exploit it. For now.
"Thank you."
She nodded once and left. Hamilton continued her work in silence, documenting the test results with the detached efficiency of someone recording data rather than observing trauma.
I sat on the examination table and tried to stop my hands from shaking.
In my previous life, I'd watched Mon-El's lead poisoning scene from the comfort of my couch. The drama of it. The romance of him being forced to leave Kara. The tension of wondering if he'd survive.
None of that had prepared me for the reality.
The lead hadn't just hurt. It had felt wrong—a fundamental violation of my body's basic functioning. Like trying to breathe water or digest glass. My cells had known, on some instinctive level, that this substance was antithetical to their existence.
And it was everywhere on Earth. Pipes. Paint. Batteries. Ammunition. A world full of poison, hidden in plain sight.
Hamilton handed me a cup of water. DEO standard issue, slightly metallic taste, too many minerals. I drank it anyway. The liquid helped, grounding me in physical sensation that wasn't pain.
"Your recovery is proceeding faster than projected," she noted, checking her instruments. "Cells are already at eighty percent normal function."
"Great."
"This is actually significant data. If your healing factor can overcome lead damage this quickly, there may be ways to build tolerance over time. Controlled exposure therapy, perhaps—"
"No."
The word came out sharper than intended. Hamilton flinched.
"No more lead tests," I clarified. "Not today. Not without warning. That's the deal."
She nodded slowly. "Of course. I'll note that in your file."
The examination room felt smaller suddenly. The walls too close. The lights too bright. I needed air—real air, not the recycled stuff the DEO pumped through their ventilation systems.
But I couldn't leave. Couldn't go anywhere without permission. Couldn't do anything except sit here and let strangers poke at the body I was still learning to inhabit.
Through the observation window, I caught movement. A flash of red and blue.
Kara stood in the corridor, watching. How long had she been there? Long enough to see the lead test? Long enough to see me breaking down?
Our eyes met through the glass. Her expression was unreadable—not hostile, not sympathetic. Just... observing.
Then she turned and walked away.
I watched her go, remembering the show. The way their relationship had developed. Enemies to allies to lovers. The arc that spanned seasons and nearly broke them both.
It started here, I realized. With her seeing his weakness. Understanding that the arrogant Daxamite prince could be hurt, could be killed, could be just as vulnerable as anyone else.
In the show, that realization had softened her. Eventually.
I hoped this version of Kara followed the same pattern. Because right now, sitting in a medical bay with the taste of fear still coating my tongue, I needed all the allies I could get.
Hamilton finished her documentation and began packing up equipment. "We'll schedule follow-up tests for tomorrow. Nothing invasive—just monitoring your solar absorption rates and healing progress."
"Sure."
"And Mon-El?" She paused at the door. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about the lead test. I know it wasn't pleasant."
"Pleasant isn't the word I'd choose."
A ghost of a smile crossed her face. "No. I imagine not."
She left me alone in the examination room.
I flexed my fingers, watching the last tremors fade. The strength was returning—I could feel it building in my muscles, drawn from the artificial lighting overhead. Not as efficient as sunlight, but functional.
My body could heal from lead exposure. That was something.
Now I just needed to make sure no one ever had a reason to use it against me.
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