Season 8 (some SPOILERS mixed with my own imagination)
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
They beat her every day. And every day, she mumbles his name under her breath, pleading for help that never comes. After all these weeks, she still whispers his name with reverence, like a prayer for deliverance.
If he could hear her, she knows he'd come.
But he hasn't heard her. And worse than the pain of being beaten, of being kicked and slugged and spat upon, is the pain of her anxiety that he might be dead.
He must be dead.
She can't imagine anything else that would keep him from her.
She's huddled on the floor, trying unsuccessfully to curl into a defensive ball, while the agent in charge kicks her in the ribs. It hurts. She's pretty sure she has several cracked ribs by now. God knows she's bruised enough, her skin mottled purple and green and yellow, a horrible patchwork of fading bruises and newer ones all over her midsection.
It's been weeks, and she's almost given up faith. He isn't coming. For whatever reason, he can't be there to save her.
The thought breaks her, more than the torture ever has. Tears well up in her eyes, and her fists knot, clenching against the pain that floods her.
And for the last time, she opens her mouth and whispers through her bleeding lips, a final, desperate prayer.
There's a familiar whooshing sound, and the dull thudding noise bodies make when they're tossed into cinderblock walls. And then someone is kneeling beside her, and a warm, huge hand is squeezing hers.
"Chlo." His deep baritone voice sounds quavery, like he might just be crying. "Oh, my God. Chloe... oh, Chlo..."
She's got a new black eye, but she manages to force her eyes open, because after all these weeks, she can't believe it's really him. He's kneeling over her, in a gray shirt-- Clark Kent in gray, imagine that-- his overlong hair falling over his forehead in dark waves, stubble covering his jaw. His eyes are wide with horror as he stares at her, and she realizes she must look pretty bad.
"You came," she whispers.
"I couldn't--" His voice breaks, and he swallows, makes that impatient jerk of the head that guys make when they can't quite keep the tears back. "Jor-El took my powers, Chlo. One of his stupid punishments. I've been... I've been in Russia... I didn't have superspeed, or superhearing... if I'd heard you... if I could have come to you..."
His voice trails off, and she understands. She always knew he would have saved her if he could have. He would never have left her here to suffer voluntarily. There are some constants in her life, some rock-solid truths, and one of them is that she and Clark are there for each other, always, unless some greater force intervenes.
He looks around, still blinking hard, his gaze sliding over the blank cinderblock walls that have bounded her world for these many weeks. When he looks back, there's a rage burning in his eyes that's hotter than anything she's ever seen there before.
"I need to get you out of here," he says, hoarsely. "I can't call an ambulance-- I mean, it's the government, Chlo. But when I pick you up, it's going to... it's going to hurt."
"I understand," she whispers. "Just get me out of this place, Clark. Take me home."
He hesitates a second longer, clearly afraid of hurting her, then picks her up, very carefully. And oh God, it does hurt, so badly she bites her lip to keep from crying out. Despite her effort, a moan escapes her, and he looks down at her, his eyes filled with a pain that reflects her own.
"I'm sorry, Chlo."
"Don't worry about it." She can barely force the words out past the agony. "Just... take me home."
He nods. There's a sudden blur around her as he jumps into superspeed, and she relaxes against his big, solid chest, slowly drawing in a breath. Because she's finally in Clark's arms, and for the first time in weeks, she feels like she can breathe. For the first time in weeks, she knows everything's going to be okay.
His name rises to her lips in a grateful prayer as he carries her home.