Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Clark/Chloe futurefic
6500 words
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the WB and DC Comics, not to me.
It had been years since she'd seen him. She'd cried when he left, for days and days, then stoically gone back to work and tried to go on without him. It hadn't been easy, especially when he never emailed or called or tried to communicate with her. She figured he'd been busy doing "hero stuff," but that didn't make it much easier to bear.
But now he was back in Metropolis. She knew the mysterious caped guy flying around saving people had to be him, even though no one had yet gotten a photo of him, because after all, who else could it be? She'd been trying to track him down for the past month, interviewing the people he'd saved, trying with increasing desperation to find him, but with no success.
Part of her was overjoyed he was back, and part of her was seriously pissed off that he hadn't bothered to come by her apartment, or the Daily Planet offices, to say hello.
She was the one who'd come up with the appellation of Superman, a name that now appeared on an almost daily basis in the pages of the Daily Planet, and she'd picked it mostly because she knew it would annoy him. He'd never thought of himself as super. He'd always just wanted to be a regular guy.
But she'd known he wasn't just an ordinary guy, and she'd understood she might lose him eventually. Her aching misery at losing him had been alleviated just a bit by the knowledge that somewhere, he was helping people, doing what he'd been born to do.
When he finally came back, though, she'd at least expected he'd come see her and explain why he'd left so abruptly. But he hadn't.
Obviously she'd never meant that much to him at all. This morning, angered by the thought, she'd grabbed the photo of him that sat in the place of honor on her bedside table, and shoved it into a drawer.
But almost immediately, she'd put it back on the table. Because no matter how he felt about her, no matter that four years had gone by without any word from him, she'd always loved him, and she always would.
Now she was about to get her head blown off, and she wished desperately she'd gotten a chance to see him, just one more time. She would have given anything to see him before she died. But it was too late now.
Which was unfortunately typical of her relationship with him.
This morning she'd left her apartment and headed for the Daily Planet, the Metropolis newspaper where she worked. She'd dropped by a coffee shop on the way, the very same coffee shop she visited every morning, and suddenly found herself in the middle of a holdup.
A gun was pressed against her head. Crap. She hated having guns pointed at her head. It did unpleasant things to her blood pressure.
"Give me the money, now!" the man holding the gun screamed.
She looked at the clerk with pleading eyes. Some things were worth dying for, but the hundred or so dollars in a Starbucks register wasn't one of those things. Come on, she thought desperately. Just give him the money.
The clerk fumbled at the cash register. "Okay," he said, looking almost hysterical. He was a pimpled kid who couldn't have been more than sixteen, and he was obviously scared out of his mind. "Take it easy, man. I'm getting it together as fast as I can."
Obviously the kid wasn't stupid enough to try to play hero. Thank God, she thought, and relaxed just a little. Maybe she wasn't going to get her head shot off after all. Because yeah, Mondays sucked, but having her brains splattered all over Starbucks would just make the day a whole lot worse.
The guy pushed her up to the counter and took the bag of money the clerk shoved at him.
"All right," she said, keeping her voice as level as humanly possible. She'd been in a lot of stressful situations over the years, but this one was taxing her ability to remain calm. A gun in the proximity of her brain didn't make her feel especially relaxed. "You've got your money. Let me go, okay?"
"Don't be stupid," the gunman growled. "You're my ticket to freedom, pretty lady."
Crap. Somehow she'd known he was going to say that. Because it was a Monday, and nothing ever went right on a Monday.The guy dragged her out the door, the gun still pressed firmly against her head. She could hear sirens in the distance, but that didn't particularly relieve her, because the cops weren't going to be able to do anything besides get into a standoff with this guy, and that might lead to her getting shot. She wasn't at all in favor of that.
Panic swelled in her chest, choking her.
And then there was a sudden flash of crimson and blue and gold, and the gunman was ten feet away from her, sprawled on the ground and groaning.
She looked around, but the flash of color was gone. He'd saved her. He'd been two feet away from her, and she'd missed him. Damn it. Damn him.
How dared he leave without even speaking to her?
Pain and rage burst inside of her, and she opened her mouth and yelled with sudden fury, a fury that had been building up inside of her for the past four years.
"Clark! Damn you! Get back here!"
Read Chapter 2 here.
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