On top of updating Go By and wrapping that up, I am participating in the Summer Chlark challenge. I will post my fic entry for that to here after I submit it. Kinda excited to be participating in a group challenge, been off on my island for a while now.

Also, I would like to share with y'all that I was nominated for an award this spring. I was very honored, and much kudos to latetothpartyhp for the nom.

Lates,

Elliott

go by 19

19





The community was talking about Clark Kent. The whispers, the gossip, the rumors that suggested the young man had finally gone the way of Belle Reeve himself. Martha Kent deflected them all with a brave smile and gentle eyes, but even those were at times permeated with speculations of her own.

This morning she drove down to where the old cave site used to be. Used to, because of the second meteor shower. It nearly obliterated everything, and looked as if Lex's last dealings had helped bury it beneath the ground.

Martha saw Clark swinging a shovel over by the rubble. She turned the truck in that direction, crossing the torn down caution tape that used to wrap the perimeter. Clark had been out here for days. He had dug a hole about the size of the Kent house, and found nothing.

"I don't understand," Clark said once he felt his mother's prescence, "I don't know what else to do."

"There's nothing to do," Martha replied, standing beside them. Together, they stood atop the impressive hole looking down. She imagined the emptiness her son found was a meaning of something else. "What else are you looking for? Everything you wanted came true. A cure for the meteor infected, you're human now..."

Clark turned away, his hand cresting his chest.

"...The Kryptonian's appear to be gone forever. Everything is..."

"Normal." Clark answered for her. His mother was right, it was everything he had fought for, to place everything as it was, supposed to be. Normal except for the branding Brainiac had given him, years ago. That had never gone away. "I just don't know what to do... from here."

Martha could smell the sweat drifting from her son's shirt. He was human, as she could tell. But she supposed he would always be different. Always be the boy she found in the meteor shower. That's why she didn't question why he spent so much of his free time out here. Clark needed closure to all the things his life used to be. The artifacts, the secrets. They were all gone. Clark was the only part of it left behind.

　

"C'mon," Martha smiled and headed towards the truck, "come to Metropolis with me. I'm meeting a client this morning."

Clark looked up from his shovel, "I can't. I have work to do out here."

"It can wait,trust me. The earth is not going to pick up and leave." And then she gave him that look whenever she was about to give an order.

He followed.

*

Martha smiled happily as they travelled down the road, the sun greeting the truck's windshield. Her son's arm rested over the bench seat as he drove them steady and slow. Since he'd become human, he'd grown extraodinarily more careful around her. His reasoning was that he was less likely to save her if she was in trouble. He was at a disadvantage now, being human. It was a reaction she hadn't expected from him, of all people. As much as Clark told himself, he didn't enjoy being... normal.

He didn't enjoy very much these days. And she knew that he would visit that woman, that Zatanna when they got into the city. It was something she accepted, but not necessarily approved of. Even if searching for happiness elsewhere, she felt it was her maternal duty to keep her son with her, in this world.

Martha finally got Clark to agree to take classes at the community college. Journalism, he picked. Between the work on the farm and school, his life appeared to be coming back together. Although from time to time, she still smelled the musk of insense on him. He still visited that, woman.

She looked at Clark from the other side of the truck cab. He was clean shaven with a recent haircut. A clean shirt, and tan arms. He looked like her son, the one she knew before. But his solemn, dark eyes spoke of where he'd been. Things he never told her, nor would ever agree to explain.

In the ignition, his truck keys jingled. The little small key something he would not discuss either.

"You know," Martha spoke up after a long silence, "when you're father died, I didn't know what to do with myself either." She watched him from the corner, but he said nothing to this. He always said nothing.

"Clark, at some point you're going to have to talk about her."

He continued to stare at the road.

"I know it's the reason why you keep visiting that sorceress. You're looking for her, aren't you?"

There was a barest of changes in his eyes, but he kept them straight ahead. His arm retracted from behind Martha and joined the other on the steering wheel. Together, they clutched control of the truck as if it were about to crash.

But they weren't. They were driving the speed limit and not a degree higher. Martha sighed and faced the window, "At some point, you have to learn to let go."

Eventually, they rolled into the outer city limits, Clark driving slower than Martha could believe. She looked at her watch, she would be late.

"I'm sorry," Clark said, noticing the time himself, "I just want to make sure you get there safe."

Martha smiled softly, "I love you too, Clark."

This he did turn to her, "You look nice today."

"Thanks. Meeting new clients. They're in the last phases of adopting a baby boy."

He smiled, "That's great. I hope they'll be very happy."

Martha nodded to herself, already assured with personal experience, "They'll be very happy."

*

Clark pulled into the long turn around of Martha's highrise office building. She had done well for herself and her law practice. She'd found a niche, a place in the world.

She kissed her son goodbye and was about to shut the door when he stopped her,

"Hey," Clark nodded towards her, "your earring."

Martha touched her bare ear, realizing that one of them were missing. "Oh no."

Clark searched the cab floor, the seat and just incase, behind the cab-

"It's ok," Martha removed the other one, "I'm sure it's somewhere."

"Do you know where you lost it?" Clark asked, vainly cursing himself for no longer possessing his xray vision or photographic memory. He hadn't paid attention to his mom too closely until now. His mind was, in a fog.

"No," Martha admitted, but she didn't seem too worried either, "I wouldn't fuss over it. These things turn up eventually. Nothing is lost forever. It's only misplaced."

Clark looked up to catch the end of his mother's true smile. It wasn't so much as the words she'd said, but how she said it. Like a universal truth, so simple and pure. His mother always had a way of simplying the problems of the world. Everything to her deduced so easily.

And then, he watched Martha Kent marched up the steps of the building, and Clark moved on.

He had a few hours to burn until he picked Martha back up. He knew she'd done it on purpose, suggesting he'd drive her into Metropolis. It forced him to get out of the house and come here. It was a long drive to and from the city, and she tried every trick in her book to open him up like he was some sort of clam.

She had even left her single earring in the truck, sliding from one side of the dash board to the other with every turn of the wheel. It irritated him, more than it should have.

Don't fuss over it.

Clark eyed the earring impatiently.

Nothing is lost forever.

Without him wanting, his heart steered him to a place he'd avoided since his return. At the Metropolis Central Cemetary, the landscaping was pruned and perfected at every corner. It was the resting place of several influencial citizens of Metropolis, their memorials proudly exhibited carvings of their names, symbols of their influence. Stone obelisks weaved among blossom trees and soft foothills of grass.

She was nestled deep inside her city, as she would have liked to be.

Clark knelt down next to her stone marker, the outlines of skyscrapers waiting behind him. Silently, he touched her name, traced it to the end. He thought about her, about the last he'd seen her. That, he wasn't sure of. He dreamed he had seen her, in a way. Clark himself hadn't dreamed in years, nor had he adjusted to closing his eyes and drifitng off. His visits to Zatanna Zatara helped him understand what other saw in their sleep. The people who they wanted to see again, in a different life. A dream life.

Ofcourse, Clark grew to understand that one did not have control of their dreams. That searching out, controling what you dreamed did not work at all. He had no control, frequently did not understand his dreams. Clark occassionally experienced seeing Jonathan Kent, but it fleeting, and lost in obscurity. Only bits and traces remained when he awoke. A scent, a flash of memory.

He had no dreams of her, or more truthfully, none that he could remember. When he closed his eyes he wished to see her there, and learned to keep waiting. As his mother said, he would need to let go eventually, and move on.

As he knelt next to her grave, he closed his eyes in a moment of cool breeze. It was mid morning, and the dew from the grass had evaporated away. There were birds whispering around him, so faintly he had to perk his ears to listen. To his surprise, he felt his shoulders ease with the white noise of the atmosphere, his subconscious settling around the quiet voices that rested among him. He listened for her...

It was here that he asked for her forgiveness. And in silence, he imagined that she did.

And at his calmest, his mind remembered something. A trace, a scent. Car exhaust, and glass. He was inside of the Daily Planet, somewhere deep inside where it was dark. His eyes glazed over in the blinding headlights from a car, suspended above him.

His arm held something, a figure, a woman. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, scared, and relieved...

"Hello, Mr. Kent."

Clark's eyes shot open, the voice from behind him shattering it all away.

"Sorry, I startled you." The woman standing before him, not the same from his dream. She was taller, prim, and dressed all in black. There was a silk scarf tied loosely around her neck. Her red hair was slicked back into a tight bun, her eyes covered by dark glasses. "My name is Tess Mercer. We've met before."

She offered her hand, but he did not take it.

"I don't think so." Clark got to his feet, and looked at her skeptically as one would a threat. Not a physcial threat no, even without his powers, his physical dominance was the most obvious part about him. His tight guard around privacy, second. "How do you know me?"

Tess retracted her hand, "I had the privelege of running into you ten years ago. I think you'll remember it. You were caught trespassing inside of a highschool. You and several others. Ms. Sullivan was also there."

The last time he saw her.

Clark blinked for a moment, his full guard up now. "I don't remember you."

Tess slid over this, and went on, "I do. My team shot over eighty rounds at your chest. You should have been swiss cheese, dead, like her. And yet, here you are."

Clark bristled and growled, "What do you want?"

She untied the scarf from her neck and pulled it from her flesh. There was a red scar,but it was barely detectable. What was noticible was that it was several inches long and ran straight across her throat. "I should have died too, Clark. I bled out like a stuck pig, yet here I am."

Clark looked from her scar, to her face, then he remembered. The woman's shocked, white eyes staring back at him as Brainiac slit her throat, and fell.

Behind her dark glasses, Tess smiled softly. "You remember me now."

Clark looked to her, his gut churning with anticipation, "What do you want?"

"I only want to help you, Clark. You have no idea how important you are to finding her."

The expression from him was enough for her to then ask, "What, do you really believe that she's dead?"

Clark swallowed what felt like a dry, solid ball of pain. His chest pounded without warning as he spoke her name, "Chloe is gone."

Tess shook her head, her voice strangely calm, and reasonable, "Don't believe everything you read in the papers, Mr. Kent. I know you've been digging around the story, but I don't blame you for not knowing what wasn't published. You see, I work for a research facility for the meteor infected, have been for many years. Even before I heard about you, or anything about Smallville, I had based my entire career on developing cures for the worst of humanity's diseases.

I specialized in the effects of biological warfare, and the genetic mutations from it. When I was approached to research the effects of meteor rock, I was intrigued. To think that all of those hours I spent slaving over genetic charts and test studies, to have it all washed away by a miracle cure. Queen Industry Labs have been backing their research for this new cure, and I want confirmation on how they are doing it. Sullivan is the only link we have to any speculation of meteor infected cures. "

Clark searched her face, debating the validity in her words.

"Look at me, Clark. How strange is it that I'm alive, that you're alive? She cured you didn't she?"

After several silent beats, Tess continued, "When the authorities found Alicia Baker-- you remember her don't you? Alicia had no memory of what had happened to her. Only that she thought she was dead. When examined, we found no meteorite mutation in her genes as was previously recorded in her medical records. Records that were often updated by Belle Reeve and our lab. She was in short, cured. Last known person to see her, Chloe Ann Sullivan.

After she died, the public completely forgot about the murder charges. They eventually forgot about Alexander Luthor. The Luthor name rotted away after their empire was cut up and sold for scrap. Lex's murder was considered a cold case and without their prime suspect, the small town sheriff had nothing but a jurisdictional mess. Meteor victims committing suicide, escaping from medical treatment, kidnapping... And then Lex's murder. Some might say that the investigation of Lex Luthor's murder ended with Chloe Sullivan because it was easier that way. Pin the tail on the dead donkey. How just was it that a meteor freak kill the man who made money from developing mutants?"

Clark turned his head in disgust.

Tess smiled, tipped her dark glasses low on her nose, "While the public choses to believe the killer of Lex Luthor is dead, there is a rift of believers that say Sullivan's death is one big conspiracy..."

He resisted the urge to continue listen to the woman. With all of the degradation she'd committed on this sacred ground, he could kill her. Clark hated everything about her. From her cold demeanor, to the way she seemed to get off on his disgust. He hated that she had invaded his life with these lies. Lies that he hated because deep down, he desperately wanted their ugliness to be true.

"Now," Tess took a deep breath and continued, "Alicia was missing for several days. But, you. You were reported missing for ten years..." A curve of intrigue lifted her lipstick mouth, "Tell me, your last known location was with Sullivan that night, what all do you remember, Clark?"

"Not a lot." Clark's lips barely moved, "And I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Why? Cat's out of the bag, has been for years. It's no secret that half of your graduating class at Smallville High was infected by meteor rock. It would explain why your body sustained lethal dosages of high powered rounds in your chest. My only question, is if she cured you too?"

"What makes you think she's still alive?" His voice was gruff, but sounded almost hopeful. His eyes aligned with his heart.

"I don't think," Tess's voice sounded so reasonable, it lifted his heart, "I know she is."

"How?"

"Well," she walked to his side with her hands in her pockets, "it's not terribly difficult to rent ground penetrating radar and check for buried evidence," Tess' smile haunted him, "She's not there, Clark."

Clark narrowed his eyes, and looked down at the marker,the ground. Again, he found himself cursing at his lost abilities.

Once he looked up, Tess had walked closer to him and was handing him a business card, "She's very valuable to us, Clark. She might be the most valuable asset to the world. Someone killed me, and a crew of fifteen service men to get to her before."

Tess wrapped the scarf around her neck again and bid her goodbye, "I just want to help her, Clark. Help her and the entire the entire world. Curing disease is my job. With her ability, she could be just the cure we're looking for."

And then Tess Mercer walked away, but before she climbed into her luxury vehicle she flippantly said, "Sorry about the shooting you, but you understand, right? Metahumans like you, we didn't know what we were up against back then."

Meta humans like you.

Tess smiled over her shoulder, "No hard feelings, right Clark?"

And then she left.

There was no one else around, or so he thought.

Clark's hand shook with the new, and disputed news from a stranger who he had no reason to believe. Yet everything she said seemed to tingle like a sixth sense.

He wondered why of all these days he'd been back to this world, had she chosen to contact him now? Just when he was gaining peace with himself, his conscious and the past. The day he decided to make peace, to let go...

*

Clark called his mother and told her he was going to be late. When he hung up the phone, his truck was parked outside of a very tall glass building.

Queen Industries, it said.

Clark doubled parked behind a delivery truck and marched inside. He didn't wait for the elevator, he couldn't, not with his energy. His rage.

He needed to know that all of it was nonsense, lies. He couldn't handle any more speculation, theories. It needed it to be over. He needed answers.

Every step he took consumed his mind, believing that this was the very last effort to calm his mind. This was either the end of his journey, or the beginning to yet another rabbit hole.

After the last flight of stairs, Clark arrived at the top floor to where a large desk encompassed an entire wall constructed of glass that over looked the city. It was the newest, and possibily highest point in the city. Seeing Metropolis from this vantage made him feel suddenly small, minute, pointless. He could't protect it anymore. Not anymore.

"Can I help you?" The secretary asked, once he got her attention.

Clark approached the desk, sweaty from his long climb. Politely he asked, "I'm here to see Mr. Oliver Queen? It is very important I see him right now."

"Well, you can't right now. Mr. Queen is in a meeting at the moment and he--"

"Meeting?" Clark asked, and then pointed to the large double door to the right, "In there?"

"Well, yes--"

"Thank you." Clark approached the door, and very unpolitely tried to open it. It was locked. But it didn't stop him from trying to pry it open. "Oliver! Come out here and speak to me!"

The secretary immediately called for security, which made Clark work faster. He grabbed the nearest lamp and hurled it against the door.

SMASH!

Glass and fragments scattered everywhere.

Momentarily after that, the door opened. Oliver Queen, dressed in a fine suit, stepped out, his hands in the air. "Can I help you?"

"Mr. Queen," the secretary sobbed, "I called for security I don't know what's happening'--"

He shushed her reassuringly, "Don't worry, I think I know." He looked at Clark, "We don't need security, do we Clark?"

Clark looked at Oliver. It had been a long while since they'd been face to face. Nothing about the man had changed, except perhaps the facial hair he was sporting. His cold, double suspscious of Clark was more obvious than ever. Oliver never trusted Clark.

"No, I just want answers." Beyond Clark's line of sight, he saw a woman sitting in Oliver's office, her long legs crossed and her pretty face looking back at him. It was Lois.

"What do you want, Clark?" Oliver stepped back into his eye line, in a defensive postion and thus setting off a different mood. They were afraid of him, and understandably so. His pulse was racing in his ears and his flesh was so hot he could barely stand it.

"I want to know," Clark swallowed, "I want to know if she's alive."

Oliver reacted in a strange way, barely decipherable but enough to track with the naked eye, "Who?"

It was a perfunctory question, but they both knew what Clark was asking. Lois stood from behind them and walked closer, "Oliver--"

"Lois," He turned to her and motioned for her silence. Oliver turned to Clark, his eyes guarded and fierce. Clark looked into them, seeing all the walls he'd have to climb to get any answers there. Lois on the other hand, looked vulnerable, ready to break. This, quickened his breath. She had something to tell, he could read it on her lips.

Clark made a move towards her but Oliver was right there. "Clark, this is the only time I'll warn you. Stay away."

Lois professed something along the lines of letting Clark explain, yet Oliver wanted nothing of it.

"He's dangerous," Oliver warned, "always has been."

Clark bristled and narrowed his eyes, but could do nothing. Deep down, he felt the same way. What ever Oliver was protecting, perhaps he was right. Even if she was alive, perhaps she was safer there. Away from him.

Quietly, he removed his car keys from his jacket and loosened the ring he kept them on. Out from them all, he detached the smallest key from it. The only one that had never belonged to him.

"Here," he said as he set it carefully on the desk, "I don't need this anymore."

Clark left soon after, an open elevator door the preferred option. He stepped inside and looked at his reflection in the mirrored doors as they enclosed on him. He looked, tired.

The floor numbers lit up on the way down, one by one, each marking the time it took for his temper to slow and then peacefully drift away. This was the last attempt he would make to mend the past. If she was out there, he didn't want to know where.

The elevator doors opened to the lobby, where Lois lane stood with her hand on her hip.

"What took you so long?" Lois demanded and then jumped inside with him.

Clark stiffened, stricken to see her again-

"For a guy who's supposed to be quick on his feet, you take forever to get to the bottom floor." Her mouth was moving just as fast as her hands, digging through a sleek suitcase for a particular file, when she found it, her face brightened with a strange joy. Partially glad, partially sad. "Here."

Clark took the file, although he did not know what he was accepting.

"It's tomorrow's front page story, with my name on the byline," Lois shrugged nervously and then confessed further, "I come here to get all my 'scoops' if you know what I mean."

Clark blankly handed back the file, "I dont, Lois."

She immediately shoved it back, "It's what you came here to know." As he took the file, she smiled wistfully, "I come here to pick up a copy once a week..."

Clark opened it and found a rough copy of an article inside. Nothing particularly special except for the occasional footnotes hand written in the margins. On the very last page was a small message and then the initial-

　

C.

　

"She still writes, just under a different name."

Clark looked up at Lois Lane, and just as quickly the elevator doors opened again, several bodies rushed inside with Lane on her way out.

"Don't ask me where, because I don't know. No one knows, not even Oliver. He has almost as limited contact as I do. All that I know is that she's safe."

Lois snatched the copy from Clark's hands and stepped outside, "Take care of yourself, Smallville."

　

*

The drive home with his mother was quiet, he barely saying anything except the careful 'yes' or 'no'. He told nothing of his encounters with his mother, and when she asked him if he had gone to see Zatara, he truthfully said no.

Inside the house, Clark went to the kitchen and filled a glass with water from the tap. He sipped slowly from it, unaware that Martha was in the doorway, studying his every move.

He thought that by knowing it would have eased his mind, and in a small way it did. Inside his chest he felt the small relief that came with knowing she was ok. The outer, larger beast of him was devasted. Was he the one Oliver was protecting her from?

He heard Martha walk up next to him, "You ok, Clark?"

He set down his glass, clinking as it did. They both looked down, Martha smiling first.

"You found my other earring," Martha hugged her son, "I told you it would turn up."

Clark tweaked a bare smile, rubbing his mother's back. "I did."

His other hand held Mercer's card. Deeply, Clark looked upon the simple black script, crumbled it, and threw it away.