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.




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