on a roll

3 posts in one month. I have been busy, busy... let's wrap this up shall we?

go by ch20

20



It was a dream.

One that he frequently experienced when he closed his eyes. Clark was back in the Phantom Zone, the scorched black hole of the universe. His eyes clenched shut when he felt the sharp, granule winds whips at his face, all of his old wounds reopening again.

This he was used to, accustomed to. Hardened to. The Phantom Zone became a home away from home for Clark, a place he dreamed of when he needed to reunite with himself. Afterall, the closest he'd come to being reunited with his father was there, somewhere. All sources of Jor-El had been destroyed on Earth. And Krypton was long gone.

Atleast this place was still alive.

Clark was no longer scared of this place, the only  part he did fear was when he could hear her voice carried away with the wind. She was alive, she told him so. Only, he didn't know where to look for her. Every dune was the same black mess that shifted and reversed, buried him closer to the center of the terrible mass.

Eventually, he opened his eyes. He always did. And like always, there was a thing standing in front of him. A physcial mass, barrier, a towering figure.  Before he used to think it was Jonn. Once, he tried speaking to it. It never spoke.  It didn't respond to Clark. It seemed to only exist. This, thing, was not Jonn.

It's eyes were several feet above Clark's head, and its shoulders four times as wide. It was a beast, a monster, the personification of everything he hated about Krypton, and the travesty that slaughtered its own people. It was the indriscriminating violence that came with being superior. Unforgiving perfection that eliminated anything else that was weaker.

There among phantoms,  Clark knew that everything would be safe. He could face this monster in the darkness, and never worry about hurting another soul again. Here, they were brothers. He realized that this was the reason why Jor-El created this place.

Hurricane winds washed out the two figures in the dunes, blackness spreading evenly. The winds would keep them both here. He would never risk going back. She was alive of course, and this time, he would keep this monster from her.

Winds carried him deeper, his legs sinking into the ground. He looked over to the monster and saw that it was only him who sank beneath the sand. It was him who was trapped. The monster walked over his buried face, towards a light in the distance.

It was moving towards Chloe's voice.

The true nightmare was when he realized the portal to Earth was still open. Clark's eyes shut with the final grains of sand that washed over them. He was drowning. It was over. The end. He was becoming one with the phantoms as the last of Krypton walked free.



*

Paper fluttered over his eyes.

Clark jolted awake, newspapers strewn across his face and chest. He was buried in them, his fingers stained with newspaper ink. He looked across the loft and saw the barn window tap mindlessly with the breeze. It was a summer morning, relatively mild and no sign of rain.

He'd had that dream again. Nightmare.

It was always there waiting forhim when his body let him slide into sleep. He couldn't remember if he dreamed of anything else, he supposed he didnt.

Clark searched for his glasses, an addition to his wardrobe since his vision wasn't what it used to be. His mother warned him about reading late at night in the dark and now he could barely read foot notes.

Clark yawned, and then continued his work into the morning. He took his yellow highlighter and dragged it across the page.

A monster, that what they were calling it. There was a vague, blurry picture stretched out and pixelated on the front page of every paper. A monster, they said. Yet, no one knew what it was exactly.

It was unexplained, and thus, a new strain of questions arose. Could there had been a new meteor infection? Did the scientists at Queen Lab get it wrong? Again, the world feared the  unknown.

This news, this monster, it ignited a powerful interest in him, as did everyone else. But this news meant something different for Clark. Even if his conscious was torn, if the monster was Kryptonian derived, it meant that not everything had been erased. Perhaps this was the phantom he had been looking for.

His eyes closed against his wishes as the breeze filtered through the loft. He'd been abnormally tired as of late, like his exhaustion was finally catching up with his body and mind. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, it was always two or three hours here and there. There was no real rest anymore. With this news of a possible lead, Clark urged his body to move from his place, but it didn't cooperate. Perhaps his body had finally given out, demanding rest.

Something else woke him. A noise, or a movement. It wasn't the wind this time, he looked over at the loft window and it was closed. Funny, he didn't remember moving from the couch to close it. But he supposed he did.

"Hi."

It didn't take much to recognize her voice. She was standing by the stairs, oneof her hands resting on the banister, the other brushing the hair that shimmered abvoe her eyes. She moved towards him in a slow manner, one that was both careful and considerate. She knew he'd been waiting for her, searching for her. And she seemed to understand both the surprise and anger he felt when she just, appeared.

Chloe sat opposite him on the couch, one of her legs crossed underneath. Again, her hand fiddled with her hair, but he realized that she was nervous, too.

 "Hi." His mouth was dry as he sat up, news papers falling to the floor.

She smiled, and bent down to pick a paper up. "Devoted reader. I see you've become quite the book worm," she noted at the several stacks around the loft.

"Light reading," Clark shrugged, "there's isn't much to do around a farm."

"You should get out more often."

"I try. Not as much fun when it takes three hours to get anywhere."

"Oh, like the rest of us?"

Clark smiled.

She smiled with him, "Yeah, I guess being normal isn't so fun. Although, I wouldn't know myself."

She was beautiful, he thought. Entirely normal for her smile to be so easy, "Why do you hide from me?"

"Why did you hide from me?"

"I didn't hide-- I was protecting you."

"And yourself," she added. "There's no difference here. There are several things going on in the world that you simply can't read in the papers, Clark. Now it's time for you to get your butt off your couch..."

Clark was a loss for words. His glasses were still hanging out his nose. He pushed them up and looked at her very closely, "What do you think I've been doing?"

"Sitting here, gathering your notes," she held up his highlighters mockingly,"What's the matter? Too scared to go out into the real world without your powers?"

Clark looked at her, hurt. "You don't know what it's like to be powerless after..."

"Being so powerful? To have no control?"

"Yes."

Chloe reached out for his hand, and studied his finger nails. They were dirty with red clay. "You've been digging again. Shame you're wasting all your energy with cold leads."

"What do you suggest?"

She shrugged, blonde waves escaping her ear. This time she didn't brush it aside. "I don't see why you're so reluctant to get your hands 'dirty' when they quite literally already are. You think I discovered half my stories by playing 'soft ball'? Don't you remember anything from the Torch days?"

Clark smiled, his hand still cradled in hers. "Of course I remember."

She let him touch her hair, and bring it back behind her ear. His thumb touched her cheek.

"Then do what you have to, Clark." Chloe leaned into him, her eyes narrowed in on his. She slipped his reading glasses off and came closer, "by the way, you snore like a baby."

Clark awoke, his lips puckered and ready for her. Disappointingly, all he got was the cold wet snout of a dog.

"Shelby!" Clark wiped his mouth and jumped off the couch.


***



part 2


***


Clark awoke, his lips puckered and ready for her. Disappointingly, all he got was the cold wet snout of a dog. 

"Shelby!" Clark wiped his mouth and jumped off the couch. 

Clark wiped his mouth again, spinning around when he heard the snortles of his mother's laughter.

"You must have been dreaming of something nice," Martha's eyes smiled, "I hadn't seen you smile like that in years. Even if you were unconscious."

"Smile?" Clark frowned.

"Yes, Clark. Smile. The opposite of what your doing now," Martha patted him on the back and then sat down on the little red sofa, "So, what were you dreaming about?"

Clark shrugged, thinking a moment. It vaguely felt like he was about to laugh, late to a joke, but he couldn't remember the punch line anymore.

"Oh, well," Martha sighed, "Well, it'll come back to you. Good dreams always do."

Clark shrugged again, and then moved to the window, closing it.

Martha picked up the newspapers from the chest-table,  "Anything in here new? The nations been hunkering down on this 'Metropolis Monster' story for weeks now."

"Not really," Clark replied from the window, "This monst... thing, kills non discriminatly, and doesn't leave much evidence. Or eye witnesses. It kills those too."

Martha frowned and read more of Clark's highlighted footnotes, "This is sounding more and more of one of those... what did Chloe call it, Wall of Weird?"

Clark turned.

"Yes," Martha eyes alighted, "I did read an article or two from the Torch. I was very proud of you back then. Both of you."

Clark looked at his mother for a moment, wondering if he should tell her Chloe was still alive. He hadn't told a soul since his encounter with Lois Lane at Queen Industries. He wasn't even sure if he could believe Lois. Half of him thought it might be wishful thinking. The other half, angry and confused that Chloe hadn't made a single effort to...

"Clark?" Martha said after a while of Clark's blank stare.

"The Wall of Weird was for things that were unexplained in Smallville," Clark remembered, "they were all nearly meteor related, but this thing is different. But I don't think it just kill in this area, or greater Metropolis. Outside jurisdictions are having trouble connecting the missing persons, but I believe this thing has a greater range. A large conspiracy..."

Martha smirked, "You're starting to sound a little like Lex Luthor."

Clark looked at her, but he didn't disagree, "Maybe he wasn't wrong."

The guilt melted her smile from her face, "Clark, that man was a driven into madness. He virtually isolated himself to the point of insanity, following some unproven prophecy."

"Maybe I am a lot like him, then."

"No Clark, you have many friends left in this world."

"It's hard to see them when they're not here."

Martha looked after her son.

Clark rubbed his chest, and downed another cup of coffee and antacid. Between the stress and chain coffee drinking, chest pain riddled his day and kept him up at night. Sometimes the pain felt worse than that, and nothing helped.

"Honey," Martha warned, "I'm going to start limiting your intake of caffeine. It's not good for your heart."

Clark grimaced, and sipped from his mug, "I'm fine." Besides that, the smell of coffee was intoxicating. And comforting. He couldn't explain it to her, but it was good for him.

"You need to take care of yourself. You're not, you anymore."

Clark grimaced more.

Martha motioned for  him to sit next to her. When he did, Martha tenderly felt his forehead with the softness of her hand. Clark's eyes were trained on the steel box his father had found a long time ago. It sheltered a piece of meteor rock, small, but potent enough to take Clark down. Or, used to. The box was splayed open now, with the dull, black exterior of rock laid open to see.

 "You know," Martha said, grabbing Clark's hand, "when you were gone... I wasn't sure you would ever come back. I didn't know if you were alive, Clark. I always hoped, that you were invincible. But this thing that's crept up on us... it really is, isn't it? Invincible?"

Clark focused his eyes hard on the rock in front of him, "Dad always said there was an answer to every problem...And I think mine is getting my powers back and confronting this, monster. "

Martha grabbed his hand harder.

"I have to."


"I know," she said sadly, but then Martha let go of his hand and picked up one of the papers on his table. It wasn't like the others, this one smaller, flexible and illustrated quite beautifully, "What's this?"

"Oh," Clark frowned and then explained that it was a Tarot card. The sixteenth in series, the Tower.

Martha asked where it was from, and when he explained that too, she was visibly upset, "Clark! You can't still be seeing that sorceress?"

"Zatanna's one of the few friends I have left. She helped me before," Clark explained, and then placed the card in his palm, "although I have a difficult time understanding her riddles... Celestial magic is not too different than any other power I've seen."

"What does it mean?" Martha looked on curiously.

"I'm not sure. The tower resembles some great truth toppled from a construction of lies... and brought out for all to see. A revelation."

Clark placed the card in his pocket and picked up his jacket.

"Where are you going?"
"To find my revelation."

*

Outside, and few hours later, Clark fished out the tarot card and held it against the Metropolis skyline in the distance.

The Tower.

It's illustration was straight forward, a large castle tower rising above the skyline, a bolt of lightning striking its peak and cracking it in half.

Out of all the rigid silhouettes of Metropolis, one building stood out like a sore thumb. Clark squinted his eye, placing the card over the outline of Lexcorp. Seamlessly, the two images became one.


*

"I'm actually surprised you're here," Tess Mercer removed her safety glasses and her lab coat, "I was beginning to think you didn't take my apology seriously."

Clark adjusted his glasses, "I've been busy following my own research, Ms. Mercer."

"I see," she made an attempt to smile, but her curiosity overthrew it all, "Can I be of service?"

Once he explained to her his request, Tess seated herself behind Lex's old desk, his glass and steel decor made into her own. There was a picture of herself, and Lex standing next to a sign Cadmus Labs. "You want access to Lex Luthor's vault?"

"Lex collected many souvenirs related to the meteor infected," Clark explained plainly.

"Yes, I know," Tess leaned forward, "We had to move Lex's toys into the 'attic'."

"The attic?"

"'Attic,' father's old mansion..." Tess shrugged, "either way, I needed that warehouse space for something more productive."

"But the Luthor mansion was bulldozed years ago."

"Along with Kawatche caves, his Porsche and everything else..."

Clark watched Tess intently, "The caves?"

"Yes, Clark. I know about the caves. And I know what you're looking for. But it isn't there. Those 'souvenirs" are nothing but scraps of metal, some over studied meteor rocks, and dusty books."

*

Lex's final wishes did indeed include the destruction of Lionel Luthor's mansion. The details however were secretive, and obscure. Lex had the structure torn down brick by brick, as if searching for some clue inside.

Tess had the building blocks relocated to the underground of an outside facility. It was low security and unimpressive. A sad place for Lex's most valuable possessions to be stored posthumously. But Clark didn't have room to complain, and he certainly didn't protest when Tess volunteered to be his personal tour guide.

He watched her from the corner of his eye, wondering why exactly she was so eager to help him at all. She was very open about herself, and seemed to have no secrets about her business. Which was what threw Clark off, since she'd inherited a Luthor business, and that wasn't based off seniority.

The way she smiled at Clark frequently was what closed the circle. She was reading him, possibly using him for bait. But, for what?

Tess led Clark to the entryway for a vault, climate controlled. The ceiling flickered with fluorescence, the steel walls a cave. Inside, it was like a hoarder's dream. Items scattered everywhere, nothing catalogued. It looked exactly how Tess described, 'toys in the attic'.

Tess walked Clark to the front door of the Luthor mansion, now partially torn down and a skeleton of its one time beauty. Where the rest of the house was, Clark didn't know. Only a few stained glass remained. He could partially see Lex's reflection in them.

Tess crossed the threshold first, but had very little room to move from there. The entryway was stacked with art, books, and boxes....

"Lex was a very great collector," Tess smiled, "other's would say 'hoarder' but that meaning changes once you're filthy rich."

Clark knelt down and picked up the book stacked ontop of one of many stacks. "'Advances in Satellite Communications and Cosmos, by Dr. Virgil Swann.'"

"Looks like a heavy read."

"I had the same book," Clark stated, turning the volume around. It was then that Clark realized he was looking at his own life, collections of his past interests. Of Lex's interests. He remembered, as if he had forgotten, that he and Lex were friends once. Their ideals not far off from one another.

"Did Lex every tell you his theory of the meteor showers?"

Clark looked up, pushed up his glasses, "Not in full detail."

Tess nodded, "Well it goes like this: One day a piece of meteor rock carried a small boy to Earth... a boy who would destroy the world."

Clark eyes raised from the text, but he said little. "Interesting."

"Well, that's it in a nutshell. It was all lore and myth to me. In fact, it's a common archetype with ancient literature. I'm more into statistical data, fact based research.  If you want to know my theory..."

Clark raised an eye brow.

"Lex was an unstable psychopath. His personal trauma after losing his infant brother scarred the rest of his life. He used to tell me he was searching for his other half.. convinced that his own father was plotting against him somehow. He believed, his brother was alive."

"Julian?"Clark barely recalled.

"No," Tess shook her head, "Lex's other brother. Adopted."

Clark did not remember Lex mentioning another brother, but then again, that was a long time ago.

"Yes, Davis was killed in a car accident. Anyway, between that a losing Julian, Lex lost touch with his father and the rest of the world. He always had this.. invulnerability complex. I guess nothing like death brings mortality to life."

Tess through a smile at Clark, but it didn't fit right.

"Working under him was interesting to say the least," she aimlessly picked up a book and then set it down, "but I managed to come through with a little more than what I came in with. I've steered this corporation onto a more solid foundation this last decade. We are a scientific busness model that deals with genetic mutation as a byproduct of radiation.  No different than previous, curable infections. You were cured, of course.  This problem we're dealing with now, the Metropolis Monster,  is stronger than others. Infections grow resistant against cures, its the law of survival. Even disease wants to live."

"And you can cure it?"

"Cure it.. kill it. Which ever comes first," Tess said, then added, "Our... previous strategy of eliminating meteor freaks proved unsuccessful. I'd like to think it was poor management, but... " Tess shrugged, in a form of weak apology, "the strategy is changed now. Of course we know now that curing the disease is far more profitable than exterminating the source."

Clark nodded, "It's about  money."

Tess smiled, "LexCorp, partnered with Cadmus Labs, does plenty of humanitarian work, too."

Clark watched as the woman carried on as if she were a representative of Red Cross. To her, it was no different. To her, the past dealings of imprisoning meteor infected was out of sight, out of mind. But Clark did not have a clear conscious either. He was the one who helped people like Lex, and Tess, put them in Belle Reeve. He couldn't forgot that either.

Clark travelled further into the array of objects, some small, others very large. Once they reached the corridor of the mansion, Tess received a phone call and skittered away around the corner. Clark took the opportunity to snoop deeper, and disappeared beyond where the courtyard of the Luthor mansion used to be. There were several more wooden crates that had never been opened, stacked like discarded boxes of thoughts. Forgotten.  He tried to picture one of the Luthor parties out on the same courtyard. It was difficult to imagine that it was nearly fifteen years ago.

Clark looked at the aged crates, thinking, that this was all that was left of Lex Luthor. Of him.

 He kneeled down to one, touched the wood grain with his hand. In the distance, he saw the Porsche.

But within the quiet of the skeletal mansion, and of Clark's thoughts, he wondered if he hadn't taken a similar path as Lex? Both spent their lives searching for the truth in their origins, for proof of somethings existence. Clark, for so long wanting his origin to be different, and Lex, finding his birthright from his father.. Had they become much different? Both alone, both obsessed with finding peace within themselves. Tortured, restless men who squandered with their destinies.

Clark's hands wrapped around the torn roof of the car. Clark tried to remember how his hands once pried open steel like paper. His powers had been gone for a long while.

The Porsche. That day, had changed everything.

"Destiny," Clark whispered,  tears growing behind his eyes, "who knew I would come to an old friend for help, Lex?" He brushed his eyes against his shoulder and looked at the serene stillness of the remains, "I wonder how things would have ended differently if I never gave up on you. We were brothers, once."

The cab of the Porsche sat quietly, Clark leaning over it, his head on top of his forearm, "I need help. And I don't have many friends left. This thing, this monster. No one can defeat it. Not Oliver, not....  any type of cure.

What if you were right, Lex? What if I  set this thing out on earth?... If I can't fix this..."

Bits of broken glass sparkled from the floorboard, Clark closed his eyes. His mind was exhausted and he refused the idea of turning to anyone else. This was the end of the road, Zatanna's mysterious calling card the last card on the table. He'd come full circle, his hands clasping the wreck that started so long ago.

He looked among the collection of life, all very familiar to him like walking into your childhood room. There were parts of airplanes, trains, buildings which Clark vaguely remembered. News paper articles, some framed, and some cracked open as if Lex had just read them in his study.

 In a way, Lex's insatiable mind was here. Speaking to him. Urging him.

Clark's  eyes settled on a dark object buried some tarps , too obtuse to be missed, but dull and low key to be neglected among the more extravagant collection.

Closer inspection showed it to be very large, atleast the size of a work van. 

Its surface was dull, and dark.  He hesitated, his nerves recognizing the kryptonite before his eyes could. He stood a ways from it, his fingers itchy with phantom tremors. But, those were non existent too.

Clark reached out, and touched the surface.

Cold.

Cold to send chills up and down his body, but he couldn't let go. His flesh was pink, healthy. Untouched. Human.

This rock, the only alien part of him at that second.  He felt apart from it, like looking from outside his own body into a dream of an alternate world he once lived inside.

Clark leaned down, and inspected it further. His fingers tracing the same octagonal indention Chloe's had before. He hadn't known how close she was to finding the truth... but for some reason, he could feel her there too.

His hands moved slowly over the surface, the smooth undulations and pits to--

Clark jerked his hand away, the sudden jagged edge slicing his palm. Blood dripped down as he stared at the point which had cut him. The meteor rock was different there, angry, gnarly and fierce in its jagged pitch and peaks. He craned his body, seeing the full side that faced away from him. There were imprint marks, gnawed scars where something had scratched itself out. A part of Clark wondered if it was him who had gnawed out of this rock, becoming the human he was now. Blood seeped from his wound, and he reached for his chest as it began to ache.

*

"There you are," Tess exclaimed, as Clark joined her again in the corridor, "I was about to have security do a full sweep looking for you."


"Sorry," Clark pushed up his glasses, "I was just exploring."


"Right, well," Tess escorted him to the door, "I'm going to have this place double staffed. I found several locks broken. Someone has been filtering in and out, no doubt."

"Looters?" Clark asked mindlessly. He could only focus one thing right now, and it wasn't the potential for burglars.

"Probably," Tess shrugged, thinking nothing of it, "find anything worthwhile to your research, Mr. Kent?" then she noticed his hand, "What happened?"

"Cut myself." Clark stammered quickly, simply.

"I see that, nothing serious I hope?" Tess asked and then countered with, "Do you ever miss your meteor abilities?"


Clark tensed, still uncomfortable discussing the topic openly like most of the cured meteor infected did with the world. Even if it was out in the open, his secret of being different from the rest was kept closed. "Yes," was what he finally said after a long pause. He didn't care to say much more.

Tess nodded. "Well, even if some of the side affects of infection were, interesting, to say the least, the liability is just mind blowing. The world is safer now that we have infection under control."

Clark said nothing to that as well, but continued to grit his teeth, "There is one question... Lex acquired a collection of Dr. Swann's journals, once. They're missing from his collection now."


Tess nodded again, "some of the collection was sold, in private auction. If you want the particulars, you'll have to contact a rep in accounting."

Clark nodded, " I appreciate you helping me with this. I'm not sure why you are helping me, but I am grateful."

Tess smiled softly, "I'm not helping you Clark. You're helping me, of course."

"How's that?"

"Even after all your abilities gone... you still have one power that I don't. I understand the power of friendship, Clark. Even if I don't have many friends outside of the office, I know that its person favors that makes the world go 'round..."

Clark looked at her, "What do you want?"


*


Later on that night, Clark sat in his truck cab, a police scanner murmuring in the background. He contemplated Tess' proposition over a cup of coffee, the midnight traffic of Metropolis passing his side window. Clark rolled it down, condensation fogging his view of the city. This was the time of night when he thought of Chloe the most.

It wasn't sadness... it was something else.

Clark swallowed more of the hot liquid until it seared the inside of his mouth. He kinda liked the sensation now, the coffee sinking down into his chest and then his stomach, making him warm inside.

Everything else felt so cold in comparison. Even Tess' manipulations. They were similar to the touch of the meteor rock in his hand. If he had attempted to pick the green rock up before, it would have seared him. Not anymore.

He held a piece of it now in his palm. When it cut him, a part had broken off and found its way into his pocket. Clark studied it curiously, the sharp extrusions like obsidian.

He took another sip of coffee.

The scanner picked up traffic, PD dispatchers talking to units nearby. Unknown disturbance, several calls, possible overturned vehicle.

Clark hummed his truck to life, and turned his wheels to veer onto the street--

A speed bike cut Clark off at a high rate.  The rider was female, leather jacket and riding helmet, as far as Clark could tell. The passenger on the back, hugging close to her torso, was Jimmy Olsen. It didn't take Clark long to figure out who was driving.

"Lois." He revved up his truck's engine and ran the light. It was a frequent occasion that he ran into Lois and Jimmy these days. And it was frequent that his truck died before he could ever catch up with them on that damned bike.

Clark burned rubber, flying down the street. Only slightly louder than his truck's heavy humming, the police scanner screeched as police units ran hot towards the call. Being behind the action was also a side affect of being normal. Clark pulled in behind the flashing lights, the squad cars peeling away from his older, heavier truck.

But that was a good thing since the next intersection exploded with overturned cars.

Clark slammed on his brakes, hard.

He barely had time to avoid hitting Jimmy and Lois who skidded to the side. A wave of police vehicles swerved left, leaving Clark open on the right.

The monster, suddenly visible from the blackness of the night, jumped into the air and landed squarely on top of Clark's hood, pitting it to the ground.

Clark stumbled out of the cab and reeled back on his hands.

Police shot up the intersection, red and blue lights swirling all around. They opened fire.

Bullets bounced away like rubber balls...  And for a moment, the smallest of moments, Clark thought he was looking into his own reflection. These people feared it, and feared it greatly. The screams deafening even over the screaming of sirens.

But Clark awoke from his reflection, and realized that this beast, was not him. It's body was casted in rude, gnarled obstructions. Eyes bloodshot, and wrathful. His breath snorted out in deep, rancid puff when it stalked closer to him. And when it came close enough, Clark knew.

 From the corner of his eye, Jimmy snapped a flash photo. The flash drew the monster's attention for a brief moment, and then, longer.

"No!" Clark shouted suddenly, and fumbled with the meteor rock in his hand. He lifted it up in the air, but the scaly black mess turned towards him with no affect.

Clark grabbed his chest, the pain greater now. It was like his dream, the one where he was buried in the ground. He felt his mouth dry out with invisible sand.

The monster lurched towards him, drawn to him, more than anything else. Worse than that, the meteor rock angered it even more, slapping it from Clark's fist and grabbing him by his neck.

It's breath fogged Clark's glasses. It's growl, freezing his soul.

This was his nightmare.

Secret Chlark Fanfic

Secret Chlark Exchange:  a fic for simplytoopretty  

Request/Prompt:
Three things you would like in a fic: high school sleuthing,"monster of the week" scenario, someone wearing a trench coat to ameeting in a car parking lot
Three things you wouldn't like in a fic: post-high school setting, aliensattacking, Lana (Chloe-Lois friendship is fine)




the first time she wore the coat





Chloe Sullivan sat indian style on the cold floor of a police station. She would have preferred a chair, but those were all taken. She shivered slightly, her bare shoulders raised with goosebumps.  Had she known she'd spend the majority of a Thursday night at the coldest substation in Metropolis, she might have dressed better. She did have a coat, but that was consfiscated at the door. Everything she had was taken and bagged as property: her shoes, phone, coat, purse, camera and laptop. Everything. Now all she had was a slinky, empiress dress, and a shade of lipstick.  Even the blanket of hot, hungry stares from the grodiest men on the planet didn't help. After avoiding the hundreth cat call, she sighed and shivered again.

She'd never thought a police station be so... wild on a Thursday. Thugs, headbangers, drunks, cross dressers, all chatting and whining within the cinderblock halls. She was set aside in the overflowing hallway of the holding area. Her, the entire city and well, Clark Kent.

She glanced over at Clark, his pitiful, worrisome face creating an ugly face of guilt of her own. His hair looked roughed up and roguish. It went with his eyes which had become strangely distant and defensive. Like a sad, scared puppy in a corner. Or big puppy. Clark was entirely out of place from his homegrown, honest roots. He was virtually harmless to her, yet all the men in the room were intimidated by his size alone. She liked that about him. What could she say, she was his biggest fan. 

"It's all my fault," Chloe pled to him from across the hall, with several handcuffed thugs crossing by. Chloe jiggled her own cuffs, loosely fastened to her small wrists, but she wasn't going to complain. Clark's handcuffs looked like they were about to burst off his bones, they were so tight. Yet he didn't complain, either.

"No, it's my fault," Clark said yet again. He did this everytime she tried to apologize to him. She wondered if he really did think it was his fault they were stuck here, or if he just wanted her to feel better and shut up about it. Because right now he wasn't looking at her, nor was he directly speaking to her. He kept looking at his boots, thinking of who knows what..

Well, she did know, or had a good idea atleast. Knowing Clark, he was probably worrying about what his parents would say, or think. Or worse, do.

She saw Clark clench his arms in the way that he often did. He was stressing, bad. "Clark, it's going to be ok. I'll take the heat, all of it. It's my fault completely."
He tried to smile, tried anyway. His sad expression resembled that of that sickly kid from Ferris Bueller. The best friend, the guy in the hockey jersey... what was his name?

"Clark Kent!"

They both jumped as the police sergeant called from the doorway. Clark jumped to his feet and walked over.

"Ok Mr. Kent, come with me. Time to call your folks."

"No, wait!" Chloe joined them on their feet and blocked Clark's path. The sergeant eyed her skeptically, looking at the little thing guarding the larger, bulky thing behind her. "Please, if I could just call first, you see Clark's family is in Smallville, over three hours away..." Chloe looked between herself, the sergeant, and Clark, "I could make a phone call and have a parental guardian here within twenty minutes."

The sergeant continued to eye her, then looked to Clark. "Smallville, huh?"

"Yes, sir." Clark answered respectfully.

Chloe looked hoplessly at the police sergeant, her open, bright eyes and flippy hair begging him to just give them this one favor. And he did, leading Chloe to a old, wooden chair that was next to a out of century desk phone.

"One phone call," the sergeant warned, "They need to bring a state ID, and signature for your court date."

Clark's head sunk.

Chloe's lifted, "Yes sir, thank you sir."

The sergeant closed the door, momentarily muffling the cacophony outside. It left  Chloe and Clark alone, if only for a moment.

"Who are you calling?" Clark asked immediately.

"My cousin," Chloe responded just as quickly, the number already dialed and ringing, "Damn, voice mail."

Clark sighed heavily, "let me just call my dad."

"No, trust me on this."

"Chloe!" He lifted up his wrists, "I'm in handcuffs! You're in handcuffs! Let's just call my parents and get this over with." He never should have let this happen, but it had happened so fast!   It was supposed to be like any ordinary night, an investigation into the many items of Chloe's growing Wall of Weird. They drove to Metropolis this time, following one of Chloe's 'hunches'. They were looking for a 'flash' or a 'blur' as he was described. A figure in the night with superstrength and 'freakish' eyes.

Well, in the mists of the stake out, Chloe had made some comment about something or other, he couldn't remember now. He only remembered that they ended up laughing, giggling, and that she ended up partially wrapped around him. After that, he couldn't remember anything except that Chloe was so close, so...

And then the cops showed up and the party was over. One moment he and Chloe were onto... something,  and the next, he had a flashlight in his face.

 If he were alone he would have sped away and left it at that. But he couldn't leave it at that, he couldn't leave Chloe to fend for herself. Nor could he do anything else but take the hit with her.

And thus, why they were here. Curfew violation. Even if it was a tiny charge, it was a big mark against Clark. He could see the disappointment on his dad's face now... 

"Clark, you know the moment your parents get here that will be the end of your summer. You'll be chained to the barn, mucking out horse poop and shoveling hay until you've graduated and I will never see you again! I can't let that happen. "

"I know but," Clark leaned against the desk, "my parents are going to find out eventually. I can't hide anything from them, especially being arrested."

"We're not arrested, Clark. We're juveniles, we're being 'detained'."

"Same difference."

"Big difference," Chloe looked at him, "it's only a ticket for curfew violation. Big whoop. We go to court, pay the fine and it get's wiped clean."

Another sigh from Clark, "I've just never been in trouble with the law before."

Chloe couldn't resist a small chuckle, "you're kinda cute, you know that?"

"Me?"

"'Cos!" Chloe strangled the phone, "Hey! Guess what?"

*

"Oh my god!" Chloe tore up the plastic baggy confining all her things, "I've never felt so in the dark before! It's like man discovering fire for the first time!" She turned on her cellphone and both of their faces beamed with fresh light.

They were released from custody once Lois Lane arrived, signed, and gave Chloe a 'stern talking to' in front of the desk sergeant. Fortunately, the sergeant turned out to be one of General Sam Lane's old war buddies. A few minutes of sharing battle scars and stories later, the sergeant happily tore the ticket and court dates up, laughed about it, and waved them goodbye as they walked out the door. 

Clark shook out his red jacket and moved them both out of the line at the property counter, "C'mon, before they change their mind. "

Clark heard a low whistle, one last cat call as Chloe crossed the floor. Protectively, Clark moved in between her and swooped her coat around her shoulders.  "Chloe, jeeze, would ya put this on  already?"

Lois smirked and hugged her cousin, " what's the matter, Big Guy? Jailhouse make you territorial?"

Clark eyed Lois, "No. Protective. Entirely different."

"Whatever," Lois rolled her eyes, and walked off, "I'm going to get the car."

The sidetalk was missed on the shorter, bouncy-haired one, her blonde head buried in her phone messages, "Please, please, I hope he's still willing to meet."

Clark then saw her fingers working vigorously over her phone, "Chloe, we're going home."

"No, the night's still young," Chloe persisted, "we can still do this. There's no sense going home now, not when we're so close!"

Clark palmed his forehead and rolled his eyes, hard. She didn't know when to quit. Even with a 'hiccup' like being arrested didn't shift her drive. In some way, Clark knew this being arrested business somehow lit her fire even brighter. He could see it now: 'Chloe Sullivan, junior reporter arrested while undercover.'

The idea of sending his best friend, alone, to meet some 'stranger' in the city wasn't great to begin with. That's why he had agreed to being dragged along. Chloe had set herself up on this date to meet  who she suspected was a meteor infected teen inside Metropolis. She had followed reports of a kid zipping through the city, in speeds faster than a bullet. Literally. He had reportedly dodged several bullets when confronting a batch of robbers. And off the record, it was true. Clark had the bullet holes in his old jacket to prove it. But all that had been tucked safely away at home, and away from Chloe.

 Truth be told, he was partially relieved they'd been picked up and booked at MPD tonight. He thought that would be enough to deter her little undercover operation and send them home, safe. With his secret safe.

In fact, the idea of coming to the city tonight became worse and worse as time went on. Clark spied Chloe off to the side. Her eyes were all wired like she'd been fed some motivational crack. They were alive and hopeful, excited. Almost like a sugar-fed, hyper kid. It reminded him of that time he pulled his parent's refrigerator down to get to his Christmas presents that were 'hidden' ontop. He couldn't stand not knowing what was in the boxes, the mystery. He was four, and ripped them all apart on the kitchen floor in 3 seconds flat.

Clark swallowed, watching the ideas swirl in Chloe's eyes... Didn't she always say that he acted mysterious?   "Chloe! It makes all the sense in the world we should go home! We were just arrested! And you want to go back out there and hunt down this-- this--"

Chloe stopped, phone to her ear,  turned around and faced him square in the eye, "Clark, I can't believe you of all people would turn your back from this!"

He choked, well on the inside he choked. But she still saw him hesitate, only a little. It was obvious by now when Clark Kent was about to deviate from the truth. "Chloe, we're kids, ok? We should hand this over to police while we're here and step aside."

"You know any case involving meteor freaks are shoved aside by police," Chloe waved her hands in the air, something she did very rarely, but only when her passion overpowered her tiny exterior, "This could be a big break for us! Meteor infected, outside of Smallville! And in Metropolis of all places!  What bigger break could shed light on this?"

More quietly she added, "I thought you would support me on this."

"I do!" Clark said defensively, "I just don't support you chasing after this..." he avoided saying 'freak', "thing by yourself."

And then she gave the cutest fist bump to his shoulder and said, "That's why I've got you here."

"Me?" Clark said, choking again. She saw his eyes pouring over into pools of over thinking and teenage anxiety, "What am I supposed to do?"

Across the street, a telephone booth rang.

She smiled, "Just be you."

Clark paused, smiled, and then nodded. He breathed for once in the entire night, watching as his friend paced back and forth on the damp Metropolis cement. She looked covert in the dark trenchcoat she chose to wear, almost like a character from a detective story. He had never seen her wear it before, and he wondered if it were something she had saved for the special occassion.

 Here in the city, Chloe vaguely resembled the girl he knew in Smallville. She didn't look like ahighschool girl, she looked, grown up. Gone were the flashy colors and playful, chuny accessories. She wore subtle shades of grey and rose that seemed to accentuate her natural beauty. He watched as the lamp lights illuminated her golden, short hair as she stepped inside and out from its glow.  But her eyes, they stayed bright even in the twilight. They were alive, like his.

"He's not answering anymore." Chloe sighed, phone to her ear.
Clark very gently returned the fist bump to her shoulder, "well, night's still young right?"
She smiled, her eyes casually veering over to the ringing, red telephone booth. "Ha, what are the odds, right?"

Clark invisibly smiled. "Right."

After a several more long moments, Chloe's suspicions overgrew her doubts. Clark very calmly walked across the street, and picked up the receiver, held it to his ear.

In her ear, the ringing ceased, and then she heard Clark on the other end,

"Odds are good tonight."

It almost took her breath away. And then suddenly, she felt fooled like a child. "I can't believe this. Right across from the police station." She felt silly,  but in he smallest way, she felt she needed someone to answer her call. To see Clark across the street, looking at her through the lonely telephone booth which she imagine he would, comforted her some.

"Well, it makes sense. He probably takes the crooks to this station, calls you with the info and then speeds away, "Clark offered, very reasonably at that.

Chloe closed her phone, and thus their converstation.

Across the street, Clark dug in his pocket for change and dialed.

Her phone rang, "Hello?"

"Chloe, you tried."

"Clark," she turned back around, "stop it. Lois will be back any moment." She watched as several cars passed by, waiting for Clark to give up, but he wouldn't. Now it was his turn to be stubborn.

"Why is meeting this guy so important to you anyway?"

Chloe frowned, "What do you mean?"

She could hear the smile in his voice, "Well, you made this big deal tonight to come into the city to meet him. You got dressed up, dragged me with you--"

"Dressed up? What am I supposed to wear, jeans and a Smallville High t-shirt?"

 Did it show that bad? she wondered. It was funny how a different set of clothes could change you, how it impowered you. Chloe wore the dress and trenchcoat to go for the whole undercover feel. It made her feel more adult, more feminine. Confident. Sexy even.

"You're avoiding the question."

Chloe stood silently for a moment, her thoughts collecting, her seemingly aimless paces becoming faster and suddenly more deliberate. "Ok, fine. I thought he would be different, you know? All these stories I've pasted to the Wall of Weird, not one of them had a happy ending. This guy, he's different. He's not some freak that we're used to. He does good with his meteor abilites. I wanted to know, why?"

"Why... he does good?"

Chloe sighed, "why he does anything at all when the rest of the world is so ready to turn their backs away? I guess, I just wanted to know if he was  real."

His voice was deeper over fuzz of the telephone, "He is real."

On the other end of the phone, Clark heard her soft sigh again, "Then why did he chose me? Why does he--"

"Trust you?" Clark offered, "Maybe..." he looked through the small glass window, her form backlit by the same lamp light, "maybe, because he knows he can?"

Chloe hugged her phone tighter as Clark whispered, "Maybe he's read your articles at the Torch. Maybe he's a big fan of yours... Maybe he wants you to know that not all of them, are bad."

There were a few quiet moments on the line..

"A fan, huh?"

Clark smiled, "Yeah, maybe."

Somewhere deep down from her memory, Chloe laughed and said, "You know, in a way he reminds me of you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Chloe thoughtfully said, "you help people all the time, Clark. Readily and selflessly. Only difference is that he has superpowers and you don't."

"Yeah, well," Clark said quietly, "I just do what's right, that's all."

"Yeah, you do." Chloe smiled, and then closed her phone for the second time... 'C'mon Clark," she shouted across the street, "let's go home?"

Clark smiled, and placed the phone back on his hook. It seemed that he too, was off the hook, for now.  He walked over and naturally placed his arm over Chloe's shoulders and escorted her down the street where they spotted the tail light's of Lois' car.

"So," Clark said, his spirit lifted after the eventful night, "I guess technicially I don't have to tell my parents about this little run in with the police, right? Luckily Lois saved us back there, I guess I owe her one."

"Yeah," Chloe said, and then thoughtfully added, "although there is the part about them towing your truck..."

Clark winced, and then palmed his face for the second time that night. "Dad's truck!"

Together, they strolled down the sidewalk,  Chloe tucked underneath Clark's arm and with her head towards the sky. In the distance, she saw a vision of what the future might be.  A feeling  that the future was happening to her, right now. The curve of time where everything in the present reflected what was to be. That it was meant to be. 

She looked up at Clark, the silohuette of his face cutting shapes across Metropolis.  Behind him was the Planet.

"What?" Clark asked as he looked over at his grinning partner in crime.

"I was just thinking," Chloe said, the smile overcoming her, "I could get used to this."

Clark smirked, "Hopefully, you don't mean being arrested."

"Oh, I dont know..." Chloe joked, "if this journalism thing doesn't pan out..."

"Should I just call you Bonnie from now on?"

"Only if I can call you Clyde."

*






*

no ordinary world 11

11



Laid upon the steel and glass desk were the latest empirical data sheets. Numbers and figures. Pictures. Anything and everything a researcher could assemble in the event of something big, controversial.

"Clark Kent, man or... super-man," Lex tossed the pages across his desk and bridged his fingers. These were not the usual data sheets that he had mindlessly skimmed through for years. These chats were recorded after the new direction change. The experiment within the experiment. The breaking of a man, or something other of it.

Across from Lex where his army of nodding heads, drowned in white lab coats. Everyone of the researchers shared the same, subordinate expression and bland look. "I've read your reports. Now, tell me what they mean. Is he dangerous, or not?"

"He has a bone density one hundred times greater than our own, " a more senior researcher replied, "added with his enhanced strength, this makes him very... advantaged."

"Advantages only under certain radiation waves," Lex reminded curtly, "don't forget that we are in the control seat here, doctor. In the end, we have all the advantages."

"Of course," the doctor nodded, but glanced skeptically at the others.
This was not lost on Lex, "What?" he asked immediately, "You don't agree?"

Suddenly, all doubts vaporized. "No, Mr. Luthor. You are correct. The radiation levels are secured and are the project's most valuable tool in controlling the subject. Although Clark is exhibiting similar effects to the radiation as the others, we are still in complete control."


Lex picked up the two magnetic marbles and spun them in his palm, "Continue."

Bowing his head, the non descript doctor read from his papers, "Along with the aforementioned heightened abilities, the subject also experienced an acute hearing gain, as well as mild complaints of eye irritation."

Lex laughed, "Allergies?"

"I think not, sir." The doctor flipped through the paper, "the complaints correlate with an elevation of body temperature."

"Is he, sick?"

"We don't know. All we do know is that the temperature levels were that of combustion levels."


*

"Is he, sick?"

Martha Kent stood beside her blonde, fair eyed guest. Both she and Chloe stood outside stairs to the Kent's cellar, a place where Clark had disappeared two hours ago.

"I don't know what's wrong with him," Martha said, a half truth. It had been three days since Clark caught the milk truck single handedly. At first he was in denial, searching for any other explanation other than... the truth.

But soon after, other symptoms arose.

Chloe stood patiently with Martha, "Has he eaten anything?"

"Not since yesterday morning," Martha shrugged, and then waved the plate of dinner in her hands.  "Why don't you take it to him, dear? Clark always did confide in you the most."

Chloe looked back at Martha, recognizing kindness in the woman's eyes. In them, she saw the genuine worry of a mother. The woman had truly raised Clark from the beginning of the extensive project, and was one of the last original cast members. Someone who actually remembered what the initial project was about.

Chloe took the plate of food and approached the cellar doors cautiously. She bent down and pulled the rope which levered the door wide...

Down the hole was dark except the sole, flickering lamplight somewhere below. Like a cave, she wondered how often Clark ventured down there to escape from his reality. Chloe descended the stairs, ducking her head as she did. Beneath her foot crunched a little brown box, opened, empty and left laying on the cement floor. "Clark?"

 "I'm busy."

A flat answer was all she got, but she knew by hidden monitoring and intel that Clark had done nothing all night and morning except stare at a bucket of greasy tools.

Chloe turned around a corner of the cellar and found Clark sitting... moping, on a stool. His face was dimly lit, the flicker of the kerosene lamp warming his face. It was a man huddled in the bleakest of flame. A minute version of the monster that had come down upon Clark and destroyed him. The kerosene fire was a beast of its own right if let out of its tiny capsule; a fire lit within Clark so terrible that all who watched him now, wondered, if he too would ignite and spread like Hell on Earth. 

 Clark's eyes bore into the wick, his mind, elsewhere.

"What are you doing down here?"

"I'm working," was all that Clark said as he sat, his back turned from a giant, tarped object behind him.

Chloe marveled at its size, not imagining that the Kent's cellar would have ever been this large. She figured a whole trailer could've been parked down there.

 She nodded to Clark and juggled the plate of food, "Care to take a break and join us upstairs?"

"I told you, I'm busy."

"I see that," Chloe replied, setting the plate on the work table behind him. "Can I join you?"

Clark's deep blue eyes never looked her way. They stared ahead, his fist underneath his chin and leaning to one side. Like a marble statue of David, a Michelangelo. His eyes spoke for him.

Chloe found a wooden work stool and sat down next to Clark. "Clark, your mother is worried."

"She should be. I'm a freak of nature."

"No," Chloe said reassuringly, "you're absolutely fine. There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for what happened. We just have to find it. And you wont find it here, hiding from the world."

"I'm not hiding."

"Right," Chloe said mirthlessly, "you're busy. Got it. Can I interrupt for a second?"
Out from the dark, Clark felt her hands gather around his from beneath him, tugging him up from his work bench. "What are you doing?"

"I'm interrupting you for a second," Chloe said, pulling him up the stairs, " I promise, after we make sure you eat and..." Chloe made a playful stinky face, " and shower, I'll leave you alone."

"I can't-" Clark pulled his hand away, "I can't go up there."

"Why?"

"Outside, it--" Clark's eyes clouded over, "It makes me..."

She stepped closer to him, "What happens to you?"

Even he didn't know how to explain it, just only shook his head, his hands self consciously rubbing each other. "I just can't, Chloe."

She looked at him, really looked. "Don't ever tell me that."

From beneath his dark hair, Clark met her eyes. They watched as she marched over to the tarp in the center of the cellar, reached for an edge and ripped it away from the bulky object it covered. She paused, seemingly shocked by what she found underneath it. When she turned to face him, her eyes were questioning, curious. "Why would you keep this?"

His response was genuine, "I don't know."

This time, she walked to him, and gently placed her hand inside of his, and just held it there. She made no effort to pull or push him anywhere. She understood now, that his entire life had been directed by one invisible force or another.

Clark stayed quiet a few moments, looking down at their hands. "She wont talk to me. She thinks I'm the one who started the fire."

"What?" Chloe's response was genuine. "Why would Lois think that?"

"Because of what happened yesterday... I went to talk to her at the hospital. She--we, we argued and I was so angry-I..." he trailed off, "I've never been so angry before."

"Clark, it's ok." Chloe took his cheek in her other hand, "you had an argument that's all--"

"I set the bed on fire."

Chloe blinked, "What?"

"I--I don't know, I don't know what happened!" Clark turned in on himself, "Then she said she wanted a divorce, and she wont talk to me--" Clark rambled off again, trying to live it down. "Everyone is afraid of me, Chloe."

Confidently, she took his hand that was still in possession of hers, and squeezed it, hard. "I'm not, Clark. I never have, and never will be."

*

Out from the mouth of the cellar, Chloe emerged, towing Clark behind her. One of his hands was thrown across his ear, expecting to hear the voices, but they were no longer there.

 Martha Kent smiled ear to ear, acting as if everything were normal. She took Clark's other arm and led them both to the house.

"I made apple pie, Clark. Your favorite." Martha said, nodding thankfully to Chloe.

"I'm not really hungry," Clark said, opening the porch door.

"You will be," Martha said winking, "after that first bite, there might not be any left for me or--"
Martha paused, "Oh, honey?" she said, speaking to Chloe, "you are staying for dinner, right?"

*

Dinner was over, only scraped plates and empty glasses piled next to the kitchen sink. Chloe watched as Clark washed each dish very gently like one would a infant. His hands moved slowly over the delicate surface as if he knew she were watching him. Calculating him. Proving to her, and him, that he could indeed, be careful with his strength.

He handed her the dish to dry, which she did very pleasantly, "We make quite the team."

Clark's expression changed, he was no longer thinking of the sud collecting around his wrists, "I always knew that."

The wistful sadness in his voice prompted her to remain quiet, the mutual feeling resonating in the kitchen. The faucet whirred quietly, water washing soap from his arms. He had strong arms. 

Clark reached for his wedding ring, which he had removed to do dishes, and placed it back on his finger. "I can finish up here, Chloe. Thanks."

"Ok," she leaned against the counter, the quiet moment over, "I can see that's the brush off but the journalist in me wants to know more. You have to talk about it with someone Clark."
He continued washing dishes.

"That person used to be me," Chloe prompted, hoping that he'd loosen up,"before, we could talk about everything--"

"And then you left." Clark passive-aggressively slammed the dish on top of the others. He had done it without intending to, and also started himself along with her.

The kitchen became quiet again. Clark stood motionless with the sink running hot. Steam rose as clouds, and in that moment they were both drifting through it.

 Chloe held onto the counter for courage, for the break in her voice was not in character any longer,  "I didn't want to."

Martha entered the kitchen, walking to the sink to place the silverware, the cloud breaking. "Oh, Clark! I think that's enough steam to drive a train, don't you think?"

He was staring at Chloe, "I'm sorry." Yet she knew he wasn't apologizing for the sink, for his mother, or anything that was happening now. He was apologizing for some other part, a lingering feeling that habitually grew and lifted like a cloud. Dark now inside Clark, that she could see it shade his eyes when he looked at her from the other side of the small kitchen.

His body hunched slightly at the sink, like a caged animal would if he knew he'd never escape.

"Chloe," Martha noted very perkily,"I hadn't commented before, but you look gorgeous in that dress. A perfectly beautiful grown woman you turned out to be."

She looked down at herself. It was a simple cut dress the costume department had suggested. She didn't ordinarily wear dresses in everyday life, and it seemed inappropriate to wear it here as well. Yet, they were packaging her, primping and selling her. To him. To Clark.

They had done it before, selling her camaraderie to him at a young age. Yet, she could feel the marketing had a different purpose now. She felt that they were advertising her body, her image, as something else.

Self consciously, she covered her self by casually crossing her arms, "Thank you."

"The city certainly did you wonders, you look so grown up. Aren't you glad you're home?"
Clark visibly bristled, "Mom, you've asked her that several times already."

This, a sharp remark from Clark, was atypical, "Well," Martha smiled nervously, "I suppose I'm just expressing my own relief that she's returned to us. I've never had a daughter, but I've always thought of Chloe as my own."

Clark stilled, "Lois is your daughter-in-law."

Her smile tweaked, "Well, yes. But, it's never felt the same. Chloe and you were such old friends..."

"I'm going to make coffee!" Chloe chimed in over enthusiastically, she pointed to an unplugged coffee maker, "does this thing work?"

"Let me," Clark moved towards her, it, and filled the pot with water, "I need to practice anyway, for Lois."

Chloe winkled her middle brow, but smiled anyway.

"I'll be in the living room if you need me," Martha nodded and exited through the hall.

Chloe watched as she left, and then felt as if she wanted to escape too. This situation, this tension in the room. Clark was saying nothing. Not anything about himself, or her, or her, his own wife. She wondered how much he missed her, he seemed to. But she couldn't help but think his emotion in his words were a little acted. Compulsory. Obligated. As if Clark himself was no longer the man people acted around, and turned into one of the actors himself. She knew that little of anything of his life had been left up to him. So many researchers, fringe scientists manipulating the little details up to the big ones, like his life with Lois. She wondered, if Clark had settled for what his life had turned out to be. If he would be content living that way.
Did he have a choice, anyhow?

Clark dipped the scoop into the coffee can, intent of the perfect measurement of dark grounds...

Chloe slipped out through the hall, feeling forced out from the kitchen as Clark consciously avoided her presence. She could hear the coffee drip as her fingers traced pictures strewn on the wall of the hall. There was one of Clark, Martha and the departed Jonathan. She remembered that last day. The day they killed Jonathan Kent.

The man who played Johnathan was a kind man. Unusually kind, and intelligent. Outside of the set, he was a philosopher, a humanitarian, a sociologist. He wrote books about the measures of society. Of collective fear.  Or more specifically, the fear brought upon the arrival of a small child.

He had known nothing about farming, or being a father, the man himself had no biological children. But he had raised Clark, and done so with under restrictive rules. Jonathan Kent worked hard to make Clark's childhood a wonderland of freedom. Imagined freedom. Of hard work, of growing up on a small farm.

It was the other people who raised Clark like a one would a rare crop. A child, under a heated microscope.

With the death of Jonathan Kent, so died Clark's hero.

"I miss him." Clark appeared beside her, holding her coffee in his hands.

She gingerly received the mug and smiled softly, "I do too."

She brought the brim of the mug to her lips, and she noticed that Clark was watching her very carefully. "What?"

"Nothing. Go ahead."

She paused, his look so cautious that it made her skeptical, "What? Did you put something in here?"

"Huh?" Clark blinked, "Just cream and a little sugar."

Chloe narrowed her eyes, and then bravely took a sip.

And then immediately spat violently into the mug.

"What?" Clark looked at her very concerned, surprisingly at the coffee, not her, "What does it taste like?"

"Terrible--" she barely choked, "Clark, what did you put in here?"

He shook his head, "Just cream.. sugar.. I don't understand."

"Lois drinks this stuff at home?" Chloe asked jokingly, wiping her lips.

He looked dejectedly at the mug. "Lois said it was fine, I knew he was lying to me."

"Well, Clark..." she walked back into the kitchen and investigated the cause. Next to the coffee maker was the evidence, still laid out for her. She picked up the inconspicuous 'sugar' jar and dipped her finger in it, tasted.

"There's your culprit."

Clark joined her, and mimicked her actions. "Salt?"

"It's ok," she said, partially hiding her laugh, "It's easy to get these things mixed up. They do look so alike."

"Yet, completely different." Clark smirked, and then added, "I guess it's just the little details...

Clark poured out the coffee pot, "I wonder how many times she was going to drink this crap before she told me the truth... that's what I don't understand. Lois used to be so lovable, so agreeable, so... I don't understand why she wont talk to me anymore. She wont even let me explain."

"She's in shock, Clark. She was very close to being, killed." Chloe relucted to say it, but it was true. Lex and his crew had gone too far. Those were real flames, real smoke. And even if it were all a massive charade, these were real people. And as she had learned after she'd left the secretive walls of the project, the creators had killed before to protect their secrets.

"She can't think I set that fire. I would never hurt her. I wouldn't hurt anyone!"

"I know," Chloe soothed, "but you need to give her space, for now."

"I've never seen her mad  before."

"I have," Chloe said, "she can be a real spitfire, but it's usually over in a few days."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Chloe lied, "she is my cousin after all."

"I'm thinking about what you said before. About us leaving Smallville."

"You and Lois?"

"Well, Lois doesn't want to see me now. I was thinking you could take her to Metropolis. For me."

All she could do was nod, "Of course, Clark."

"Metropolis has better medical facilities there. I need her to be safe. Until I can figure out who this Lex Luthor is."

Chloe wondered if he was still ruming for that name. It was the biggest lead Clark had. Unfortunately, everything after the name didn't exist here. Lex Luthor, was a myth. 

"I think you're right. Maybe some space, some fresh air will help her calm down."

"It would do us all good," Chloe added, and then added again,"in fact, I think I'll take some fresh air right now. I'll see you later, Clark."

"You're leaving?"

"Yeah, I..." she shrugged, knowing nothing else but the truth, "I need to speak to Lois."

"Wait," Clark followed her to the door, "Promise me you'll be careful."

She smiled, a little surprised that Clark thought she had anything to worry about. But in his perspective, everyone around him had been a potential target. The more she thought about it, the more she realized he was right to worry.

She tightened her grip on her purse strap and grinned, "I'll keep an eye out."