no ordinary world 3

3




*
Clark looked up from his keyboard, from his desk, from the little brown box that sat on top of his desk.

The windows of the office were filled by a dark, dreary gray. Skies dull from rain, blocking out the usual sunshine that habitually blanketed Smallville.

But now there were clouds. Dark, mysterious clouds.

And it clouded Clark's mind. Fury of thoughts spiraling around in his head so that any coherent idea about his daily column got sucked out and thrown away.

"Clark." Lois snapped her fingers across from him.

He blinked, looking at her through a saddened, heavy lidded gaze.

"What's wrong? You've been weird all morning."

He cleared his throat, his fingers working over the keyboard again. "Nothing, Lois. Just thinking is all."

Lois narrowed her pretty brown eyes, "Thinking or moping?"

Clark ignored her.

She smiled, and then moved from her desk to sit on the corner of his, scanning the items that populated it. There were pens, and paper, picture frames and other nick knacks. Her eyes settled on the newest arrival. "You ever going to show me what's in that box?"

This, Clark ignored too, his fingers typing and then retyping again.

Lois sighed, and crossed her long legs which brushed against Clark's suit jacket.

This time, Clark didn't ignore her.

He looked up.

"Hey, if you want to go home for the day you can." Her ankle toyed with his elbow. " I can cover the column."

Clark smiled, catching her slender ankle and putting it back in its place to rest. "You know I don't like leaving work behind."

Lois smirked, leaning forward to read his computer screen. "Looks like you've hardly worked at all today. You've only gotten to today's date."

Clark frowned. "Yeah."

Thunder rolled past them.

"Go home, Clark."

His finger tips smoothed against the keys before he sighed, turning to Lois with a famous Clark Kent smile. "Nonsense, Lois. I just need a break."

She smiled back, "Well then, allow me to distract you."

Lois bent down very slowly, and kissed him.

When her lips left his, Clark's eyes opened, searching through Lois' dark brown pools.

"Do you miss Metropolis?"

Her eyes lashes fluttered. "What?"

"The city." Clark leaned back in his chair, in thought. "You lived there your entire life before you came to this old town. I figure you must miss some part of that life. Maybe we should take a holiday and visit. "

"Clark," Lois bent down again, hand across his cheek, "Everything that I love is here in Smallville." Her thumb grazed his small mole on his angular cheek. "And besides, Metropolis so dangerous these day. Why would I ever want to go back?"

"That's what I'm talking about." Clark perked up, "I could get a job there, maybe join the police force or the fire department. Do some real good for once."

"Clark," Lois laughed playfully, "You already do good here at home. You're a district captain of the Smallville fire department. Could you really abandon your hometown when they need brave young men here, in Smallville?"

Clark frowned, turning that over in his mind. An eyebrow peaked, "What about Chloe?"

Lightning flashed.

"Chloe?"

"Yeah," Clark frowned towards the window, "She is your cousin after all. And she hasn't come to visit for some time. Don't you miss her?"

Lois brushed strands of hair behind her ear, looking for the right words. "You know how busy she is Clark. You've read all the letters she's sent in the mail more than I have."

Clark's gaze was far away.

Lois turned his chair towards her, forcing him to look directly at her. "And she hasn't mentioned visiting us once in those letters, so you should know by now that even if she's missed here, she certainly doesn't miss us."

"I don't think that's why."

Clark said it so quietly that microphones barely heard it.

He leaned back in his chair, "I just don't see how you can be OK with your cousin living in a city that's so dangerous you wont even go visit her."

Lois sat silently, her mouth parted for her next line, but she hesitated.

Maybe a little too long.

The office phones kept their chorus of ringing as Lois picked up the one his desk and answered.

"Daily Star, Lois Lane."

Clark stood from his chair, and scooted away, leaving a warm kiss on Lois' temple before making his way to the break room where the water cooler was.

He just needed a break. That was all. It was all in his head, these clouds, these dark clouds.

Inside the break room were two of of the more senior reporters with graying hair and growing stomachs, having a coffee break by the bay window that faced the storm.

Clark walked in quietly, his footsteps unusually graceful for a man of his size. His shoulders were unusually pronounced in his starched dark navy suit, his arms thick and solid. Sometimes Clark needed to get up from his office chair and walk around for a while, his bulky frame feeling too crowded and constricted.

Sometimes his thick, muscular legs just felt like running. Taking a good long stretch down the country road. Maybe he wouldn't even stop when he got to the city limits. Maybe he would just keep going, and going...


"We haven't had a storm like this in years." One of the reporters exclaimed through his coffee steam.

"It's been at least five." The other said, nodding his head at the dark gray.

Clark watched behind them, grabbing a Styrofoam cup from the shelf.

"Ten."

"What?"

"It's been ten years." The first reported said, rubbing his chin. "I remember now. That last time we had a storm like this was when Jonathan Kent died."

Clark stopped.

"Oh, that was a nasty day." The reporter went on, oblivious to Clark's presence.

"Yes, it was. So tragic. I wonder why they put the boy through it?"

Clark pressed down on the blue plastic spicket, causing the water cooler to gurgle.

A hush of static bubbled behind his turned back.

Then, thunder.

"Clark!" One of the reporters said in a funny voice. "Didn't see ya there, Big Guy. How's the wife?"

Clark took a drink from the tiny cup, silly in his large hands, and then turned with a bright smile. "Lois is lovely, as usual."

The other smiled,elbowing the second to follow along in a sing-song chime. "That's terrific. I always said Lois was the prettiest girl in town. You sure are the lucky duck to have caught that one, Kent."

"Yup!" The second chorused, "One lucky duck!"

Clark smiled in return, and raised the small cup in thought. "Sometimes I wonder."

The older reporter blinked, "What?"

Clark shook his head, and started again. "Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I never met Lois."

The room grew awkward.

The gurgle from the water cooler broke the silence.

"That's going against nature, Kent."

Clark looked up, seeing his co worker whom he usually never divulged his personal life walk closer to him, a hand on his shoulder.

"You and Lois are two peas in a pod. Like the butter and jam. Made for each other." He smiled, patting Clark's back. "Lois and Clark were always meant to be."

Clark blinked, and slowly sliding out from the man's cold hand and out from the room. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"You know I am, Kent!" Clark heard the guy cheer enthusiastically from the break room, Clark already half way to his desk.

Lois was talking to their editor, George Taylor, smiling when Clark drew near.

And it was in that smile, the same, very same smile Clark was used to seeing everyday that the smallest question was seeded in his mind.


Was it real?



*

It rained all day, the long streaks against the windows dragging Clark's mind into extended gaps of thought.

After the long, silent lunch at his desk, Clark took leave to drop by the auto shop down Main St. where Pete worked. They both drove to the outskirts of town to where the green fields met the sudden upward rise of the earth, to where the hills met the heavens.

And it was only there that the clouds seemed to part ever so much for the rain to quiet, for the red sun to reappear.

The ridge of mountains that encompassed Smallville were like omnipotent, steady giants. So dense, and treacherous that even now as a grown man intimidated Clark just as they did when he was a little boy, sitting on his father's shoulder's, listening to Jonathan Kent's deep voice as he retold the same legends that were told to him by his father.

Clark imagined what it would be like, standing on the crease between the sky and mountain, what it was like, looking from the other side.

But Clark would never get to see the other side.



You had to fly to escape Smallville.



"Tough day?" Pete said beside him, sitting on the hood of the car.

Clark uncrossed his arms and leaned back, his collar unbuttoned and loosened, his tie thrown in the back seat. "Especially."

Pete nodded, brushing off the corner of his pants with his hands. "You're thinking about your dad."

Clark sighed, "Today makes ten years."

"I'm sorry."

Clark furrowed his brows, and looked up. "It's not your fault, Pete. It's not like you made my dad's plane crash."

It was silent except for the distant residual rumble of the waning storm.

"It's just weird."

Pete watched him, "What is?"

Clark got up from the car hood and walked the rocky gravel, kicking a pebble into the grass. "This entire day has just been... weird."

The colors of the grass were dull, an ever so slight tinge of crimson waxing through the blades.

A wind stirred them, stirred Clark's black hair.

"First, I wake up in the middle of the night and I can't go back to sleep." Clark replayed it in his mind, "I never have problems sleeping."

"Probably too much coffee, Clark." Pete said through a nervous eye, "Caffeine's keeping you up."

"No, that's not the weird part, Pete." Clark stopped in his tracks and rolled up his long sleeve. " The alarm clock on the nightstand said it was three in the morning, right? But I was wide awake. So when I went to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, it was still pitch black outside."

"And?" Pete inquired suspiciously.

Clark showed him his wrist, more importantly, the black wrist watch he had always worn.

"My dad's watch read seven in the morning."

Pete coughed, his eyes diverting to the sky. "So, that's what you're worried about? Clark, it probably needs a new battery."

"No," Clark looked at the watch face, "this watch is solar powered. Besides, my dad told me this watch is the most reliable piece of machinery he ever owned. He gave it to me, said it would always tell me the right time. It's never wrong."

"Clark," Pete said calmly, "it's just a watch."

Clark stared back, teeth grit with fierce intensity. "It's never wrong, Pete."

Pete broke first. "Okay fine, so your dad's watch was right. So what? You think the world turned slower today and stalled celestial events? That's ridiculous and you know it."

Clark sighed and paced again. "No, I know. I'm not saying that. I just think it's weird that my dad's watch would wake me up on this day. Why it chose today to stop working."

Clark stopped, his back towards Pete. "I think my dad's trying to send me a message."

"Clark..."

"No," He turned, features strong. "He is. I can feel it."

It was then that Pete realized why Clark had driven out this far on the edge of town.

This was where Jonathan Kent's plane dove into the ground, a huge fireball seen across miles.

"You know you couldn't have saved your dad."

Clark's jaw twitched as he moved his hand across his lips to keep them from trembling. "This isn't about that."

"Everything is about that." Pete hopped off the car and stormed towards him. "Everything you've done since then has been about that day. You want to go back and change what happened, fix the mistakes that you know are buried in the past!"

Clark faltered.

Pete stared up to the taller man with conviction. "You always want to be the hero, to save someone, to go back and save your dad but it's never going to happen, Clark. Never. And the sooner you realize that, the sooner you'll stop torturing yourself and be happy with what you have."

Clark swallowed, watching as his best friend turned away.

"You're life could be a lot worse." Clark heard from behind him, "Why can't you be happy with what you have?"

"I don't know." Clark whispered, guilty for upsetting his friend.

Pete kicked rocks into the grass and then stopped to face the sky, face turned high to peer into the ridge line of the mountains as Clark did. "All you think about is leaving this town. Always with your head up in the clouds, but the truth is... you wont do it. You'll never fly. You're too scared of the fall."

"I'm not scared." Clark said sourly.

"Oh yeah?"

Clark turned defiantly. "I climb the old windmill, don't I?"

Pete smirked, heading back to the car, "It isn't the same when the fall isn't far."

Clark's feet were fixed in place, his mind so torn he couldn't quite think quick enough to move. His large hands were shoved down into his pockets to where he felt the distinct contours of the box he'd kept close all day.

In a town so small, it was tough keeping secrets. But he had kept this one. This small brown box, so obvious and yet inconspicuous in its shape.



Clark Kent had one secret.



The car came alive behind him, headlights flashing as Pete honked.

"C'mon, man. It's getting dark." Pete shouted from the window.

Clark sighed and kicked up some dirt as he turned, leaving the ridge and the sky behind for now as the sun set like it usually did on the days were the entire world felt, off.

*



1 /// 2 /// 3/// 4 /// 5 /// 6 /// 7 /// 8

no ordinary world 2

2







*



"Cue the sun!"





A hundred voices relayed the order, echoing from post to post.

Back stage was a world within itself, spanning an entire county grid that Luthor Corp purchased acre by acre. What was once open farm land turned into a enclosed warehouse, complete with moving girders, cranes, set buildings and ever growing construction centers.

Pacing between these stations were scientists, workers, crew and cast members, all frantically finding their positions.

They wore matching headsets that coordinated their rehearsed instruction as actors looked over their assignments for that day.

There was the props department that supplied lamps, cars, briefcases and fresh paper, paper that would be used in the presses at the Daily Star that morning; workers finishing up the last final touches on new items that would be available on the shelves of Smallville's corner store, always the options of blue or red, the two colors that were commonly requested.

The wardrobe department worked through the night, creating new styles for the cast, keeping up the cultural mainstay for iconic style.

And then there were the mechanical systems. There were technicians to filter the atmosphere, to repopulate the minerals, to regenerate the sky and to recharge the sun. Others to maintain the networks of cameras and switches that gridded across the map.

The chemists, meteorologists, geologists, psychologists, mathematicians physicians, and physicists. All consulting one another for data, results and the well being of the variables and control of the experiment.

These departments worked like an independent limb, all moving in different directions that somehow propelled the entire collaboration into a seamless creature of beauty.

Smallville, as the project was named, was the longest running LuthorCorp experiment to date, created by Lionel Luthor himself.

More senior crew members still remember the way Lionel would walk the production every sunrise, smiling as if his entire life was encapsulated in that contained sphere constructed like a snow globe.

But Lionel Luthor would never survive past his obsessions to see the end of his work. This experiment was different than others, taking an entire lifetime to complete.

And so it carried on, onto Lionel's heir.


"Mr. Luthor."


Lex slid his eyes to the assistant, "Yes?"

"Sunrise in fifteen, Sir."

Lex looked to his monitors, fingering the master remote in his palm. "Tell the meteorologist to make it a cloudy morning. Maybe a chance of rain?"

The assistant blinked, "But Sir, the production cost of creating precipitation when our contained atmosphere doesn't require it has been an ongoing issue with our budget."

"Screw the budget." Lex tightened his jaw, "And if I'm not mistaken, I run this world." His pale head turned, eyes cold as ice.

The assistant swallowed thickly and nodded, relaying the forecast.

There was a chance of rain in Smallville today.


*


The crews in the sky balanced on girders and tightropes, repairing the state of the art solar cells that patterned 2,000 ft height. Each cell contained the ability to change pigment and position, thus creating a interchangeable sky that from half a mile below, looked as realistic as you wanted.

The red sun was even more sophisticated. It was a dense matter of photon-cells, refined and innovated in progressive LuthorCorp labs. There were numerous versions of the red sun, today's model soon a relic of the past by tomorrow standards.

Lex watched as the man-made star rose across the sky, bringing a crimson glow to the ground below.

Smallville was designed after the illustrations his father had loved so much. Normal Rockwell seemed simple and pure for most people, but for men like Lionel Luthor, it was stained in irony and satire. Lex never knew a world so kind and nostalgic, his father never gave him one. But Lionel Luthor insisted the environment of the project be as nurturing as possible, to the point of being almost condescending...

Lex could still feel his father's bitter prescence within that world.

It mocked him.

Reminded him .

How much more time Lionel spent living in this world, than in the real one with his own son.

But Lex understood his father's reasons. In Smallville, Lionel Luthor could manipulate people as actors and places like building blocks. Even the sun was a variable he could control.


But there was only one aspect of the experiment that was given free will.


"Clark will wake soon," Lex said to the coordinator, "he's never up before sunrise."

The coordinator stood beside the assistant who stood beside Lex. Both took notes on the current agenda that crossed the billionaire's mind every morning.

"Dr. Hamilton brought to my attention Clark's awareness of the routine. He suggested breaking the habit morning meals. "

The assistant blinked, "No breakfast? But Clark's always had breakfast--"

Lex turned to the coordinator. "That's the problem. Clark expects it. What if he grows bored of expectations and starts searching for something else? We have to control his urges, curve his impulses."

Lex crossed his brows as the coordinator took notes, "Lois wakes up late this morning, skipping the eggs and toast. She doesn't have time to cook today. She'll suggest they stop at the coffee shop, order two kolaches and an orange juice."


In the distance, a cast member caught his attention within the hustle, "Let Clark order what he wants. Note his choices, and modify the system."


"Yes sir." The coordinator disbanded, carrying out Lex's orders.

Lex frowned, following the footsteps of the cast member, stopping the man clothed as a mail carrier. He straightened his collar,and then sent him on his way, the actor disappearing through one of the seamless doors to the inside world.

"There are to be no flaws, understood?" Lex said to his assistant, turning to make way for the observation tower. "This world was developed to be as perfect as
Clark wants it. We can't stand a chance of breaking up the reality we've given him. We can't break the illusion."

Lex ascended the steps, a world of personnel underneath him, a moving sea of bodies that kept the experiment alive, an organism on its own.


*

As the first ray of light struck the window shops, shop owners turned over their "open" signs, and swung open their doors.

The mailman walked past the guy at the bus stop on the corner, nodding as he picked up his posts from the designated drop area.

From there he climbed into the mail carrier truck, and started on his way down Main Street where the world was waiting for their cue.

Along the way to the Kent residence, cars passed in no particular rush, milk trucks starting their deliveries and school buses operating in an equally lackadaisical way.

Down the country road, there were a few colorful farm houses, the bright yellow one on the far stretch the origin of this entire grid. That was where it had all started, from those forty some acres to where it spread for miles outward.

Further down was a newer, small neighborhood where the Kent house stood between white picket fences.

The mail truck parked down the street, the carrier opening up his sliding door and removing the basket of mail that he was instructed to deliver before the Kents walked out their door.


*

Clark was already awake sipping from his coffee mug, staring at the empty kitchen table, clothed in only his bathrobe and scruffy bedhead.

The sun seemed to be up later than usual, yet Clark's watch said differently.

Maybe the night just felt longer, Clark thought wanly. He wasn't sleeping as well.

Lois walked in fully dressed and ready for work, putting on her last earring. "Morning, sweetie."

Clark smiled over his mug, "Morning, Lois."

"Sorry, I woke up late and couldn't make breakfast. I know how you look forward to it every morning." Lois opened a cabinet and removed a cup.

"Truthfully," Clark sipped, "I'm kinda relieved."

"You are?" Lois turned and poured herself a cup of coffee.

Clark nodded, "Yeah. I was starting to think I married a robot. You should
let me cook for you sometime."

Lois blinked, cup at her lips, "Would that make you happy?"

Clark smiled, "I'm only happy if you're happy."

She smiled, sipped and then immediately spat the dark liquid out, choking.

Clark stood and rushed over to her. "You, ok?"

"Y-yeah." Lois coughed, "Coffee's just a little strong."

Clark grimaced, "I thought you liked it strong?" He took the cup from her hands, stared into it and sighed. "Ugh, I'm sorry. I just wanted to make the coffee this morning, instead of having you work yourself up. Instead, I've ruined your morning."

"What?" Lois wiped her mouth on her sleeve, "Don't be silly. It's just coffee, Clark."

He looked up with a mopey face.

"It's perfect." She took the cup back from him and drank again, this time her disgust hidden. "See? Perfect."

Clark smiled, and bent down for a kiss until there was a knock at the door.

"Oh!" Lois jolted forward handing him back the coffee, "that's probably the mail man!"

Clark stood in the kitchen, robe open. "I guess I should get dressed."

Lois rounded the corner to the front door, yelling over her shoulder, "You do that, sweetie. And maybe we'll have time to stop at the new do-nut place to get some breakfast and another cup of coffee!" She opened the screen door to where the mail carrier was waiting.

"Mrs. Kent." He smiled, lifting a package from his bag.

"Hey, Joe. What's this?" Lois smiled and reached for the brown box.

She took it in her hands, frowning when he held on.

"A package from Metropolis." He smiled, tipping his hat, finally releasing it.

Lois frowned, and flipped it over. "Metropolis?"

But the mail carrier was already down the sidewalk, continuing his route along the white picket fence.

Lois shut the door, turning the package over again as she walked back to the kitchen.


*

Lex Luthor watched as Lois made her way through the house, a series of cameras and monitors guiding her back to where she placed the little brown box on the table, and studied it.

"Lois." He whispered into his headset, staring down at her image in his monitors.

Her head perked up, earpiece embedded deep within her ear canal.

"Data shows Clark's curiosity about outside of the control to be more elevated than usual." Lex paced from the observation tower, "We are running a new program to minimize his continual veering off course."

Silently, Lex watched as the brunette nodded.

"When I hired you," Lex continued, voice dangerously still, "I expected you to be the perfect match for Clark. To be his soul-mate and best friend. His lover and wife. To make him happy in every way."

Lex crunched his fist. "But data shows his stress levels climbing, his anxiety growing. The primary objective is to keep his spirits high, and his stress levels low. This is your primary objective."

*

Lois swallowed, placing a finger to her ear, crying within a whisper, "What if I can't make him happy?"


There was silence in the house.



"Lois?"


She spun around, seeing Clark standing in the hallway with a puzzled face.

"Hi, handsome." She smiled, leaning against the table.

Clark smiled back, straightening his tie as he walked towards her. "Were you talking to someone?"

"Me?" Lois twisted her brow, "No, just Joe the mail guy. He's gone now."

Clark smiled again, a funny look crossing his eyes. But as he walked closer to plant a kiss on his wife's cheek, they fell to the brown package on the table. "What's this?"



*

Lex watched as Clark picked up the little brown box.

There was curiosity there, wonder.

The doctors beside Lex took notes.

"Gentlemen," Lex announced as he faced away from the array of monitors, "As our project extends into the next phase, our sole issue is keeping the subject content, happy. So what makes a man content with his life? Is it a fulfilling job, ambition, money,the ability to create a loving family?"

Lex crossed the room, his footsteps falling on a mirror waxed tile floor. "We've provided all these things for Clark. And yet, results show his constitution levels waning. What is the problem?"

The crowd of doctors looked at each other, pencils to clipboards talking amongst them.

Lex crossed the room again, head bowed in concentration until one hand rose in the air. "Dr. Hamilton. A suggestion?"

The man with dark curly hair and glasses pursed his lips, stepping out in front. "I've assigned some teams to create a new batch of statistical data that focused primarily on Clark's ability to accept the reality of his world."

"What did you find, Doctor?" Lex's ear perked.

"Love." Hamilton answered simply.

Lex balked, so did the others. "Clark has love, Doctor. Lois Lane was created in precise design to be the perfect mate for Clark. We spent years researching it."

"Yes I know Mr. Luthor," Hamilton nodded, rubbing his chin with his fingers, "I'm not denying the scientific processes we took to formulate the fertile grounds for love in Clark's life. But I believe we've overlooked one vital point in which we seem to be suffering the fallout right now."

Lex frowned. "And what is that?"

Hamilton looked across the room to where Lois and Clark patterned the monitors. "Does she love him in return?"

Murmur spread throughout the observation room.

Lex kept quiet, the idea refining in his mind..

"Clark was raised in staged relationships. His human parents, his childhood sweetheart Lana Lang, even his best friend Peter Ross. " Dr. Emil Hamilton pointed to a close up camera on Clark, his blue eyes smiling within the pixelated image. "I know we all thought that well- nurtured relationships with Clark would be enough to satisfy his mind, to create the illusion of love. But clearly his subconscious is reaching out for more. Perhaps something more real."

"How would his subconscious even recognize the falsities if he knows no different beyond the controlled environment we've given him?" Lex asked, his shoulders squared to the room.

Hamilton blinked, removing his glasses to search the room of other doctors. "The only reasonable answer is that he was exposed to real love before."

Murmur spread again, but it was soon quieted as Lex hissed, "What you're suggesting isn't even an option Dr. Hamilton! You know the danger of introducing her back into the experiment!"

Hamilton took a step back, eyes trained on the monitors. "I know the dangers, Mr. Luthor, believe me. I've spent years throwing my research into this project." He turned, eyes strained and conflicted. "But we all know the real danger if this experiment were to fail. We all remember the results after the first subject rejected his captivity. That was the basis that spurred this secondary project,-- which is why it is imperative for Clark to have what happiness we can afford him. To keep him in this reality so he does not awake to our own."

Lex sighed, pacing the floor again. "Even if it were possible, that variable was terminated years ago."

He looked up to the screen, watching Clark open the box.

Everyone watched as Clark opened it.

"She isn't terminated." Hamilton spoke, narrating as everyone watched the scene, "He's kept her alive in memory."

Her name was forbidden among the project, like a scarlet letter in some secret language, her presence among the experiment tucked away like it had been for so many years. Lionel Luthor banned her existence the day he lost control of her character, lost control of the project. The day he lost control of Clark's influence, his heart.

Lex's eyes fell to the floor. "Chloe Sullivan was the variable we never expected."



*





1 /// 2 /// 3/// 4 /// 5 /// 6 /// 7 /// 8


*

no ordinary world 1

no ordinary world

1 /// 2 /// 3/// 4 /// 5 /// 6 /// 7 /// 8


1





.

Sunrise always inspired Clark.

He could be laying in bed, not really asleep, nor really awake, just looking at the dull violets of the sky through the window facing east. It was that sliver of morning before dawn, before the sun broke open the horizon with its burgeoning red sphere.

And then, it would appear.

The red sun.

Glorious and deep.

Ominous and mesmerizing.

It was then, and only then that Clark would stir, his legs swept off the bed and into his house shoes. He would move quietly to the bathroom and close the door gently, barely making a peep so that his wife wouldn't wake.

Clark then washed his face, while the shower warmed up.

Steam would always build on the mirror, signalling that it was time to lather up his hair and jump in.

The water would always be just the right temperature, not to cold, not to hot. The scent of the bar soap minty and fresh, a nice fragrance to wake him up completely by the time he stepped out.

Clark would then shave, ever so carefully, his shadow disappearing from his strong chin with every sweep of the razor.

Lastly he would brush his teeth, floss, and towel his hair. And by the time he opened the bathroom door, his wife would be right outside of it, handing him the morning paper.

"Goodmorning, Lois." Clark smiled, leaning down to kiss the brunette on the cheek.

She patted his freshly shaved face and smiled, "You look especially handsome today."

Clark smiled and then bent down again to steal another kiss, this time on the lips.

But Lois scooted away too soon, "Must be that new aftershave I bought you. Do you like it?"

Clark straightened back up, unfolding the paper. "Yeah, it's nice." He said indifferently.

Lois smiled brightly and threw on her robe. "Well, breakfast is ready. Whenever you are."

Clark lowered the paper. No matter how early he woke, Lois always seemed to wake up right after, having the morning meal hot and ready.

Clockwork.

Clark sighed and walked into the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

The sun was higher in the sky now, breaking through some low lying clouds.

He sat at the table, spreading his butter and jam, breaking his yolks with the curve of his spoon. Breakfast was perfect, as always, and Clark could never quite figure out how his wife found the time to make all of this.

Every single day.



*


"C'mon, Clark." Lois said, scooping up her purse, "We'll be late for work."

Clark smiled right behind her, picking up his suit jacket from the hook. "Lois, we're never late."

She turned around and smiled, her fingers adjusting his tie. "Well, that's because you speed the whole way."

"Only because you make us late." Clark smiled, playfully.

He scooted around her, his arms surrounding her body, each hand planted on either side of the kitchen counter. "Of course, being late doesn't seem too big a deal." He bent to kiss her neck.

Lois smiled, patting him on the cheek. "Very funny, Big Guy."

She escaped underneath his arms, "C'mon, the office is waiting."

Clark sighed, following her out the door. "Lois, don't you think it would be more fun if we stayed home today? I mean, nothing ever happens here. I'm sure the Daily Star will survive without us writing the Honorable Mentions column for one day."

Lois spun around. "Clark, we can't just not show up for work." She blinked. "What will the editor print in place of our column?"

Clark laughed, "Oh, I don't know. Real news?" He opened the driver side door and slid in.

Lois followed.

The neighborhood Clark and Lois lived in was quaint and modest, just outside of town and close enough to Clark's parent's house. There were white picket fences around every yard, flowerboxes in every window. And a nice shady oak to cover every car that sparkled with fresh dew.

The red sun shone on everything, a pink shade cast filtering through the air.

"Nothing ever happens in this town." Clark sighed, turning the key.

Lois looked, "What are you talking about? They just opened that new coffee shop--"

"No, no--" Clark backed out of the drive way.

Next door, their neighbor was out watering his grass.

Clark politely waved. "I mean, nothing exciting ever happens here. There isn't any breaking news, no crime--"

"Crime?" Lois exclaimed, "Clark, you're talking like you want to live in Metropolis."

He shrugged, "Well, maybe I do."

Lois laughed, patting his shoulder, "Clark, I think you've been reading too far into things. Smallville is perfect in everyway. Why would you ever want to leave?"

"I don't I just--," Clark frowned, "It's just that, no one needs help here. And I've always had this feeling that I was meant to do something more. To help people. And here, well, no one needs my help." Clark sighed, "No one needs, me."

"I need you." Her hand crept into his, and Clark held it, refreshed by Lois' rare affection.

He looked into her eyes and smiled, shaking his head and all those stubborn thoughts that rose to mind on an off day like this.

Maybe he was thinking too far into things. Smallville was perfect. His wife, Lois, was perfect.

His life was, perfect.


*

The Daily Star was a four story building in the middle of downtown, a cluster of the busiest traffic on Main St.

There was a set of glass double doors in the newspaper building's entry, doors that were wiped squeaky clean every morning by the upkeepers. The same keepers that shined the silver star, and the bold lettering over the awning.

Clark held the door for Lois, and followed her in with a smile.
Inside their editor, George Taylor, was sitting on the edge of his desk, indulging on a
nice round donut.

"Kents!" Taylor, an older man with peppered brown hair slid off the desk, rubbing the powered sugar off his mustache. "Just the two I was looking for."

Clark matched Taylor's smile, sitting his leather briefcase ontop of his desk.

"Hiya, Chief." Lois straightened her name plate, setting her purse inside one of her desk drawers.

"The mayor's holding a opening ceremony for that new coffee shop on the corner this morning at ten."

Surreptiously, Clark spied a knowing look at his wife.

Lois ignored it, staying chipper. "Great, Chief! We're on it!"

"That's what I want to hear!" Taylor snapped his fingers and winked at them both.

Clark watched as their editor began to depart for the remainer of donuts on his desk.

Clark jumped up at the split of a decision. "Chief, wait."

Taylor turned around.

Lois stopped her typing, and cast a look up.

Quietly, the entire office stopped.

Clark looked around at the other reporters and secretaries.

One by one, the slowly resumed their work.

Clark blinked, curiously walking closer to Taylor to whisper, "You know how you told me that thinking ahead was the key to a great reporter?"

Taylor nodded with mild suspicion.

"Well Chief, I was thinking," Clark swallowed, wringing his hands, "What if the Daily Star had a column written from abroad? You know, a place where we could write about other worlds outside our own?"

George Taylor, a usually bright, funny man stood pale faced for a moment before his charm and smile caught up with him. "Kent," he patted Clark's back and then chuckled, "You know Harvey covers the news relay. We already print world wide headlines in the International section."

"I know, but this is different. Those stories are just reprinted." Clark's eyes brightened.
"What if we sent one of our own outside of the city to write a fresh new angle on the news, news that happens outside of Smallville."

"Outside of Smallville?" Taylor smiled again, grabbing a white powder donut. He took a bite.

Clark's hopeful smile faded.

"Why would anyone want to leave Smallville?" Taylor mumbled between munches, patting Clark's shoulder again, and left.

Clark sighed, brushing white sugar off his dark suit.


.


In the afternoons, after paragraphs were sewn and pasted together, headlines drawn and the day was over, Clark often retreated to the windmill on the back of his parent's farm where he visited his mother most days.

Tonight his bestfriend was beside him, sharing a cold beer as they reminisced about the good old days.

Pete Ross and Clark Kent were inseperable all throughout their school years. They both made letterman on the school football and baseball teams, competed in the debate club and were running mates for student council.

But Clark's favorite pasttime together was working at the school paper, The Torch.

They spent so many nights there, so many good memories...

He remembered their old editor.

"I wonder what Chloe's doing." Clark said, swishing the dark brown bottle to his lips.

"Chloe?" Pete sipped bitterly and then peered over, "Chloe Sullivan?"

"Yeah," Clark smiled, watching as the red sun slowly disappeared beneath the thick tree tops that populated the mountain ridge in the distance.

"I haven't heard you talk about her in years."

Clark winced, looking at Pete through a lowered brow. "Just because I don't talk about her doesn't mean I don't think about her."

"Yeah well," Pete opened another bottle and said very carefully, "I wouldn't think too hard. She's gone, man."

Clark laughed, "She's not gone, Pete. She only moved to Metropolis."

Pete's forehead creased with thought, his dark brows knitted together. "Careful Clark, you married her cousin, remember?"

Clark laughed again. "Relax, Pete. I was just wondering how an old friend was doing. We haven't seen her in years is all."

Pete nodded, his feet dangling off the edge of the windmill's platform.

They were up high.

Pete looked over to his friend, never sure of what exactly was running through Clark's mind. The guy was mysterious, even to him, the friend who had known him forever.

But he could guess what Clark's mind was after. It was the way his blue eyes stared straight into the sun, staring right through the impossible ridge of earth that soared high in the distance.

Clark was looking past Smallville, and into what was beyond it.

"Remember what Icarus taught us." Pete said quietly.

Clark blinked, the intensity gone. Slowly his eyes fell to the earth beneath them, reminding him just how high they were.

The sun made its last descent, the sky falling with it, stars poking through the crimson clouds.

A late wind picked up the bangs from Clark's forehead, his eyes sneaking up to where the moon crept into the sky.

It shone down on them, hovering like a spotlight. The image of the moon always reminded him of that poem his father had read him once when he was little.

A man in the moon.

For some reason it resonated with him. Perhaps the adventure or just the plain possiblity that a man could leave this small town, and be somewhere else.

Clark always wondered, if he could get there too? Could be the man who watched over everyone?

Would he ever leave Smallville?

Clark blinked, leaning back on his elbows to gaze.

Slowly, the moon made its pass over the night sky, and eventually Pete and Clark climbed down the windmill and went home to their wives, and eventually they fell asleep until the next day.


.

But the man on the moon didn't sleep.

His eyes were wide open, trained on the wide array of monitors across a vast wall. In those monitors were Clark Kent. Asleep, and dreaming.

But of what?

"Mr. Luthor."

A voice stirred him, his fingers caressing the smooth crown of his head. "What is it?"

"The crews are experiencing technical issues. We wont be ready for sunrise for another three hours."

"Late sunrise again?" Luthor growled, "This makes twice in the same week!"

"I apologize, but the radiation filters have been malfunctioning ever since the fire ball incident."

Lex sighed heavily, shutting his eyes. "Tell the production crews to set the clocks back again. And inform the cast of the long night. I don't want another repeat of the confusion last time. We had school children wandering the streets in pitch night."

"Yes sir." The assistant bowed, and left the room.

Lex turned to the monitors again, his fingers caressing the screen. "Sleep well, Kal-El. Sunrise will be here soon enough."

His suit was backlit against the bright LCD's of a thousand screens. There was one point of the observatory where Lex Luthor could perch and peer from a real window and monitor the world... an unordinary world.

His world.

There, Lex's pale face emerged from the surface of the false moon, the same that suspended far in the sky that blanketed the little world named Smallville.


*



1 /// 2 /// 3/// 4 /// 5 /// 6 /// 7 /// 8

GB ch14

Title: Go By
Season: 6->
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The CW and WB own everything. I own nothing.
Couples: Chlark
Category: Multiple Chapters (?)
Summary: The story picks up right after Vortex/ Tempest, then quickly diverges in AU. But fate has a way of course correcting.









Chapter 14 / p1







*




Clark Kent stood rigid, his red jacket pummeled by bitter winds from the north.

He was in the middle of the arctic, dry snow powdered up to the calves of his boots, and a long trail of footprints behind him.

But he wasn't alone.

''Do you know why we are we here, Kal-El?"

Clark turned to face the man who called himself Brainiac. But he wasn't a man, just an intelligence and a replicated body with the darkest cloak billowing with the brutal north winds. The two Kryptonian warriors that had descended with him stood at either flank, postures strong and erect.

Clark stood across, and a far from them all.

He couldn't trust them.

It had been a long week after that day in the caves, the day of the second meteor shower. Within the first hour of the their arrival, the Kryptonian's managed to destroy and tirade through the outskirts of town until finally finding their way to him, Kal-el.

But it wasn't before Lex Luthor met them first.

There was no question that Luthor's intentions were more than despicable and malice. Lex was about to destroy them all, and hurt so many others. And despite all of Clark's abilities, he was powerless to stop him.

And so there lie the inner question that had tortured Clark all week. Was it right now that Lex Luthor was confined to a hospital bed the rest of his life? To be inert, immobile, neutralized as a threat to the human race, to the Kryptonian race...

Was it justice to remove one's enemies?

This world is too small for enemies.

Clark's brows furrowed, scanning the empty white field of ice and snow that surrounded them for miles and miles. "The caves, the journals. They both spoke about a fortress, a part of Krypton that was saved. I've spent years searching for it."

"But you haven't found it."

Clark glanced towards Brainiac, then to the two other Kryptonians standing at a distance, their black armor contrast against the bleak, bright landscape. "No."

A wicked smile curved the computer's lips. "That's because it hasn't been built yet."

Clark turned, his full attention on the man in the long black cloak.

"The programming you've studied in those caves, the journals you've collected and rehearsed, they're all noble and informative on certain subject's Kal-El," Brainiac circled, his eyes gleaming over the steep, jagged mountains in the distance, "But unfortunately, their knowledge is outdated and incomplete."

Clark's blue eyes reflected in the white snow. The air was so clean here, refreshing and pure.

Brainiac turned, "Only a Kryptonian council or archive would have complete and unobstructed Kryptonian knowledge. Fortunately, you have one right here."

Clark frowned."A council?"

"I am the Brain Interactive Construct." He smiled again, black cloak billowing in the wind, " I was sent here to instruct you."

Clark shifted stances. "My father never mentioned a council."

Brainiac's eyes searched, "It is interesting how you refer to a program as your father when you have no memory of your real father at all."

Clark swallowed, eyes falling.

"But this omission can easily be explained through malfunction or perhaps an outdated program. Even as brilliant as your father was, he did not have time to construct an thorough program when Krypton was falling down around him."

"You knew my father?" Clark's eyes lighted with hope.

"I was built by your father's very hands, engineered by his very mind... there's is so much I can teach you that Jor-El's aged programming cannot."

Clark's eyes traced the edges of the man's face, seeing no flaws, no sign that he was a computer of any kind. He looked as human as Clark did, and for some reason that didn't sit right. But he wanted to trust him, to trust all of them. Here, Brainiac was offering the truth, total disclosure to Kryptonian heritage and knowledge. And perhaps a way to see his home again. If Brainiac was created by Jor-El, then he was the most immediate extension of any semblance of his former life on Krypton.

"You're right." Clark's eyes steadied on the blank white slate of the horizon, "I've never met my true father, nor have I ever known another person like me, a Kryptonian."

"Kal-El." Brainiac stepped forward, "I am your council and guide, here to protect you, the last son of Krypton and the heritage of our home world."

Clark searched the computer's eyes, black and deep. They stared back at him without movement, without waver. Unnatural. Unhuman.

Human.

Perhaps that was a flaw of his design. Brainiac knew no humanity, had no humanity. But then again, Clark and the other Kryptonians were never meant to be human. They were never meant to land here.

This world was alien.

"Tell me how to build the Fortress." Clark's clear blue eyes strengthened, "If the prophecies are true, it's the only part of Krypton left."

Brainiac smiled, his hand on Clark's shoulder as the heady north winds beat upon them. "Nothing would please me more than to rebuild our home."

Those words seemed like a promise to Clark, but his hopes felt buried. How far would he have to follow this man, this construct, this machine towards the prophecies of his father? It was like a long, thin thread. So hard to grasp, so hard to untangle.

Everything felt so far away.

Clark watched as Brainiac began walking further north, footsteps disappearing quickly after every white gust.

There was this teetering moment as Clark let the distance build between him and the others, watching as the black figures grew into small grey smudges in the snow. He felt a single boot shuffle forward, and yet the other refusing to follow. There was a great chasm between these next steps he was taking, leading down a path he couldn't see the end of.

Clark strained his eyes to see through the snow, their figures hardly visible now.


He felt his fists tighten, his legs working independently from his mind.

For too long Clark had put off his father's wishes. For too long, Clark had chose to ignore the reason, the logic, choosing to instead live by his own free will, to cling to the thin hope that perhaps he could belong, that it all meant something.

A connection.

But, he was never certain.

And all of those human connections felt very distant to him now, the wind whipping by so fast past his ears that even Clark could not hear over the whispers that urged him to follow.

Maybe it was the feeling of being left behind, the thought of abandoning the promise of hope. Or maybe it was the physical gap that was deepening within every second Clark chose to stay stagnant and still in the snow, the white wash erasing the last connection of Krypton Clark had left.



So he followed them, his boots retracing the remnants of their tracks into whatever distance they carried him. The ever echoing thought that his humanity, and all that was left of his attachments to this world, were unraveling.



*


From a distance, little details tend to fall away from a picture.

There were flashbulbs alternating at every angle, capturing the genuine smile of a young photographer whose single picture made headlines for weeks. Across the room, Jimmy Olsen looked popular, successful, happy.

Since the publication of Jimmy's photos on the Planet's front page, and the wide distribution afterward, the young photographer's popularity grew and then soared.

Jimmy Olsen documented the largest raining of astrological bodies upon Earth. That is, for the second time.

The world began to watch the skies, millions alerted to foreign objects entering their home like an stranger creeping up on their doorstep. It could strike at any moment but instead waited for that unexpected moment, suspended above the clouds and just above their consciousness. It was this danger that drew up excitement from the public, that captured readers and imaginations alike.

And it was Jimmy Olsen's charm that captured the cameras now.

Right now he was swaying on the dance floor in a black tux and tie with his date on his shoulder. A young, pretty girl named Lucy Lane. From far away they looked like a perfect couple. And Jimmy looked happy.

But of course everything looked different from a distance.

Chloe smiled from the balcony outside, eyes jeweled from the warm glow through the patio doors.

"You sure you don't want to go inside?" Oliver asked beside her, looking smart in a black tux of his own. Tonight was a charity gala for that little town three hours away and it was only natural for billionaire Oliver Queen to attend, and not with out a date on his arm.

That date was Chloe.

But she wasn't holding smiles for flashbulbs like the other primped women inside the ballroom. No, Chloe was outside of it all, an airy gaze settled in her hazel eyes, reflecting that warm glow from chandeliers.

Oliver captured her wandering attention when she didn't answer. "Hey," he said as he brushed her arm.

Her satin, deep emerald gown rustled as she shrugged, "I wouldn't know what to say."

"Chloe," Oliver turned to her as the music from the orchestra played, "I brought you here to say goodbye. You might not get that chance ever again."

The idea stung. What if she couldn't say it?

She nodded, her fingers tracing the satin of her matching green clutch. "I don't know how to say goodbye."

The tall, dark blonde struggled to smile, his strong features austere in the shadowy light. But it wasn't his good looks or confidence that captured her attention. It was Oliver Queen, a man who had become a great friend and Allie over the years. Chloe became entangled in the deep chocolate of Oliver's eyes, wondering just how far into them she would find solace, a solution to the tangled mess that had become her life.

But the moment faded with the music, Oliver brushing his hand once more across hers as he walked back inside. Through the double glass doors, the orchestra ended a song, the ballroom applauding.

Ever since she had woken up in that field, everything had changed. Smallville endured yet another catastrophic supernatural disaster. Lex Luthor was confined to a hospital bed, on a respirator the rest of his life. Her best friend and partner, Jimmy Olsen, was a world renown photographer for the leading newspaper in the world.

And who was Chloe Sullivan? A girl dreaming in a corn field with no accolades nor memory of the past three days. In fact, the last thing she could remember was being in a different field, wheat as she recalled, and other strange things; like a foreign voice whispering in her ear, blue cerulean eyes and the distinct feeling of being carried away.

Perhaps that's how she came to that field.

She was in a dream, and when she had woken, it felt like climbing out of an eternity.She might still be dreaming out there if it wasn't for the bright barking of a dog that finally stirred her.

But she could still be dreaming. Her body felt light, like she wasn't inside of it at all.

That waning feeling passing through her many times when she tried to remember... slowly, she was waking up. Slowly, waking to reality.

Lightning flashed behind her in the dark sky of the evening.

She took a deep breath.

She'd came here to say goodbye, so she might as well do it now.



*


Even through the veil of night, flashes of lightning illuminated overcast clouds like a dim firelight through a canvas screen.

The blur from the arctic to Metropolis seemed shorter than others, Clark brushing off caked snow from his jacket after he leaping onto a nearby rooftop.

He had followed Brainiac's instruction. He needed to find the last crystal to build the Fortress. He needed to speak to his father. He needed to know there was hope.

Clark felt a wind brush past, cold from the north.

It was Brainiac.

"Remember what I've told you, Kal-El."

Clark let the monotone voice resonate in his ears.

"Humans have betrayed you in the past, and will continue to do so in the future. You must let go of them."

Clark frowned, "I've spent my whole life here. My whole life protecting humans as my human parents protected me."

"The time has come to say goodbye to that life." Brainiac nodded towards the warm glow of downtown, where the city buzzed with activity, "Clark Kent belongs in the past with this world. But you, Kal-El, are meant for greater things in greater world."

Clark frowned deeper, dark curls whipping past his eyes.

Lightning struck again, and then rain.

Thick drops slid down his jacket and then to his hands.

Brainiac's hand moved to point in the distance. "The last crystal is there."

Clark followed the line of sight, eyes strained. "You've known where it was this entire time?"

"No."

Clark looked at him.

"You have, Kal-El." Brainiac smiled, "I've only downloaded your thoughts to remind you where."



*



"I'm glad you could make it." Jimmy twirled them on the floor, the orchestra playing an old skylark song on the strings.

The ballroom was rich and glamorous, all of the charity night's events funded by the city's most wealthy benefactors.

"Well, when I heard my best friend was nominated for a Pulitzer I figured a 'congratulations' on a postcard wouldn't be enough." Chloe smiled from his shoulder.

"Postcard?" Jimmy looked at the back of her hair. It was pulled up away from her face, tucked in by a emerald beret. A gift her date had given her.

She hugged him tighter across his shoulders. "I'm going away for a while, Jimmy."

"What?"

They stopped dancing, the crowd moving without them to the slow strings and sad, muted trumpet.

"I need a break. From work, from Metropolis. Everything."

Chloe tried to start them moving again, but Jimmy didn't budge.

"A break." He eyed her skeptically. "This has to do with what happened to you, doesn't it?"

She buried her head back into his shoulder.

Jimmy's feet started again, leading them back into the sway of the dance.

"I'm your best friend, Chloe. You should be able to tell me anything."

Her body tensed.

Jimmy was right. Best friends were supposed to tell all, not hide from each other like she had all those years. Jimmy had told her everything after all. Even about the strange black armored soldiers that had tried to kill him, the woman who had put Sheriff Adams in a hospital bed with a broken leg. He told her about how he saved them with a piece of meteor rock.

But Chloe couldn't tell Jimmy about any of what had happened on her end. How could she? It would be dragging up years of lies and cover ups that would definitely need more time for explanation than she had.

"How long will you be gone?" Jimmy asked, his arms feeling limp around her waist.

"As long as it takes." She answered truthfully.

She felt him lift his hand to her cheek, forcing her to look him in the face. She was right before, about how things look differently from far away. Before, when she was outside looking in, she could have sworn Jimmy Olsen looked happier. Now, up close, where she could see the lean creases of his eyes left by undecided mourning, she could see Jimmy more clearly.

His eyes weren't of a happy man.

"Chloe, you can't leave now." he touched her cheek again, "Who will help me uncover this story? There were black choppers out there like this meteor shower was the next Roswell. It's practically screaming government cover up."

She knew how frustrated Jimmy was about not being about to write the entire story of that day. But if there was anything to say about journalistic integrity,Jimmy Olsen didn't bend. Considering he nor Sheriff Adams had physical proof, he needed to investigate a little harder before he told the whole world about the oddities of that day.

Jimmy even went as far as to recall a woman emerging from the water of the crippled Reeves Dam who then used some sort of technology to evaporate the immense body of water that threaten to crash down, and in turn save the entire county.

It was all a little too illustrative for even Chloe to take in, until he described the woman.


Blue eyes.

A silver bracelet.


She remembered.

The pensive gaze disappeared from Chloe's eyes as she smiled, "I'm sure you'll be just fine, Jimmy. Besides, there's always Lois to help you sleuth around."

He laughed then, the thin creases lining his expression."That's funny, Chloe."

They both looked over to the table where Lois and Lucy were seated. Chloe recognized the man whispering in her cousin's brunette ear. A marine biologist she met once by the name of Arthur Curry.

They watched Lois giggle, not a often occurrence, after Curry whispered in her ear.

Lucy smiled and waved enthusiastically.

Jimmy waved back.

Chloe looked over them all. "You'll take care of them, right?"

He blinked, his arms tightening around her. "Of course. I took care of you all these years, didn't I?"

She smiled against his shoulder. Bittersweet taste, beginning of an end. But as Jimmy turned them once again, Chloe thought she saw him.

Blue eyes.

Dark hair.

On the balcony.

When she spun back around, he was gone.

Frantically, she stole glances as Jimmy weaved them through the crowd, but found nothing.

The orchestra played on as the floor moved lazily.

"Whatever happened to you, or happens later on," Jimmy said against her ear, "whatever you think that's changed..."

Looking up from his shoulder, she found Jimmy, a different Jimmy.

"Nothing will change who you are. You'll always be a reporter, working at the Daily Planet. This isn't goodbye."

"This is never saying goodbye, Jimmy." Chloe smiled against his cheek, whispering words that made Jimmy grip on her waist firmer, his head burrowed deeper against her hair as their feet followed through premeditated steps, within time of the slow playing orchestra.

But no matter how light their feet swayed, Chloe's thoughts were spent on the dark shadows and dark features that lingered as a ghost outside windows.


*



Gold.

Glamour.

Wealth.

All of this wrapped around a extravagant gathering that single men like Oliver Queen funded with money that never meant more to them than objects of bartering.

He sat in the the dark corner of the ballroom, a dark liquid swirling in his stunted glass.

Typically, there wasn't anything you could do to change a stubborn man like Oliver Queen. There wasn't anything or anyone that he needed to please or impress. A man of billions and a reputation soured in gossip rags, Oliver Queen had nothing to prove, no reason to bend his ways, no inspiration to climb off his privileged pedestal.

That is, before he met Chloe Sullivan. The girl who figured out his alter ego after the very first day, and yet, never revealed it in her tiny column in the widely read newspaper she worked for. The girl had snap, smarts and a very dangerous curiosity that often led her into predicaments that the Green Arrow had to swoop in and save her from. Not that Chloe was the damsel in distress type, but she did find a way into trouble.

Even recently after the meteor shower, she'd gone missing for days. It took Oliver hours of satellite surveying to find her. But he did. He found her. And this time when he swooped in and saved her, she'd broken their rule, their "MO", and asked for a favor.

Not just help from Green Arrow, but help from him.

Oliver Queen didn't help anyone, he was a party animal, a scoundrel.

But starting tonight, he would break it all. He wasn't there in a green leather suit and bow. He was in a tux and bowtie, scratching his head as to why it mattered so much.

Why helping her mattered so much.

Because through all the years of that loyalty and professionalism, Oliver could see the potential.

The friend.

She was a friend that needed help.

Oliver spied over the rim of his glass, watching as Chloe swayed on Jimmy's shoulder.

"That's her?" A gruff voice spoke beside him.

"Yeah, that's her." Oliver sipped from his drink, glancing at the dark gentleman in a sleek black suit.

"She's pretty. Not really you're type, but pretty."

"You know that's not why I called you here." Oliver answered testily.

The man grimaced, liquor sliding down his throat where his stubble grew over a jagged old scar on his jaw. "Then why did you call me here? You know I'm a busy guy."

Oliver pulled a slip of paper from his breast pocket.

It exchanged hands.

"I need to know if you're in or out. Right now."

The dark man read it and then smiled. "Oliver, we've known each other for years. When have I ever let you down?"

"Never, Bruce. That's why I'm trusting you now."

He smiled. "You know what I noticed? Every billionaire on the continent is here tonight. Just look at the room. Have you ever seen a stuffier crowd?"

Oliver looked around.

Bruce lifted his brow at his glass. "But there's just one rich spoiled brat that's missing." He looked at Oliver."How did Lex Luthor end up on that respirator?"

"Don't look at me." Oliver stared back, "I had nothing to do with it."

"Really." Bruce chuckled and then jabbed. "I remember the day when Oliver Queen would have loved to see Lex Luthor taking his last breaths from a tiny plastic tube. Has that day passed?"

"There's a lot of men who want to see Lex dead." Oliver's shoulders slumped, elbows propped against the bar. "Yourself included."

"This is true. Except I only know two men who actually have the means to do it. And we're both looking at one."

Oliver turned to him.

Bruce looked back. "Tell me this girl isn't wrapped around Lex Luthor."

Oliver turned back to Chloe across the room.

Bruce shook his head, "This whole situation is a ticking time bomb. The moment that bald bastard dies, the district attorney, who we both know has been accepting bribes from Luthor, will be asking questions and making the answers up along the way."

Oliver steadied. "Chloe Sullivan would never kill a man."

"But the Luthor controlled media will burn her at the stake, and you know it."

"Why do you think she agreed to this?"

"Did she agree, or did you heavily suggest it?"

Oliver's expression soured.

The darker haired man smirked, patting Oliver's shoulders as he got up and walked away disappearing without a goodbye or any word of his departure. Born from the grim wealth in Gotham, Bruce Wayne never was much for manners.

Oliver sighed, sipping the last of his drink before he stood. Liquor didn't even taste good anymore. Perhaps signs of his age, the last of his reckless partying days long gone. The guy in the green suit had slowly infiltrated the hours of Oliver's daydream, and the nightmares of his nights. Soon, there would only be the Green Arrow.

The world didn't need another rich boy, an Oliver Queen.

And as he watched his date move slowly to the music on someone else's shoulder,
Oliver rethought over his decisions. Maybe this wasn't the best way. Maybe she didn't have to say goodbye. But right now, this was the only way he could watch over her. Protect her. Because if Lex Luthor ever woke up, she'd be dead.

"We need to talk."

Oliver huffed, not knowing the last time his friend to ever return so soon. "I thought you'd be in Gotham by now, flapping around in that awful bat suit." He snided, turning around.

But it wasn't Bruce.

It was Clark Kent.

"Clark." Oliver said, surprised. When he had told the guy they needed to talk about their mutual fair friend, he didn't think he'd turn up here of all place.  Oliver could have sworn the only clothes Clark Kent owned were rumpled blue suits and that same miserable tie.

"Clark, what are you doing here?"

Clark's voice was dangerously still. "What do you know about Veritas?"

Oliver glanced around. "I know enough to know that its a secret organization whose name isn't leaked out to the public." He briskly walked over to the corner of the ballroom and Clark followed. ''What do you know about it?"

"I know that the Queen family belongs to it. Right alongside the Luthors ."

"Wait, before you start getting any ideas--"

"You've been working along side Lex all this time!"

"Clark," Oliver dragged him aside. "My parents were the ones caught up in Veritas. In fact, they died because of it. Lionel Luthor was the man who murdered them."

Clark studied the other man. When Brainiac told him the last crystal of knowledge was there in Metropolis, his first thought was Oliver Queen. The last peg in maze that spelled Veritas.

But as he looked into Oliver's honest, out front eyes, he didn't see an enemy.

Clark saw a friend, through all these years.

"After I found out my family was murdered I only investigated from there. My family has a lot of buried secrets in its past, secrets I'm not entirely proud of." Oliver glanced around. "The question is, how do you know about Veritas?"

"Lex Luthor."

The tall blonde narrowed his eyes. "You were the last person to see him conscious."

Clark nodded. "Yes. But I wasn't the one who paralyzed him."

"Then why are you protecting who did?" Oliver countered, voice rising in suspicion.

Clark said nothing.

Oliver slowly nodded, accepting the subtle shut off not gone without notice. "With all these secrets, only gossip and speculation are left to corrupt eager ears. And now that Lex is impenging on death, guess who's the number one suspect?"

Clark frowned.

Oliver's eyes traveled across the room.

Clark's followed.

He whipped back around, angry.

"Chloe would never--"

"I know she wouldn't." The dark brown spheres of Oliver's eyes dangerous. "But we both know she knows more than what she's letting on. Chloe may have been M.I.A., but her memory isn't."

"What makes you say that?"

"Chloe came to me for help. Specifically, she came to my physicist, Emil Hamilton, for answers."

Clark frowned. "Answers about what?"


*


There he was again. By the bar, with Oliver.

Chloe blinked repeatedly, telling herself that he was real. That he was standing just over there, and as her body yearned to cross the room towards him, Jimmy was pulling her away.

"Something wrong?"

She looked up from his shoulder, shaking her head. "No, it's just. He's here."

Jimmy followed her eyes and frowned. "Who?"

She blinked, realizing he was gone.


"Chloe."

His voice.

His hand, it was on her shoulder.

Warm and...

She turned, and then it was his face.

His eyes.

She stopped dancing.

Or maybe the music stopped first, because there was a pool of dark blue uniforms growing within the ballroom, bronze shields on their left breast.

The crowd parted like a sea as the MPD marched through the canal of bodies that led straight to Chloe.

Jimmy held onto her. "What's going on?"

Lois and Lucy stood up from their table.

A dark haired woman with a unbreakable face approached Chloe, a badge in hand.

Chloe recognized her from her pictures. Detective Maggie Sawyer was a impenetrable force in the justice system of Metropolis.

"Chloe Sullivan," Det. Sawyer clasped the first handcuff on Chloe's wrist, "I have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Alexander Luthor."

The room gasped.

Oliver appeared behind her, "Wait a second." He looked to Clark, then back to the officer. "On what grounds?"

Det. Sawyer eyed him. "Questions you should ask a lawyer, Mr. Queen."

Sawyer zipped the second cuff.

"What is this?" Oliver stepped between them, "You of all people, Sawyer, I can't believe you would take orders from a corrupt system! You know she's innocent!"

"I've just come from Met Gen at the foot of Lex Luthor's deathbed." Sawyer challenged, displaying the warrant for all to see, "For all I know, the girl belongs in a institution with the rest of the freaks I've locked up. I've got good hard evidence of meteor infected gene mutations from the DNA's she left behind at the crime scene. DNA so strange it barely resembles anything human."

Murmurs traveled across the floor.

Chloe shrank back into Jimmy's arms.

Oliver darted his eyes to the side, making contact with Clark's before switching back to the detective's solid glare. He stepped forward, shielding Chloe's body with his. "What, vicious fabrications to draw up probable cause? This is low, especially coming for you Detective."


Sawyer raised her voice testily, "Get out of my way, or I will hold you for obstruction of justice."

Oliver smiled sourly, "This isn't justice."

Chloe felt Clark's hand on her again, she didn't want to look up.

"For all you know Detective," Oliver lent, "I killed Lex Luthor."

Sawyer smiled bitterly. "Is that a confession?"

"Questions you should ask my lawyer." Oliver retorted.

The detective slit her eyes, pushing his towering body aside to arrest...

"Where is she?" Sawyer spun around.

Oliver hid a smile, looking over to Jimmy who looked over to him.

Chloe was gone.

And so was Clark.





*


chapter fifteen

TFTYEAM p5

1 //2//3//4//5//6




* And the skipping record continues... to season five.*

Title: The Few Times You Ever Asked Me
Rating: PG
Couples: Chlark
Disclaimer: The WB and CW own everything. I own nothing.
Summary: Cutouts from Chloe and Clark's life that led to, something.
Season 5









the few times you ever asked me/ 5






.


"Clark," Chloe sighed, eyes squinting away from the hot sun, "I don't know how you do it, but you do."

"Do what?" Clark looked over his shoulder to his passenger, hands ahold of the steering wheel.

It was the end of a very long day, the sun setting in the west as the beat up, red pick-up drove south down the dirt road.

Chloe sighed again, a smile appearing across her lips just enough for Clark to know she was teasing. But Chloe remained quiet between that smile, her hand shielding her eyes from the strong rays that bombarded her right side.

"Put the visor down." Clark instructed, smiling too. He reached over, fingers pulling the flap down.

But, it was short.

Or, was it that she was short? The bright sun still in her eyes, lighting them afire, green and... playful?

"The visor doesn't help, Clark."

"I can see that."

"We go through this every time we drive to Metropolis in your truck..."

"Well, you insisted we drive." Clark pointed out, "Meanwhile, I could have super sped us both and back--"

"--And every morning when we drive," Chloe continued on, "the sun is in the east and I'm always on that side. And every after noon when we drive back, the sun is in the west and I'm again always on this side--"

Clark looked over his shoulder again, seeing how her hands moved from left to right, this conversation bordering on the side of a rant. No matter how irritated Chloe secretly was, Clark equally and secretly liked her moods. She was always a little cuter with her words sped up, her cheeks flushed, hands and arms waving up and down in some sort of dance, humorous only to him.

In these moods, Clark never worried. He knew what would remedy Chloe.

And then it struck him.

They planned this Sunday morning exclusively to venture inside the city and get a fresh cup of coffee. No impending disaster or super saves in the itinerary, just coffee and conversation on a quiet day. But of course, just as they stepped into the cafe in downtown Metropolis, an apartment fire flared up.

Somewhere an hour away, there were two cold coffees sitting on a counter.

The red truck continued down the road, a gas station coming up.

Clark looked over, noticing Chloe's cheeks pinker than usual. She was running on empty, on withdrawals, poor thing.

"...And I know I sound like I'm complaining, but I have sensitive skin, Clark, and right now my cheeks feel like they're on fire, and ..." Chloe stopped mid sentence, watching as the truck pulled into the gas station. "Why are we stopping?"

Clark cracked a smile. "Just stay in the truck." He popped open his door and slid out, crossing the gravel drive hands shoved into his jacket.

Chloe watched him with a question mark, the station blocking what was left of the sun. Her eyes could finally open up to the quiet road and the lonely spot they were stopped at, grass breathing in the fields as the wind carried the hush for miles.

She took a deep breath, late remorse hitting her when she saw Clark reappear from the station with a red lidded cup in his hands.

She smiled, rolling down her window.

Clark leaned in, handing her the coffee.

"I'm sorry." Chloe said quietly, small hands cradling the cup to her mouth.

He smiled to himself, noting how the smallest cup of warmth tamed her.

"No, I'm sorry." Clark said, resting his arms inside the window. "I was supposed to take you into the city for a coffee, but everything got ruined."

She shook her head, swallowing the deliciousness, "Not ruined, Clark. You saved that entire apartment building from collapsing in the fire, not to mention the robbery we came across on the walk back to the car, or that missing juvenile you helped track down..." She smiled, rolling her eyes, "I mean the list could go on and on."

He laughed, "Yeah, well who tracked down the blueprints of that apartment building, or hacked into the wireless transaction before those crooks could transfer the money? The way you found out the license plate of the car that took the kid? " His hand reached out to her cheek, feeling them very warm.

She smiled, her body shying away.

Clark's smile loosened, his hand sliding back to his jacket. "You have a fever."

"It's just a sunburn."

"From sitting in my truck?"

"From sitting in your truck with the sun beating down, yes."

Clark stomped his boots against gravel. "Chloe, I told you we should have taken the 'Express'."

Chloe smiled impishly, "And I told you I missed our three hour drives to Metropolis."

They both looked at each other, laughter in their eyes before Clark gave up and walked back to the driver side.

Perhaps it was a losing game, the both of them desperately holding onto the days where life wasn't filled with worry, with duty. There were all these obligations and responsibilities that came with saving the world once, twice, every week. When you had the ability to make a difference, you could never stop trying. Every single save mattered. Every single day, every moment an opportunity to save someone, something, a cause, or an idea, a freedom.

But those obligations left Clark and Chloe with less of the freedom of their own lives, gradually giving up on having entire days to themselves, settling for the in between moments that was left over...

Here in the truck, as Clark pulled out and onto the empty road. The sun was deeper now, the light dying with the rest of the day and into the rows of corn that Chloe always counted, lost track, and recounted again.

The seats smelled like Jonathan Kent's aftershave, Chloe picturing how Martha looked sitting across from her husband in this very same seat.

She looked over at Clark, just the way she imagined Martha would, the warm glow illuminating Clark's strong face, his dark hair absorbing any light, except for the way it brightened in his eyes.

He looked over at her then, his look softer than on the road. "Scoot over."

Another question mark as she blinked at him, but that was before his large hand went behind her shoulders and pulled lightly. "So the sun isn't in your eyes." He explained.

She continued to study him, his expression, the thoughts she imagined that were his. Didn't he know the sun was setting? It barely a dull rose color in the sky.

But his arm fell to her shoulders, heavier now than before. Was this a gentle suggestion, a friendly gesture? Or was it more than just...

She quit hesitating, placing the half empty cup in the holder before sliding over to the middle, to break the distance, Clark's arm resting over the back of her seat.

"See?" Clark said softly, eyes watching the road, "Next time you can just sit here next to me."

It was warmer next to Clark, their legs nestling together in that small cab. His jacket brushed against her arms, the fabric worn and surprisingly, soft.

"Okay, Clark."

Her voice was very low, causing Clark to drop his ear. But he heard her, she knew he heard her. He was the superman that could hear a pin drop miles away. So why couldn't he hear her?

There in the truck, with the two of them huddled so close, she wondered how a man could not hear this?


Beat


Beat


His body shifted towards her, and for a moment she thought--

He turned on the radio.

A tinny voice from the sports announcer, listening to the baseball game until they reached home.

A relieved smile settled on Chloe's face. Tension broken with familiarity and the safe zone of friendship. She was so close to Clark now in that truck, the feeling permeating to where she knew, her closeness with him would last a long while even after.

Gradually, her heart slowed below the surface, below her smile, where she knew Clark would never hear it.


.

Night fell at last.

Old headlights shone against the road, Clark driving steadily as the radio whispered in the small cab.

She was asleep, and for some time. Curled up on his shoulder, and purring since her head first hit his chest. Her eyes closed, yellow hair shifted out of place by the highs and lows of the road. Clark brushed them all away, savoring the look of quiet on her face as she slept.

The truck coasted to the fork in the road, headlights hitting the road sign. This was where Clark always turned to Chloe and smiled, asking if she wanted to take the short way, or the long way home. But that night, Chloe was asleep. So Clark left the question behind, already knowing the answer as he turned the wheel.

The tires turned in the least traveled grooves, retreading the dull gutters of the road and weed.

The long way home consisted of crossing the old Reeves Dam and then crossing the railroad tracks that took you on the backside of Smallville. They passed the bridge and the water underneath, stars filling the body and the field in the sky.

Clark leaned over and turned off the radio, the program long gone off air.

Now there was just the sound of the tires against the road, and Chloe's subtle breaths against his jacket.

The truck made it all the way to the rail road crossing where Clark saw the first lights in the distance. They were almost home.

But Clark slowed the truck, his ears listening for the low rumble of the rails. It was there, miles away, but it was there.

Clark waited from the old truck to slow and then stop, watching for the dull lamps to illuminate, for the arms to swing down.

It would be another ten minutes until they did.

But Clark parked anyway, this secret between him, and the closed eyes of the truck.

She was still asleep.

And it was only in these few times where Clark could choose to stay a little longer with her. No motive, no reason or excuse. Just to linger and just be.

Clark stopped worrying about the world, and settled for the sound of her beside him, her slow and steady breaths, small puffs of warmth hitting his chin. He bent down, brushing his lips across her forehead, the skin even warmer than his.

Her fever touched his skin, and then through to where his body tingled with a strange shiver of excitement.

Outside the truck, the red crossing lamp lit and blinked, the glow filling the truck cab with a rose color.

Their bodies blended together in that cloudy light, Clark's arm fully around her by the time the crossing arms bent down.

A train light appeared in the distance.

Now, they had no where else to go. An outside force sticking them there a little longer.

Clark smiled, turning off the engine.

Headlights dimming down.

The crossing light blinked off and on, the rose color blurring the contours of their faces, of their eyes.

Hers were still closed, so he looked up to the stars where the sky was still very dark.

What were stars anyway? Clark thought.

Only balls of energy, light, some stronger, larger than the star this world claimed. No matter how many suns filled the sky, the light was still so far away.

Clark sat there, counting the distant suns who's light would never be strong enough to burn his, or Chloe's skin. There was only one sun that reached them, that could touch his skin and make him strong, that could touch her skin and make her warm.

There was only one special friendship in his life.

His mind stalled at that random idea, it becoming less random the more he thought about it. His lips bent down and whispered, knowing her dreaming ears wouldn't hear, only his words were covered by the train's horn, blaring softly in the distance.

And it was there, he thought, he saw her eyes open, the flecks of green caught in the rose light before it faded off again.

He waited until the light returned, finding her eyes closed like before.

Was she awake?

"Chloe." Clark shook her lightly, the tingle of excitement escaping through his fingers. They eagerly brushed aside her hair.

The train came and passed, but still her eyes stayed closed.

But her arms, they folded around Clark's chest tentatively in her sleep, closing entirely until she was wrapped delicately around.

The rose lights faded out, the night returning, the crossing arms releasing them from that place, from that moment.

Clark turned the keys, the engine rumbling to life.

He took one last glance at her closed eyes and smiled, driving the rest of the way home.
1 //2//3//4//5//6

TFTYEAM p4

1 //2//3//4//5//6





*After that third chapter I lost the steam for the chronological order of this story... consider the rest of this a skipping record.*


Rating: PG
Couples: Chlark
Disclaimer: The WB and CW own everything. I own nothing.
Summary: Cutouts from Chloe and Clark's life that led to, something.

Season: 8



Chapter ? // Season 8.


*

Clark Kent never was much of a drinker.

Depending of who you asked, some would say Clark never drank a drop of liquor his entire life while others would remember he drank like a fish and yet never dropped a cent of his sobriety, nor an ounce of his wit.

But tonight Clark Kent was drinking, and tonight, well, maybe the liquor was getting to him.

Because Clark wasn't thinking clearly , nor was his usual farmboy smile coming so easily in response to the jokes at the bar. Usually Clark would be in higher spirits, considering that there wasn't an impending doomsday or overhanging disaster.
Tonight, Metropolis was quiet except for the drunken laughter beside him, reminding him of the side of life that knew no urgency; a time to relax and catch up on the moments of life that you missed, remembered.

Tonight was Jimmy Olsen's bachelor party.

Clark drained another beer, setting the dark brown bottle next to the other nine he was collecting on the bartop. All of this alcohol would have a normal human guy buzzing by now, but Clark's mind was entirely grounded, concentrating, thinking, remembering.

Maybe he was thinking, remembering, concentrating way too much. Wasn't he there to have a good time? To show Jimmy a good time before he got married to... Chloe.

Clark ordered another beer.

Not because he wanted one, but to keep his lips occupied so he wouldn't have to join in on the conversation.

He held the cold bottle to his mouth, shoulders hunched over the bar. Jimmy was to his left, kidding around with the other groomsmen that all worked at the Planet somehow. They were all closer friends than Clark and Jimmy ever were. Infact, the only reason why Clark was there at all was because of his relationship to the bride.

Chloe and Clark had been best friends since kids.

And now Clark was giving Chloe away at her wedding, giving his bestfriend away to this kid at the bar with red cheeks and sweaty red hair.

Jimmy was in good spirits tonight, and why wouldn't he be? He was marrying the woman he loved, going to be happy for the rest of his life. He was laughing, clinking glasses while shouting at the baseball game on the tv in the corner.

A home run.

The bar cheered, and Clark smiled, and then sipped, listening only so far into the conversation before dropping out again as his mind wandered back.

He wasn't thinking clearly.

Ideas were flooding him as the alcohol did. Things like jealousy and regret, friendship and... ideas that left him even more unsatisfied when he knew there wasn't anything to do about them. He couldn't even get drunk to forget. And deep down, he didn't want to.

Deep down, he knew she didn't want to either.

Clark unfolded a small white card with the delicate cray paper. In blue ink, his idea flourished.

What if...

His fingers held the palm sized card delicately, the idea teetering just as carefully.


*


Later into the night, Jimmy's bachelor's party moved from the bar to another club down the street.

But Clark didn't follow them. And he figured he wasn't going to be missed, since he hardly said a word all night.

So he watched as Jimmy Olsen and his groomsmen stumbled down the street, laughing and singing, Clark hearing them for blocks and blocks until it settled beneath the residual sounds of the city.

Clark turned and walked the other way.

He needed to clear his thoughts, that restless, dangerous idea...

Metropolis at night was really something of beauty especially in the spring. The air was clear, the sky a deep blue that faded into something so far away you would wonder where all the stars went.

And as you walked the sidewalks you felt the charge of energy in the air, a giddy, wonderous excitement that came with experiencing a world so rich and promising.

Around you were tall, glimmerng buildings that reflected street lights and colorful advertisements. And the people, they were always moving, populating the sidewalks as Metropolis' very own characters that interacted in its inner story.

Clark glanced at them as their faces passed by, wondering how many of them were happy, truly happy.

Clark's feet stopped as he studied the skyline, a particular building catching his eye.

Chloe would be moving here soon, to be closer to Jimmy. And Clark knew she would be happy. She'd always wanted to live inside the city but for some reason continued to stay in the little apartment two hours away.

He hadn't really thought about it until now. But now that he did, it hit him hard. That idea, it spread again, through his gut and into his chest.

He felt warm, yet constricted, his chest growing tighter with every sweep of thought that made that single idea more of a possibility. Perhaps the alcohol had gotten to him tonight, because Clark Kent felt a funny spark of energy that he always thought would never influence him.

His feet started moving again.

When they stopped, Clark was standing infront of the Talon. He wasn't even sure how he had gotten there from the city, perhaps superspeed or a long walk that had blacked out from his memory.

All he knew was that he there now, looking up at slender window that glowed behind a sheer cream drape. There, a shadow danced across the fabric.

She was awake.

His feet moved again, through the door, up the winding stairs, every foot fall heavy and planted, his knees uncharacteristically weak with every step that lead him there.

He passed over the spot where he'd found the ring, like a landmine and the tip of the dreaded iceberg that brought their friendship to this dangerous place.

Clark only paused a moment before sweeping his heavy boots to the door where he stood for a long time, his hand hovering at the door knob, so easily falling into old habits where he would just walk inside and...

But tonight wasn't like anyother.

After a few moments of deliberating, (one spent deciding if he should just leave,) the funny spark bloomed inside his chest when he heard her voice.

His hand fell to the door, and knocked.

And then again when he gauged the first time sounding nervous and too light.

It was a long moment as he waited, his knees causing him to lean against the doorjam.

Finally, the door opened.

"Clark?"

His throat constricted when he saw her eyes, her surprised smile. It slowly fell as she searched him over.

"My god, you're soaked." Her hand brushed the sleeve of his jacket.

He looked down, realizing that he was indeed drenched. Faintly, he heard a low rumble of thunder beneath the soft patter outside. It was raining. He hadn't realized that until now. He wasn't thinking too clearly tonight.

Right now his jeans where sticking to his thighs, his shirt in clumps over his chest, weighed down underneath a soaked jacket. Clark's usually wavy hair was now wet and curly, stuck to the side of his face and down over his brow. Overall, he was a mess.

"You know, they've invented a thing called an umbrella since you've wandered off the farm," Chloe snarked, smiling freely like she used to way back. Her eyes trailed the lines of his face, drawing a frown upon hers. "Aren't you supposed to be with Jimmy? I thought bachelor parties usually end well into the next morning--"

"I left." Clark said urgently, the first he could talk all night. He wanted to say more, but his tongue felt dry and heavy. He couldn't talk. There wasn't any words for him to say.

Instead he stood there, looking at the girl who he had grown up with. Evolved, really. From that rambunctious, perky girl to a courageous, loyal young woman who he loved.
Chloe had changed through out the years from friend to best friend to something more than just friends. Perhaps it was something that happened frequently in life, relationships moving, developing so fast before your eyes. But it had happened to them. To Clark and to Chloe.

Clark searched her eyes, searching for that shade of something that always tempted him to say more than what he allowed, but her eyes didn't know.

Chloe didn't know his secrets anymore.

She stood at the door, it open wide enough for Clark to step in, and she looked at him strangely when he didn't. He didn't dare to move.

"Do you want to come in?"

Clark looked at his boots that were soaked like sponges. "I don't want to make puddles."

"Oh boo," she grabbed a hold of his cuff and led him inside. He let her lead, drag him that is, to the kitchen island where she instructed him to take off his jacket and his shoes.

"Socks, too. I don't know anything more uncomfortable that wet socks." She took his boots from him and then his jacket.

Clark sat in one of the stools and removed his socks, handing those too to her outstretched hand.

She smiled, walking over to the washer and dryer stowed behind the kitchen cutout.
"What are you doing here anyway? I didn't even hear your truck outside."

"I walked," he answered without thinking.

A little blonde head peeked around the corner, "You walked? In the rain? From Metropolis?"

That last part raised his ears.

"No," he shifted uncomfortably in his wet jeans, "I walked from the house." He winced, knowing that too was suspicious.

She didn't say anything, but her pause in her movements seemed to say it all. He heard the dryer door shut, the knob turning until she found the right setting.

After the dryer started, she reappeared in the kitchen her hands tucked in her back jean pockets. She looked unreasonably cute.

"So what brings a rain soaked, lost stray named Clark Kent at my door step?" Her eyes teased as she sat on the stool beside him. "And I wish I had an extra shirt for you, but I doubt Jimmy's would fit over your..." she waved at his body and then blushed, "Impossibly broad chest." she finished lamely.

"I just wanted to see you." He answered with honesty, a little more honest than he wanted to.

A smile graced her lips and she moved from him to the sink, "Well, that's sweet of you. Actually I was just thinking about you too."

He watched her open the cabinet, finding two coffee mugs.

"I know Lois has kicked this wedding planning into overdrive," Chloe chuckled, returning with two hot coffees, "and I'm apologizing before hand if she comes off all Bridezilla on you before the big day. Even if, you know, she isn't the one getting hitched." She joked, eyes smiling over the rim of her mug.

Clark smiled faintly, holding his coffee absently.

"Today she told me you've been working on a speech to give at the wedding. Knowing you and how much you hate speeches, I thought it was really sweet of you."

Clark frowned down at the mug, his face even quieter than before.

It was this silence that dawned on Chloe. "What's the matter?"

"I've just been thinking..." Clark whispered, eyes lowered to his bare feet, "About us, when we were kids and how we are now." He looked up at her, eyes uncertain, "We're the same two kids, still friends, still... well, nothing's changed."

She smiled, reaching over to hold his hand, "And nothing will ever change that. We'll always be friends, Clark."

He nodded, looking down at her hand that was inside his. Her engagement ring rubbed against his palm. This irritated him.

"What if I wanted to be more than just friends?" These words escaped him again, his mind not working clearly enough to filter out these ideas that had always inhabited that empty space.

Chloe paused a moment, her eyes searching his curiously, then smirk. "Clark Kent, you are a sappy drunk."

He blinked, surprised at this response and then gripped her delicate fingers a little firmer. "I'm not drunk."

She gave him a knowing look, "I can smell the beer on your breath. I could practically smell it through the door before you came in."

Clark sighed, knowing that his breath smelled sweet and salty from the beer, but he knew in fact that he wasn't drunk. Clark Kent wasn't affected like humans were.

"Listen, I have been drinking but I'm not drunk." He searched her eyes and continued, "actually I've been thinking more clearly than I have been in a long time."

Her brows lifted.

"Do you remember when we spent the whole day together, the time we looked over Metroplis from the Planet's rooftop?" He looked at her urgently, hoping that atleast she remembered this.

"Of course," she answered easily, smiling, "that was a good day."

"I lost something that day." He prodded forward, the warmth growing from his chest into his eyes as they become moist with emotion, "I shouldn't have ever let it go. We should have spent the summer together."

"Clark," she laughed nervously at the sight of her friend's unusual emotion, "it's okay. That was a long time ago. Besides, if you would have gone I may have never met Jimmy."

"I know."

His words pierced the air, and stayed there between them.

A slight frown covered her smile and he watched as she bowed her head down, strands of hair shading her eyes. "Why did you come here, Clark?"

"I regret that day, and everyday that I let come between us. And i know you reget it too." He set his coffee on the counter, reaching for her hand. The one that didn't wear a ring.

He wasn't sure which look he had anticipated from her when he imagined this moment back at the bar. But the one she gave him wasn't one of softness, nor embrace, nor was it anything that would suggest they were on the same page.

Chloe was missing many pages from their book, and it showed with her look of confusion.

He let go of her hand and fumbled through his pocket, eyes worried when he couldn't find it.

"What is it?" Chloe brushed her hair from her eyes, watching Clark get up from his chair and march over to the dryer.

He opened it, and scrambled for his jacket, searching wildly for... a mashed piece of paper.

"It's ruined."

She walked over to him and peered over his shoulder.

"You can't remember at all?" Clark turned, desperate and hopefull at once.

"Should I?" Her eyes searched into his. She recognized there was a significance about this moment, about his question. Chloe felt an odd urgency to answer, 'yes,' to sooth all of Clark's anxiety and pain.

Pain.

Her head throbbed, wincing as her hands massaged at her temples. She shut her eyes.

"Chloe, what is it?"

"Nothing," her fingers massaged diligently as she walked over to the bed and sat down, "I just get these migranes sometimes."

Clark followed her, eyes wary and guilty. "When you recall memories?"

"Yes," she said at first, and then shook her throbbing head. "No, I don't know." Her fingers rubbed as Clark headed to the facuet to bring her a glass of water, "It only happens when I think try to connect the dots. It's like my life has all these blank spots and I can't figure out why."

Clark handed her the glass wordlessly and sat beside her. As her fingers brought the water to her lips, his thumbs rubbed over her temples very carefully, massaging the area thoroughly.

She moaned in relief and closed her eyes, a smile curving ever so slightly. After a few minutes of Clark's calming attention, her lips parted, "So, what was so important? What did I forget?"

"Nothing," Clark cleared his throat, watching the pale, smooth skin of her neck stretch into her shirt. Her chest was falling and rising more slowly now, his fingers soothed out the last kink of her headache, of the pain he had done to her. "Forget I brought it up. It was a mistake."

Her eyes fluttered open, catching his lingering around her lips.

Clark didn't remember moving, but he had somehow, hovering closer to Chloe so that his breath brushed apart the strands of her hair. His thumbs slid down from her temples to the angles of her face to where her chin sloped to the delicate line of her long neck.

"Clark?"

His name woke him from his dream, of days where Chloe would expect this tender side from him, of days where Chloe would reciprocate these feelings. He didn't know what was happening, how his movements weren't his own, his body overpowering his dizzying mind. He wasn't thinking clearly.

"Clark," her throat worked noticiably as if she were out of breath and mouth dry, "I think--"

''Don't think."

His lips were on hers, soft and choked from spreading guilt and emotion. Even if she didn't remember, maybe she remembered the the time when she did. Maybe she still kept it somewhere. A faded, crumbled piece of pink paper.

Maybe Chloe's feelings for him weren't faded and lost. Because eventually she started kissing him back, slow and hesitant, but Clark felt her lips catch his nervous ones and calm them with steadier movement.

His hands cupped her small ears, his thumbs grazing her cheeks where her freckles were, and as he did, a very faint murmur escaped their kiss, drawing Clark's body over hers.

His chest was heavy now, all of his pent up desire, guilt, longing falling down ontop of them. Clark's body covered hers, pressed hers against the bed until he could feel her breathing through his own chest, both of them struggling for air.
Her hands were caught between them, the glass of water they were holding spilt long ago, the wetness spreading over Chloe's shirt and beneath.

He ignored this, and she did too, his hands helping hers out from him to her sides. But they went their own way, brushing up Clark's damp shirt as it clung to the muscles that flexed over and over. They worked over his body as if they did remember, every hard angular line of Clark's body melting once her delicate fingers grazed them with steady upward stokes.

It felt the same way in the back of Pete's car.

Clark kissed her more passionately like he had that day, a day forgotten in a long time ago.

"Clark!"

It was a breathless cry, a whisper between his lips, and it drove him crazier. Chloe uttered his name several times more, and eventually it occured to him that she might have wanted him to stop.

But she could never cry past the syllable of his name, and then it was hushed and desperate, as if she were forcing her words to work at all. What was more understandable was Chloe's hands, clutching to Clark's sides and not letting go. Her chest rising faster and faster, her breath in his ear and the way her eyes glazed over with the same emotion Clark felt.

He saw it, she remembered this.

Hope.

"Tell me you remember," his lips left hers enough to whisper, "that time in the basement, the time in Pete's car, in my car, that time in my dad's barn."

Chloe shuddered when he moved to her neck, "Clark, we have to stop."

He stopped.

She had finally said it.

Maybe removing his kiss from hers was a bad idea. Maybe this whole idea was a bad idea.

He dragged his face up to hers, "Do you really want me to stop?"

Her eyes said no, but what did her heart say? He could hear it screaming loud and fast beneath his. He could see her pulse on her neck. He bent and kissed her there.

"Clark--"

"Please, tell me you atleast remember how we used to be like this.."

Her eyes fluttered again as she struggled to concentrate, her fingers grazing his flesh. "That time we kissed in your dad's barn? We were just kids..."

"No," he shook his head against her chest, "Not that time. The other time." He stroked her hair away.

She shook her head, eyes scared. "I don't remember another time."

He felt his chest boil down into nothing. His head dropped against hers in the sheets.

All of it was gone. Not just his secret, but all of her,everything that had once been sacred and secret from him. Now they were just faded, and gone.

And wasn't that what he had asked Jor-El to take? To keep her safe, to keep her far away from him, her feelings buried for good, from danger.

Clark stilled, Chloe's warm body trapped under his.

She was to be kept safe, and sacred, a memory in Clark's past.

He lifted his head, his fingers still absently sweeping her hair. And through his empty chest, his deep pain he whispered, "I've made a mistake."

Her eyes flashed, hands dropping from his sides.

"You were right," his heart sinking between the pause, "I am drunk." He hated lying to her one more time. Lying about his intentions, himself and his feelings about her. One more time added to the pile left behind in the past, and those waiting in the future.

He forced his body from hers, lifting himself off the bed to stand in the very far corner, barefoot.

Chloe sat up very slowly, buttoning her shirt back up as it had been splayed through their hurry. "That's fine, Clark." She said, her eyes looking through drifted hair, "But what's my excuse?"

"You wont need one." He said, walking to the door. "This never happened."

Just like all the others that never happened. A memory that Clark would keep safe.

Except, Chloe would remember this one.

Clark grimaced, hating himself for screwing up yet again. He wasn't thinking clearly anymore. he could have ruined everything.

"I'll see you at the wedding on Sunday." He opened the door and looked at her once more. Hair mussled up, eyes weary and large. She looked scared, and alone. And the only thing that kept him from going over to her was the thought that she would be safer with her husband.

He pictured Chloe in the white dress, the girl who used to swear against them but had since then accepted and grown into them beautifully. Perhaps every girl did.

And perhaps every bestfriend eventually fell in love, only to bitterly let go.

Clark stood across from her, from the girl that he knew from his past, from the woman he would look at from afar for the rest of his life.

Rain streamed down the windows.

He saw her stand up so he stopped her from coming any closer, from changing his mind. "You're going to be very happy, Chloe. I promise you that."

He closed the door.

She stood there for a moment, listening to the sound of Clark's large feet pad down the stairs.

She jumped after him, "Clark, you're shoes!"

The Talon was empty down stairs, the front door already closed, Clark gone.

There was no truck outside, no trail, only his clothes left behind.

She drifted over to them in a haze, and took them out of the dryer. They were dry now, and warm, as if just taken off from his body. She hugged them close to her face, and took a deep breath.

His scent...

She remembered.

A white crumbled piece of paper fell to the floor from one of the pockets.

She picked it up, and unfolded it very gently, as if it held something secret, something sacred.

Blue ink smudged and cracked. Inside the soft, delicate paper she remembered from her wedding invitations, sent weeks ago.

She must have sent this one to Clark.

But she couldn't read the words, in the lines and curves that she recognized were of her own hand. She couldn't even remember drawing the letters...

What ever was written, was gone.




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