no ordinary world 4

4

*
A sharp sound, two metallic marbles clacking together.

Lex palmed those two identical spheres of magnetized steel, rolling them in the cup of his hand until the idea in his mind reached maturity, and then into words. "Is it true?"

Behind Lex and his long glass desk stood Emil Hamilton, Lex's closest researcher and advisor. He was a peculiar man, his longer, unkept curly black hair a reminder of how intense the project was for all of them. Emil had been a mere intern under Lionel when he was first introduced to the project at the age of eighteen, straight out of school. Emil was now thirty, but looked forty. His age lines developed and deep. Laugh-lines and sunshine didn't prematurely age Emil. It was the long orations in conference rooms and long, false nights inside hollow moons that stole the life from him and turned his beard grey.

Emil Hamilton was a lonely man, much like the rest of the staff who lived on the project.

"Is it true?" Lex's words echoed in the observatory office.

"Yes, Mr. Luthor." Emil straightened his glasses. "We found her, finally."

Marbles shifted in Lex's palm, a sign that his mind was turning once again. His tall, black leather chair swiveled around towards the array of screens that had played and replayed a particular archived footage Lex had requested at dawn. Playing and replaying a particular scene all afternoon and into the night.

Stock footage from fifteen years ago.

Beneath the dotted pixels and scratchy tracking of the old VHS technology was the Kent barn, at least, what it was fifteen years ago.

And there, in a simple plaid shirt and jeans was fourteen year old Clark Kent, standing in the middle.

Lex stared, transfixed.

He pushed play again, like he had countless of time that day.

The boy was still for a moment, turning around with a sweet smile. Then sound...

"My dad calls it my fortress of solitude." A young Clark said shyly.

Behind him, a small girl stepped onto screen.

Blonde.

"Where?" Lex growled low, his eyes red and dry from exhaustion.

Emil glanced from the monitors, "Inside the city. We figured she wouldn't have gone far from here." They watched as the girl took Clark's hand and led him to the bay windows. "She changed her name, as we predicted." Emil frowned, studying the way the young Clark responded so easily to this young girl.

Lex paused the tape, his oher hand still rolling the marbles around and around.
"Where is she now?"

Emil looked down, "Outside in the hall."

"What?" Lex spun around and stood. "I gave you strict orders that reintroducing her into the project would be a last resort!"

Emil shook his head, "She is here, Mr. Luthor, on an invitation for an exclsuive interview with Luthor Corp's project coordinator."

"An interview?" Lex frowned.

Emil nodded, eyes alight. "We found her at her employment." Emil said with a smirk, knowing Lex would enjoy this. "The Daily Planet."

The Daily Planet! It was LuthorCorp's biggest critic and whistle blower. Of course the girl would grow up to work there. Lex barely had time to break out in a mirthless laugh before his intercom buzzed. It was his assistant.

"Mr. Luthor, we need to discuss these new orders you've submitted to the field crew--"

"There's no time for discussion, Clint." Lex spoke curtly to the microphone, "Orders were set in motion four minutes ago by my watch." Lex released the talk button, with a sliver of a smile.

Emil frowned, pulling out his clipboard and shuffling through the itinerary for the new day, "What new orders?" He looked through the highlighted pages, and then looked again.

Lex's attention was already glued back to the monitors and screens, the same archive footage replaying again. "Oh," he said absently, "Have I neglected to inform you about the new direction the project is taking, Doctor?"

"Yes." Emil barked unintentionally, and then quieted his temper with the next, "I was not informed of any special orders, Mr. Luthor."

"Neither was most of the crew until fifteen minutes ago." Lex said evenly, using the tracking ball to move through the archive tape. His eyes were consumed inside the bright pixels of light, red blue and green, flashing with the fast forwarding and rewinding of what had been recorded in the past. "I apologize for the impulsive behavior, but that's why they call it strokes of genius, Dr. Hamilton."

Emil watched him as if he were watching a caged tiger, mesmerized by a invisible muse from beyond the bars and just out of reach. He saw Lex smile, but it was strange. Cold. Empty.

For years, Emil Hamilton had worked for one Luthor or another. Lionel was harsh man, all business and cut throat. But when it came to the project, this entire world he had built and manicured, Lionel was a pacified creator. His ideas and direction were calculated and designed much like an architect. Smallville was loved, and cherished as a success, perhaps one of Lionel Luthors only living accomplishment to his name. Lionel and his company was building to something great, back in the day.

But that was seven, almost eight years ago.

And now, as Emil Hamilton worked for Lionel's son, he saw the change. This discord of father/son rivalry, of cheated childhood years that were preserved inside of Smallville and then rehearsed in front of young Alexander Luthor's eyes.

Emil saw what bitterness Lionel left behind and left his son to inherit, distilling emotionless gaps in his mannerism, and questionable, often bizarre problem solving. Lex Luthor was dangerous to this world his father had built, sometimes acting as if all his effort was geared towards tearing the project apart.
Tearing his father's memory apart. Resentment, ran deep in the vein.

"Lex," Emil said cautiously, his tone informal, almost as a concerned friend who had discovered something terribly wrong, "What have you done?"


*


Clark woke, his body bare except for the black strapped watch clasped snuggly over his wrist. It was the one thing he refused to shed from his body. It was still early, the digital clock reading well before sunrise. But he was awake, like he had been for these strange odd days lately, so he sat up from bed, uncurling his legs from the sheets so that Lois wouldn't wake. He threw on his robe, and shuffled to the kitchen where he searched for confirmation from the clock of the wall above the stove. It conferred with the other one, and his father's watch too. Four in the morning.

So why was he awake?

Clark made coffee in a dark kitchen, the smell piercing his nostrils when the red light appeared on the coffee maker.

The coffee was burnt.

Clark sniffed it again.

Really burnt.

He poured it out, and rinsed the filter. Lois was right the first time, he was terrible at making coffee. Clark reset the machine and leaned against the counter patiently. But the smell, it wouldn't go away.

He opened the windows and then the screen door, stepping outside to fan the house until he forgot about the botched coffee altogether, frowning at the sky. Clark looked at his father watch again, checking that no, it wasn't time for morning yet.

But yet here it was, the sky glowing intensely like the whole world was on...

Clark blinked.

Red.

Embers.

"Fire!" Clark yelled dumbly, still in the stupor of sleep. The early morning was quiet, a lonely breeze kicking up his robe. Clark yelled it again, cursing as he backed up into the screen door and then scrambled inside for his pants.

The Smallville Volunteer Fire Department was a very proud organization of men and women who lived throughout the community and came together when danger struck.

There were several stations planted around the city, all with polished marble brick and equally shiny red engines.

The department had a very low call volume, many of the crew never actually having to fight a actual working fire, but mandatory drills took place every Monday night where they practiced fire fighting protocol and regiments that went with saving lives.

During those drills, Clark Kent could out run anyone that was set against him, many calling him a "blur" that you would only see in the wake of his speed. He was also the guy who could carry the most line, the heaviest of tools, the guy who could carry three men on his back. A natural athlete and leader, Clark was made the youngest district captain of the department.

And it showed, Clark sprinting to the station down the street in his blue flannel pajamas and his bath robe billowing behind him.

Fire! Clark thought excitedly. He shouldn't be giddy nor this happy, this was serious. Someone could be in danger, someone would be danger if he didn't get there quick enough. But he couldn't help the smile on his face, or the way his adrenaline kicked his feet a little higher, his legs moving a little faster...

This was an actual fire. A true call for help. For once, Clark Kent was running towards his calling.

Clark flew into the station, grabbing his fire-suit and helmet on the way to the siren system. He wound up the old crank, the speakers above the station coming alive with a loud whine and roar.

Clark wound the crank over and over easily with the bulk of his massive shoulders, his boyish grin becoming wider as he saw porch doors down the neighbor street open one after another, the rest of the fire crew sprinting to the station.


*

The sound.

Clark loved the sound. Both the high whine of the siren and the boisterous belch of the engine's horn as the fire truck sped towards the red glow. The blue and amber lights bounced off of houses and cars, and Clark loved that too. A kaleidoscope of colors, beautiful in its promise of hope, of help on the way.

The engine held eight crew members, plus the driver. But Clark preferred riding the engine the old way, holding onto the chrome arm bars of the side, his dark hair beaten by the wind, and him enjoying every second of it.

"Faster, Pete!" Clark yelled inside to his friend, the driver. Pete glanced at him, his helmet lopsided and perhaps a little over sized. Clark saw what looked like fear in his eyes, and he saw it within the rest of the crews too. They were nervous, never having to fight an actual fire before.

But while they were nervous, Clark was hopeful. His arm extending towards the road where he directed Pete to travel, knowing the fastest routes to where the glow grew stronger. He leaned back inside the truck and encouraged his crew. There was confidence in his eyes, leadership in his strong voice that you could hear boldly over the loudest of sirens. Much like a captain holding on to a vessel in dark, rough seas, Clark's body swayed with the road and with the wind, in the eerily dark, crimson morning. Smoke was gathering in the sky, the glow brightest over the edges of the rooftops. They were close now.

"It's the school!" Clark shouted, once he had a clear shot of the flames. His brows tightened when he saw how much of the building was consumed, wondering how long the fire had been growing. The fire was ablaze, Smallville High School crumbling within its own brick.

They arrived on scene, a separate engine traveling behind them forming a perimeter. Clark assumed command, directing the ladder trucks into position.

"Lay down the five inch lines," Clark shouted in the amber light, "Let's get lines up top before this thing gets to the roof and the whole building's lost!"

For a moment, the other crew members just stood there, some of them holding their helmets in their shaking hands. But as they saw Clark begin to unravel the long hoses from the truck, they soon fell into step. Each one looking at the enormous monster that breathed in hot orange and red flame. Each one looking then at one another for direction, or a single clue as to what was going on.



*

Inside the observatory room, Dr. Hamilton was holding his head.

"Look at him!" Lex said, pleased, casting a bright eye at the many monitors making of the room's tall wall. "Look at him, Emil and tell me that isn't the brightest grin you've ever seen."

"Mr. Luthor," Emil groaned, "You instructed crew members to burn down part of the working set. How could you do that?"

"What do you mean, 'how could I do that?'" Lex hissed, turning a sour eye. "It was necessary, Doctor, that someone take initiative and do something to put this project back on track."

"By destroying the foundations of the very same project?" Emil exclaimed, confused. "Mr. Luthor, you're going to have to explain this one to me."

Lex tapped one of the screens, a camera following Clark's form, his golden fire-suit against the dark smoke. "This, is problem solving." He explained very slowly, and with a tinge of condescension. "Clark, needed something in his life. Maybe it was excitement, maybe a future with a little more purpose. Perhaps something more aspiring that writing for that painfully dull paper my father created far too long ago."

Emil shook his head, not following.

"Purpose!" Lex shouted, his hands in the air triumphantly. "Clark Kent has only deeply wished for something purposeful in his life, Dr. Emil. Any man cannot live without some sort of fulfillment, accomplishment. And with this," he turned back to the screen, to the burning school, "Clark Kent has his purpose. He's shown an affinity for compassion and the general need to help people, so why not?" Lex's eyes narrowed as if to challenge any words from Emil. "Let's give him that. Give him that... purpose."His voice turned cold for a moment, the lapse of emotion haunting.

Clark appeared onscreen again, soot and ash on his face as he prepared to enter the burning building, carrying a heavy hose. A warrior charging into the fight.

Lex breathed a very small laugh, or was it a growl? Emil couldn't tell with Lex. He was entirely too unpredictable.

"Look at him, Emil." Lex said distantly, "Why, right now, I bet he's having the time of his life."

The doctor cleared his throat, preparing his paperwork. "The fire could spread, have you thought about that?"

"Nonsense." Lex said dismissively, "The school grounds are very secluded with the parking lots and all... and at four in the morning there isn't a single person at that campus. I think it was a rather successful location."

"Those people out there are actors!" Emil plead with him, "They don't know the first thing about going into burning buildings! They won't be able to save the school."

Lex watched with apathy, and then said . "So let it burn."

Emil stared in frustration. It was all out of his hands, the project teetering through the fingers of another Luthor.

Lex Luthor.

Emil grit his teeth, starting for the door.

"Oh, Dr. Hamilton."

He stopped, waiting a moment to calm his nerves before he turned to meet the cold gaze of his employer.

"When you leave here," Lex said with superiority, reveling in it, "be sure to escort our young and intrepid reporter from the Daily Planet into my office."

Emil frowned hard, "What do you want with her? I thought you didn't want her in any part of this--"

"You brought her here, Dr. Hamilton." Lex reminded snidely, "And since she's already made the very long trip, why not accommodate a former member of the community?"

Lex Luthor was never an accommodating man. There was a plan behind his bland words, a calloused plan that Emil had not yet figured out.

"Yes, sir." He said, turning the door, "I'll bring her up."

*



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

TFTEAM p6

the few times you ever asked me


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




part ?

Season: 5, after Hidden. The one with those silos, Clark gets shot, dies and then comes back to life with his powers and saves the day with Chloe. This takes place after the whole "talk" at the end in the barn.



*

I've made a terrible mistake.


It was in his eyes.

Something other than Clark had died that night.

Somewhere deep behind the shades of pale green , beneath the gloss and ice that was his armor. ­

Chloe sat beside him in silence, her own eyes open and vulnerable to every second that Clark remained silent.  She didn't need armor when he was in these moods. Dark, and twisted up like a strong, mysterious wind that threatened to unwind and take everything. But it was in her experience that the turmoil Clark kept beneath the surface would calm with time. Calm, but stir with an unrest that would confine Clark to the burdened responsibilities that came with being who he was.

They were both in the loft. His arms crossed over his torso, covering the lame bandage that he had shown to her underneath his shirt, taped to his ribs.

His skin was warm, she remembered long after she had touched there.

But only hours ago, Clark Kent was pronounced dead.

Hours ago, Chloe Sullivan watched her best friend take a bullet in the very same spot he was cradling now, a red pool soaking his shirt as he fell to gravel. It was horrible watching Clark suffer and die. Something she thought would never happen, would never see. Chloe becoming used to the idea that Clark was invulnerable, safe.
 But it seemed even Clark Kent could break. Nothing was certain, and nothing was safe.

 Nothing was safe.

She wouldn't be able to remember his sweet face without the bitter stains and the awful smell. She shook her head then, eyes shutting so strongly to wipe out any memory of the blood.

 She needed safer memories.

This memory of right now, sitting with him like they always had before.


He is alive.


He is alive, she said once more in thought.

She opened her eyes now, seeing him again in the warm glow of the barn. How his dark side burns framed the angles of his face and how strained the muscles were. He looked like a wolf, staring into something hidden in the dark corners of the barn.
His eyes were exactly where they had been for the last half hour. Staring ahead, glassed over and stone. They were asking for Chloe to leave.
 But she hadn't moved.

Instead,  her fingers moved across his jaw, uncharacteristic traces of his dark beard showing.

He bristled. "Chloe, I want to be alone."

"No, you don't."

"Yes," he growled, turning to her, "I do."

Clark was angry, but Chloe had faced worse monsters. She tamed this one with the smooth of her hand, his eyes drifting closed.

"Clark," she spoke softly in the dim light, "you already feel alone. You died, Clark. I can't imagine how that feels."

He gently stopped her hand, and returned it to her. "I just want to be alone so I can think." His eyes opened, but not on her. "I can't be around anyone right now."

A hot knife, it pierced right above the heart. Her throat closed from the burn, but that was good. She had to reel in her crushed emotions before she could think of what witty remark to say. Chloe couldn't explain why she felt so... guilty for wanting to be with him. She had came here to console Clark, but clearly he didn't need her pep talk, or her shoulder to lean on.

And as she studied Clark's closed posture, she realized, she had came here to console herself. Clark was alive, and she needed to see it. To see him. Even sharper knives struck when she thought Clark might not exist anymore in this barn. Sitting here, with her.

"Okay, Clark." she said with resignation, "I'll leave."Because she had gotten what she needed, reassurance that nothing had changed. Clark was still on this earth, his powers restored and with it, maybe the security that Clark would be invulnerable to the next bullet. 

 But she couldn't help the way she stomped down the stairs. Chloe was tired of going out on the limb, of taking chances with her emotions. She was tired of reaching out to Clark only to have her tenderness bounced back at her as if she were speaking to a brick wall.

 Really, she was just tired.

"Chloe."

She almost stopped, her stutter step down obvious to both of them. But she kept going, shoulders small and feelings hurt, once again.

She had even worn her pink top, she thought, shaking her head.

She made it outside the barn, Clark's work boots right behind her. It was chillier outside where her car waited on the driveway. Or perhaps that was her, ignoring Clark's hand on her shoulder.

He turned her around. "Chloe, I'm sorry."

She believed him, the way his eyes looked desperate and... sad.

She hated it.

"Which is it, Clark? Do you want me to stay or go?"

His hand dropped, his image in flat inky blacks lent from the void of night.

Chloe listened as the words failed to speak from his lips, hers straightening into the thinnest of lines.

A bitter smile, but a smile.

She could still smile.

But it dissolved as Clark's stare grew and burned through her.  He was in pain, not in body but in mind. His conscious so heavy she thought it might pour if it wasn't for the dry, coldness of his eyes.

 She would never  leave him like this.

So she pushed her own frustrations aside, making room for the burden she was willing to share with Clark. Because, she knew, he didn't want her to go.

Clark's shoulders deflated, eerily sweeping the dark hair away from his eyes. "It's just... I don't know what will happen."

Chloe blinked up at him, the wind carrying her golden hair too, "No one knows what will happen, Clark. That's life."

"You don't understand." He shook his head, eyes boring into hers, "Jor-El is going
to take a life to replace the one he has given me. I can't bear that on my conscious."

"You didn't know what would happen--"

"But I could have prevented it!" He threw up his hands, marching back to the barn in retreat.

Chloe followed. "We all make mistakes, its OK!"

"It's not! Because now someone has to pay for mine." He turned back and growled,
"It could be anyone. My mom, my dad, Lana... it could even be you!"

 Chloe stopped, the real possibility hitting her hard. But she quickly filed it aside, "Okay, fine. What if it is me, then? If I'm going to die--"

"Don't say that!" Clark grit his teeth, storming up the stairs.

She took a deep breath, following him up there too.  "It could happen to me, Clark. Next week, tomorrow..." She paused, gauging his eyes. "Or it could be tonight, Clark. If this is the last night we ever saw each other, why be alone?"

Clark shifted. His arms dropped to his sides in surrender, armor in pieces on the floor.Chloe walked across it, closing the brief distance.

It was always only brief.

They had ended up right where they started, on top of the loft stairs, looking upon each other.Only, the time had gone, and it was late now. The lights in the yellow farm house extinguished and quiet.

It was quiet up there, the two alone. And it seemed that the old wooden parts of barn were listening to their voices, casting a passive eye that Chloe felt had always existed on the Kent Farm. She had always felt safe there.

There was a single string of lights that had existed above the bay window for so long, always shining upon the old red, white and blue flag. It stood as strongly as Clark did.

"Why don't you hate me?"

Chloe stood back, drowning in the perplexity of his question."You know I could never. "

"But why?" Clark sounded again, his voice rising. "Everything that I do blows up in my face and hurts the people I love!"

That word.

That last word.

Clark blinked back his anger, reeling backwards to the couch. But he didn't sit, his legs too stubborn to let go.

Chloe looked down at the creaking boards as she walked across to him, refusing to look up until she was practically standing on his toes. But when she peered up to his face, she enjoyed feat of it.

 The way she tilted her chin all the way up.

 He was so tall.

"Clark," she said carefully, and then trailed off.

There were four words that hovered over them in that loft. She had said them once, last year actually during one of their perpetual meteor escapades. And strangely, it was in this very same spot on the familiar red couch. Yet in very different circumstances and even if separated by a single year, she had said them in a different era of their relationship, with a distant naivety of what those words meant. They had gotten so far in a year, the bond between Clark and Chloe strengthened now. With secrets and trusts between them, and those words still ever a secret that neither had ever mentioned to each other since.

 But even if she was influenced by a little green rock, the words, they weren't forced from her. And they wouldn't be coerced now. They would fall just as easily from her lips if Clark ever asked to hear them.

And now by the way of the night and the tension of the room, she felt them almost tumble from her mouth. By the way Clark tensed up, she knew that he was anticipating them too.

He looked skiddish, and scared. But maybe even a little, eager? Like a boy who anticipated his first kiss. Chloe knew that boy once. And even more strangely, had met him in yet this very exact spot.

Funny.

"Clark," she started again with more confidence, "the people who love you could never stop." It was a graze across her open wound, but she would survive it.

"I can make them stop." Clark said in disdain. The words were bitter, too bitter.

"You don't mean that." Chloe said, challenging them.

"You're always so sure of what I'm thinking, or what I'm feeling, aren't you?" He said scornfully.

Chloe narrowed her eyes, "Yes, I am."

Clark smiled bitterly.

"What? Am I wrong?" Chloe stepped up again, "Do you really want everyone you care about out of your life, for good?" She was up to his toes again , her blonde hair tousled from the heat of the argument.

"Yes." Clark lied through his teeth, a shaking in his bones. Clark was an unnatural liar, and had never learned. But he wouldn't let her win this argument, not this one. Not when he was this wound up. He needed to win, something.

Chloe saw through his shut off eyes, down to the core of the boy he still was. He was defiant, and stubborn, and now through all the years of lying to protect the people around him, callous.

"Fine." Chloe said evenly, her body as close to his as the warm air. "If this is what you really want."

"It is." Clark said sternly, refusing to move a single muscle more than he needed to. He was solid in is answer, therefore solid in his stance.

Chloe on the other hand did move, but not towards the stairs. Towards him.

Her small hands grabbed his shirt collar and yanked down, a faint ripping of fabric in the loft.

"Goodbye, Clark."

And then she kissed him.

Hard.

And it took Clark a moment before he realized what had hit him because her lips were soft, but insistent, and he barely had enough time to bring his hands around her arms before she pulled away.

The moment over.

"What was that for?" Clark said, confused and... breath taken.

"That was goodbye." Chloe said coldly, turning around faster than a hurricane to storm down the stairs.

Clark willed his feet to move and follow her again to the dirt drive for the second time of the night. "No, that wasn't goodbye, Chloe. That was something else."

She laughed wanly as she reached her car, "Goodbye, Clark." She opened the car door.
Clark's firmly planted hand slammed it shut. "Why did you kiss me like that? Answer me, Chloe!"

"Because!" She spun around, and it was the tears that caught his eyes. "You died today, Clark. You died. My best friend, and I never thought I would see you again. But now," she sighed heavily, more tears raining down, "Now you're here, and alive again and all I want to do is see you happy. It used to be that easy, remember? We'd hang out in your loft and just be happy.  But these days, you're never happy, Clark. And it hurts me that I'm not that person that makes you happy anymore. That I'll never be--"

"You do make me happy." Clark said, taking her shoulder in one of his bulky hands.

"Clearly, I don't." She wiped her eyes, make up smearing there.

"You do," Clark insisted, wanting to tell her how much of a thrill he felt when she has kissed him, and how much of a thrill he was feeling now just thinking about it. But how could he tell her all of his anger had melted away when she had done it? That would be admitting too much. "You make me happy, I just don't know how to show it." He watched her roll her eyes, shoulders shrinking in. He held them together, his other hand folding around the curve of her arm. He had her now, and she couldn't run away. "You didn't answer my question."

"I'm not apologizing for being able to show my emotions, Clark. Unlike you."

"I'm not asking you to." He stared down at her down cast eyes.

She wouldn't even look at him now.

"Please..." His voice was soft now, so contrasted from the edginess that had crept inside of him all night. But all that was gone. And for a moment, Chloe felt old Clark beside her.

She granted his wish, looking up with red eyes and a hard stare.

"Chloe," he started, taking a breath, watching her spiteful eyes dance around the temptation of more tears. He felt terrible, even more guilty now than before. Could he take it away and start over?

His arms folded around her, and pulled her in, making her body have no other choice but to collide with his in the tightest of hugs. Her head pressed up against his chest, her eyes closed and wet.

"No."

He heard it against his chest, but felt the word as she pushed away from him. Chloe unraveled herself from his arms, something she had never done before, escaping to her car,  promptly starting the engine and then drove away.

This all happened before Clark could react, very unlike him at all. He couldn't figure out why she had broken their sacred hug, they always stopped fighting after that.

Clark cursed under his breath, watching as the tail lights fell away.


*


Her red bug made it to the dorm rooms in a fury, Chloe not even paying attention to the red numbers of the speedometer or the honking around her. She parked, crookedly, in her designated spot and then took the stairs two at a time to tire herself out of the mix of anger and frustration Clark had transferred onto her. She was angry, yes. Angry for being as vulnerable as she was, swearing to never feel this way again. She pictured herself as that old movie actress, picking up that last carrot in the overturned farm, biting down and then swearing against the moody sky to never be hungry again.

But that only reminded her of Clark again, so she stomped up more stairs until she reached the eleventh floor and dragged herself into the hallway.

She had successfully wore herself out, running up flights of stairs and being miserable the entire way. She was ready to curl into a ball in her bed and sleep, thinking to herself she wouldn't have to wake up early--

Clark.

"Clark." She said disdainfully, seeing him waiting at the door. "Go away."
She made made it there in under two hours, he had probably sped there in under three seconds. This made her even more irritated at him. "You know, I liked you better when you didn't have your powers."

"Shh.." Clark caught her elbow and led her away from the door before she could turn the key.

She pulled away, "I left Clark, I left. So why are you here?"

"I didn't think you would really leave."

"No?"

Clark shook his head, clearly confused. "No."

Chloe blinked at him, and then walked past to her door. "That's what you wanted, right? For me to leave you in your grief and pout."

"It was," Clark stopped her again, "But you never let me have what I want. That's what surprised me."

Chloe laughed sourly and a little too loudly, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Clark hushed her, not wanting a crowd in the dorm hallway in the middle of the night. "It means, that you usually find a way to convince me to change my mind and do it your way."

"Thanks," she laughed again, eyes closed, "Thanks for calling me a controlling bitch."

"I didn't say that!" Clark shouted between a whisper and gritted teeth.

"Remind me again why you're here?" Chloe whisper/shouted back.

Clark took a breath to calm down, his face winding down. "I didn't want you to leave, you know that."

Her eyes rolled and rolled, "How would I know that? I have no idea what you're really thinking or feeling, remember?"

"God, Chloe! Do you want me to just go, and leave like this?" Clark stamped his boot, twice when he saw her turn away. "I tried to say I'm sorry, but you pulled away from me and ran off, so I came here to apologize again, but this is it. I'm not apologizing anymore!"

Clark stared at the profile of her face, wondering when she would finally look at him, say something.

Anything.

But she didn't.

"OK, I'll leave." Clark said, studying her unusual silence, "Since I don't read minds either, and since you have nothing else to say to me."

Her body quivered with fear, the first time in her life she might actually be saying goodbye to Clark. And she wasn't saying anything to stop it.

His hand grabbed her arm, "But I'm not going without saying goodbye, the way you did."

Her face turned up and towards him, or rather, his hand behind her neck did that.

And Clark kissed her, hard. Much the same as she did earlier to him.

But this kiss lasted longer, long enough for Chloe to taste the bitterness in Clark melt away into something else...

His hands were over her, her neck, her sides, her waist...

Soon, all was forgotten what the fight was about.

Soon, all they remembered was each other.

Clark released her from his lips, cradling them against her forehead instead. They were close, hips were still planted into hers all the way to  the bulk of his work boots standing next to her tiny sandals. Clark held her there, aware that she might pull away again, but strangely sure that she wouldn't this time.

He did feel her move against him, but it was to look up, her eyes wide and confused.

He answered her question without her asking, "That was for goodbye."

She shook her head.

"Isn't that what you said to me?" Clark asked softly, holding her head up with his hands. She seemed too weak to do it on her own. He watched her throat struggle to work, her lips still bruised red and swollen from his kiss.

She shivered, and then whispered, "We both know that's not what that is."

Clark shrugged off his red jacket, covering her with it. She was barely wearing anything, just that tiny tank top. "Then, what is it?"

Chloe held onto his jacket, clumped around her smaller body. He thought she was cold, but she wasn't. Her shiver and chills came from him. And his jacket did it to her worse. It was like he was on top of her now, his scent around her.

Clark let her be silent, relieved that at least she wasn't turning away from him, relieved that at least she had let him cover her with his jacket. In the smallest way, he felt her wanting him to continue on protecting her. He could still do that.

"I don't want to be alone." Clark said, no longer ashamed to say it.

Chloe took a long look at Clark, forming sentences from his thoughts and then reading his mind. That, she could do, sometimes. "Where do you want to go?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere." Clark said, his eyes hopeful that she would go too.

Chloe smiled a little, "My car's downstairs and I have half a tank of gas."

Clark smiled wide, the first real smile of the night. "Chloe, you're funny."

She frowned, but that was before he picked her up in one sweep, carrying her down the hallway. "You may like me better without my powers, but that's because you hardly got to enjoy them."

"Clark," she said in a weary voice, "we're not about to--"

"Super-speed to New York?"

She looked at him.

"Los Angeles?" He asked, continuing down the hall with her in his arms.

She continued to look at him.

"Phuket?"

"Thailand?" She said, squinting her eyes, "That's an entirely different continent. How are we going to--"

"I can run across water." He said matter of factly. "I guess you didn't know that. I barely figured it out last year, too."

"Quit kidding me, Clark." She felt a whip of air, finding them outside already, the dorm building way off on the corner street.

Whoa.

"I don't kid." He said to her, seriously now, and with the most sincere, secret smile directed at her. "If this could be the last day, I want you to spent it with me, and the world. I can take you anywhere, and everywhere if you wanted." His eyes darted to her lips before the sky, the lights of downtown Metropolis and then back to her.

He was there, willing to take her anywhere. Was it guilt that drove him back to her? That this could possibly be the last day for her? The gears began to turn in her mind, the real reason why Clark wouldn't set her on her feet surfacing.

"You think if you leave me, something will happen to me."

He looked her over, not denying it.

She motioned for him to put her down, and he did, reluctantly.

"Look," she said walking back to the dorm, "We can't run away to some distant island and forget about everyone else. I'm not the only one who could be in danger."

"I don't want to run away." Clark said beside her, "And I haven't forgotten about everyone else. I just don't want to lose you."

"You wont." Chloe promised, "Clark, you wouldn't let anything happen to me. I know that. So, go home. Get some sleep. We're both tired."

He stopped, wanting to obey her wishes, watching her cross the street towards the building where he had captured her from. When he had died, everything had been alright. Clark had erased himself, and all of the future problems that he was sure would surface. Clark wouldn't have had to worry about all the small things, or the big things. He didn't have to worry about destiny because he was already there. He didn't feel any guilt or burden, in fact, he remembered not feeling anything at all.

Death was like a release, a reset of his life, and he had been robbed of it. Jor-El forcing him back into this life by stealing someone else's.

But whose was it?

He watched Chloe become smaller in the distance, covering most of her.

Clark was stuck between the remorse of leaving and the guilt of returning back. Either way, someone would pay for his mistakes. He had to find a way to repay it himself. He had to find a way to fix it, to make the best of this life he had now.

Chloe being there made it better for Clark. Because, she did make him happy. With her, everything made sense. Through anger, or frustration. It mattered. Meant something. Clark felt, something, instead of nothing. Because she cared so much, it made him care.

He cared more than he thought was possible.

There were cars passing, Metropolis always moving even in the middle of the night.

He shouted over the traffic, "I can't do any of this without you, Chloe Sullivan!"

She looked back, and smiled, he thought. That was before she opened the door, leaving him on the corner, alone.

And he didn't want to be.



*


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

"This is Reality."

Rating: R
Disclaimer: The WB and CW own everything, I own nothing.
Couples: Clois
Summary: A Lois & Clark fic, for angry Chlarkers everywhere. The original I wrote was  a lot dirtier. This is the edited version.

"This is Reality"

If he listened close, he could hear the ramblings of a television from seven blocks away.

It was near midnight, the majority of Smallville asleep for the next morning. Clark walked through the empty sidewalks, display windows and neon signs both dead and dark; never giving a second thought about how Main Street seemed so lonely without the familiar faces that he'd grown up around. Some of them had moved on, or away, or others had just passed completely. But Clark was still here, awake, one hand shoved in his pant pocket while the other swung his briefcase as kept in step.

But by the sound of the tv mumbling from upstairs, and the flicker of light from the window, he knew atleast she was awake. His feet travelled faster.

His stuffy dress shoes shuffled up the winding stair case that he had climbed so many times. Most of those at times where had Clark met up with a different girl in his life, but tonight, he was meeting Lois. She lived in the small apartment now, and alone, now that her cousin had moved on.

Clark loosened his tie and smiled. Lois was inside, scrambling from kitchen to dining room table. Not preparing dinner mind you, Lois didn't cook, but picking at a cold slice of pizza, hovering around a laptop that was amist other paperwork.

Clark saw this through the door, eyes appreciative when he discovered Lois already dressed in barely nothing.


Clark raised his hand to the door to knock, but thought twice. His hand lowered to the knob instead, and turned.

Lois was on her bluetooth, aruging over some menial bullshit with their editior. These wireless conversations were always moot to Clark, the lesser points of journalism like a staged rhetoric used to make it seem like real workwas being done.

Clark threw his briefcase on the table, his arms wrapping around Lois' small waist, loose fabric of one of Clark's stray shirts bunching around her shape.

He could hear the smile in her voice as his lips moved behind her ear, right behind the head set...

"Hey, sorry, but we'll have to continue this later--" Lois said, voice hardened in order to disguise her escalating breathlessness. "I'll call you back later tonight," Clark worked his lips down to the slope of her neck, eliciting a gasp. "Make that tomorrow."

She threw down her ear piece and spun around, a sulty smile on her lips.

"Hope I didn't interrupt something important." Clark said, sarcasm having invaded most of his comments lately.

Lois laughed, and kissed his ear, explaining something about work that didn't quite come across to Clark as important. It could turn into an argument, or a debate. And he wasn't in the mood to argue menial, journalistic crap at a time like this.

It was his back that hit the couch first, Lois tumbling after him.


"I trusted him, loved him. I never thought he would stab me in the back like this."



Clark could hear the tv, just barely, over Lois. Her hips were moving faster now, his belt undone and his zipper in the process. Clark frowned, his attention somewhat drawn to the bright screen. It was some sort of talk show. Crap, really.

"Lois,"he said between breaths, "Can we watch something else?"

He saw her brows draw down, her hips slowing a bit. "Are we even watching tv right now? Because I thought we were in the middle of doing something else." Her hips rubbed for emphasis.

Clark sighed, "We are. But I can't concentrate with some girl crying in the background."

Lois blinked, looking at the television.

There were several women on screen, one of them holding a microphone.



"Did you ever tell him that you loved him?"

The shot cut away from to a tear soaked girl, crumbling in a oversized chair.


"I thought he knew. I always knew. We didn't have to say it in words--"


"Okay," Lois sighed and reached for the remote, "Point taken." She pressed the volume until the pathetic sobbing died.

With a silent tv in the background, Clark made a slow work of unbuttoning his shirt from Lois' body, slowly peeling it away and thrown in the direction of the television, images flashing across the dim apartment.

The small space didn't feel the same as Clark remembered all those years before. It had become dark, bare, hardly any food inthe refridgerator or books on the shelves. Lois hardly spent time at home, mostly out in the city working, or partying/schmoozing with big name sleezes that would rat out a story for the smallest of favors.

Their lives were so busy, too busy. And everything else that came after their work lives got pushed to the uncomplicated bin. Things that were easier, simple. Familiar.

Making love to Lois made sense to Clark. It was easy, unfrustrating, and somewhat regrettably, familiar.

He spent years contemplating why he had been so drawn to this girl, a girl who had for so long been a nuisance to his existance.

Clark grew up thinking so, watching his mother and father love eachother for years, observing how easy their prolific relationship looked to a young son.

But as Clark grew older, the veil of youth grew thinner and thinner. Clark's image of love becoming more of a masquerade of imaginary characters that only existed in the purist of minds.

And Clark's innocence had long been left behind.


But there was this undertow of distrust with every movement, like either one of them would walk away at any moment. Lois and Clark were still teetering on that fine line, a line that was different for both of them. Lois with the insecurities that built from Clark's secrecy, and Clark with the pending promise to reveal everything about himself without the fear or rejection.

But these were smaller details, the menial points that always got lost in the essence of the moment. Between his short, ragged breathing, Clark could still hear the low whisper from the tv...



"We used to be the only people in eachother's lives. The only ones that mattered. But now, it's like he's a different person."


Clark was driven closer, his eyes wandering back to bright flashing light of the television screen.

The woman had stopped crying, her make up run and dry by then. Her head was turned down as if she was ashamed, or guilty.

Clark glanced down at Lois' moving head of hair, feeling a bit guilty too. He was letting her do all the work, and he was just sitting here. Watching tv.



"He pushed me away. First by ignoring me, never calling, and then acting like we were never even close. Then he was angry at me all the time. I never understood why."



Clark's brows drew down.

Lois must have gotten tired, her full head of hair flicking back. She caught her breath, her eyes drawn up at him. "What's the matter?"

Clark looked away. "Nothing."

She brushed her hair behind her ears and sat beside him.
Clark moved closer to her, his hands around her chest. "C'mon." He kissed her on her lips, the first of the night.

Lois' body became rigid, "Not until you tell me what's up."

Clark stopped, voice dangerous. "Nothing, I just had a bad day, okay?"

She leaned back to glare. "Oh, I get it. You have a bad day so you sneak over here for a booty call?"

Clark blinked. "What?" HIs hand dropped. "Lois, that isn't what this is."

"Oh really?" She grabbed his shirt and flung it over her shoulders, buttoning it. "Because even if it was, you could have atleast acted more interested."

She sprung for the kitchen.

Clark didn't follow her.

He did up his pants, hunching over his knees, head in his hands. The tv kept playing, the woman's voice louder in Clark's ears than before.



"But I can never be mad at him. Because, I love him. And I hope he's happier with her. I hope that he atleast loves her as much as I loved him."


Clark's fingers tightened in his hair.

Lois' cell phone rang.

"Hello?" her voice came from the kitchen, "Oh hi, Chloe. No, no I'm awake. Wide awake."

Clark turned around.

"You're where? The Maldives... wow, that sounds beautiful." Lois leaned against the kitchen counter, a soft smile seen even through the dark apartment.

Clark listened as Lois had a brief, but pleasant conversation with her younger cousin, Clark's old friend. He never did talk to her as often as he used to, maybe once a week. Mostly about work.

Clark strained his ear to listen to the sound of her voice through the receiver, bright and cherry like it used to be.

Lois flipped her phone closed after saying goodbye, and rejoined Clark on the couch, her mood somewhat risen.

"Well, that was Chloe."

Clark nodded, that part was pretty obvious. "What did she say?"

"Not much before Oliver dragged her away from the phone," Lois said, a sad tint to her voice, "You know he flew her there overnight to join him for some occupational retreat? Romantic, huh?"

Clark's lips thinned. Oliver wasn't the only guy that could fly a girl to some exotic location. Clark could take Lois right now in his arms and--

No, he couldn't. Clark still hadn't told Lois his secret, which meant he couldn't show her all of who he was. Clark was still just Clark to her. And yet, Clark seemed to still intrigue Lois enough for her to tolerate him. Even in his funkier moods like he was in tonight. This made him even more irrated with himself.

"So," the brunette said, colorful light from the screen splashing on her face, "You gonna tell me what happened or do you just want to forget about it?"

Clark stilled, conscious so heavy he felt his shoulders buckling. "No, let's just forget it Lois."

She sighed, "Fine. It's forgotten." She picked up the remote and raised the tv.

Clark relaxed, his arm stretched on the top of the couch, letting Lois crawl closer to his chest, resting her head there.

Maybe love wasn't meant to be easy, but the after moments, the smallest ones still could be.

Lois and Clark would easily spend the rest of the night watching tv. The two of them stared at the changing screen for a long while, the continuous drabble of the narrator filling their empty heads.

"What are we watching anyway?" Clark said once the show returned from commerical.

"I don't know," Lois yawned, "Some sort of talk show. Cat recommended it to me at work, so I dvr-ed them."

"Well it's depressing. Every woman on here is crying and looks terrible."

Lois looked at him, "This is reality, Clark."

He looked back.

"Not every slice of life is whipped cream and apple pie." she lifted a brow, "Some times life is messier, grittier. Hearts are broken, and let's face it. Everyone likes to watch a good heart ache."

Clark laughed, "This isn't reality, Lois. This is a series of women babbling on about how their lovers left them for someone else, and then sold their story rights to some corporate cable television network. It's scripted!"

Her brow lowered. "This show isn't scripted."

"Lois!" Clark said in clipped laughter, "We just watched this girl's lifestory, how this guy kept her on his line for years, only to ditch her at the end and make a grab for her cousin. I mean, what kind of a jerk would really do that?"

Lois stared at him, the fine crease of her eyes twitching.

Clark threw up his hands, clear to him now that he had gone over some invisible line.

"You know, Clark. You're lucky you still have your good looks." Lois said, decisively changing the channel as she stretched back out on his shoulder, "Otherwise, you're absolutely worthless."




*