Invulnerable

Clark/Chloe angst
Season 9
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Screencap from Kryptonsite.

He could be hit by a truck and hardly notice it.

He could jump off the edge of the Grand Canyon and land at the bottom unscathed.

He could be hit by a falling meteorite, and walk away none the worse for wear.

Nothing on earth could hurt him... except for Chloe Sullivan.

*****

"Chloe... you're not serious."

He knew he sounded plaintive, almost pathetic, but he couldn't help it. He stared at her, wide-eyed. She didn't seem to be swayed by his puppydog eyes, the way she always had been. She stared back, unblinking.

"I'm very serious," she said, her face as blank as the dark computer screens that surrounded them. "I don't want to be friends any more. Not after what you did. What you said."

"I was wrong." He shifted from one foot to the other. "I was upset, Chloe. I was freaking out."

"As opposed to me," she said dryly. "Because Jimmy was so much more important to you than he was to me."

"No. I mean, I know you were upset. I knew that, but I..."

"But you thought it would be a good time to walk away and leave me totally alone anyway." She sighed. "Clark, you haven't always been the greatest friend in the world, but I never, ever thought you'd walk away and leave me alone when I was grieving."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Sorry's a nice word," she said coolly. "But it doesn't do much to make up for the three weeks I've spent crying into my pillow every night."

He felt pain wrench inside his chest. She should have been crying on his shoulder, with his arms around her, and they both knew it.

"I didn't mean to..." He stammered to a halt, because he had meant to, sort of. The truth was that he'd been afraid of what might happen between himself and Chloe now that Jimmy was dead. He'd held her in his arms, and she'd felt so right there that he'd been afraid he'd never let her go.

And so he'd backed off and run like hell.

It wasn't like this had never happened before in the course of their relationship. The two of them had a pattern of gravitating around each other for a while, drawing closer and closer, almost to the point of collision, and then suddenly yanking away and establishing new barriers.

But neither of them had either backed away while the other was in such distress. He imagined how he would have felt if she'd told him to go away when he was grieving for his father's death, and a fresh wave of shame washed over him.

"Chloe," he muttered. "Don't push me away. Please."

Her golden eyebrows drew down. "I'm not pushing you, Clark. Remember what you said? Clark Kent is dead? This was all your doing. You walked away on your own."

"And I'm sorry about that," he said in a desperate rush. "I was just scared, Chloe, scared and upset and when I'm scared it makes me stupid, and I knew what I said was stupid the minute I said it, but I couldn't seem to stop myself..."

"How unfortunate for you." Her voice was still glacially cold. "Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out, okay?"

She started to turn back to the banks of computers lining the room in her tower, and he felt panic and pain and a terrible loneliness explode inside him. He couldn't lose her. He couldn't, he couldn't, he just couldn't...

He dropped to his knees in front of her and looked up at her, as imploringly as he could manage.

"Please, Chlo," he whispered. "Please. I'm begging you."

She looked down at him, her expression as cool as ever, but he thought he saw a flicker of warmth beneath the ice. "Clark," she said, a little less stridently. "I just can't let you back into my life if you're just going to do this to me again, the next time you happen to freak out for some reason..."

"I won't." He gripped the sides of her chair so hard he was amazed it didn't shatter in his hands. "I swear I won't, Chlo. I won't ever leave you again if you'll just take me back. Please. Please."

"Clark," she said softly. "I really think maybe we'd be better off if we..."

"No." He let his hands move to her hips, clutching her with the desperation of a frightened child clinging to its mother. "I can't live without your friendship, Chlo. We've been friends forever. I just can't... I can't..."

His voice broke, and he bent his head and pressed it into her lap. His shoulders shook. He had all the normal masculine horror of crying in front of someone, and yet he couldn't hold back the sobs that wracked him.

Through his pain and embarrrassment, he felt her hand stroke his hair, very softly.

"It's all right, Clark," she whispered. "It's all right. We're friends. We'll always be friends."

Relief swept over him in a wave, and he lifted his head, wrapped his arms around her, and buried his face in her shoulder.

*****

"Once again, you have failed the test, my son."

Clark blinked. Slowly he realized he wasn't in the tower in Metropolis at all. He was in an enormous icy structure, held captive in a cylinder of light.

He was the prisoner of an AI that wanted to wipe all human feeling from him. It was as if the AI had picked up on his fear, the fear of intimacy that had led him to turn his back on Chloe and to declare that "Clark Kent was dead." Yet whereas Clark had almost instantly seen his impulse was wrong, the AI was determined to take that idea to its logical conclusion, and to turn him into an emotionless automaton not unlike itself.

And he was in big trouble, because he couldn't stop himself from having feelings for Chloe, no matter how hard he tried.

"I can't help having feelings," he said, trying to reason with the machine. He'd come to the Arctic to take his training on the same day he'd decided to back away from Chloe, but he'd regretted that decision almost instantly. He'd been reasoning with the AI for days, perhaps weeks, but to no avail. Still, he kept trying. "It's normal to have feelings. Friendship and love and loyalty aren't just human traits, you know. They're Kryptonian traits, too."

"They are weaknesses you cannot afford if you are to be the protector you should be, the protector you must be," the AI intoned. "You must eradicate them."

"I can't, damn it!"

"You will learn." The AI's voice was implacable. "I am sorry, my son, but once again you have failed this scenario, allowing your emotions to rule you. You will be punished."

The cylinder of light flared around him, and Clark gave an involuntary yell as the pain began. Although he was invulnerable to almost anything on Earth, the AI possessed Kryptonian technology, and it was able to hurt him.

It was able to hurt the hell out of him.

"Stop it!" he screamed frantically. He'd endured these bouts of agony for God only knew how long, days or weeks or months, and he'd gotten to the point where he'd have offered the AI almost anything to avoid it. If only there was anything the AI wanted that he was able to give. "Stop it stop it stop it!"

"Learn to let your past go,." the AI droned. "Learn to let your feelings go. If you can do this, Kal-El, I will no longer need to hurt you."

"I can't... I can't..." Chloe's face swam in his mind, blurred and distorted, and he knew he couldn't let his feelings for her go. She was his friend. His best friend.

No. She was more than his friend. He loved her. And no matter how much pain the AI inflicted upon him, no matter how great the agony it put him through... that could never be taken away from him.

"She is not worth this, my son. No human is."

"Make it stop. Make it stop!"

"Very well, Kal-El." The light dimmed, and Clark gasped in desperate relief. If he could have collapsed to his knees, he would have. But the column held him upright, and helpless.

"Please," he whispered in a frantic litany. "Please, please, please..."

The AI seemed unmoved by his pleas, as it had been unmoved so many times before. "Very well, Kal-El," it repeated. "Let us try the test again."

*****

He stood above Metropolis, clad entirely in black, an alien symbol on his chest. His long coat rippled behind him in the nighttime breeze. At long last he had returned to protect the innocent, to guard the weak, to save those humans who needed saving. He was the protector of Metropolis, the guardian of the helpless.

But he knew now that he must remain above the denizens of the city, both literally and figuratively. He must not ever allow himself to become close to any of them. For to be close to humans was to invite pain.

He closed his eyes, remembering the pain, unremitting, agonizing pain that had been all her fault. Pain, he thought, led to weakness, and weakness was something he could not afford.

He had a destiny, a great destiny, and she was not part of it. No human was.

He had no desire to ever pursue a friendship with a human again, least of all with her. Emotions made him vulnerable, easily wounded, open to pain, and that was the one thing he could never allow himself to be again.

From now on, he would stand above Metropolis, distant and invulnerable.

From now on, he would stand alone.

-The End-

The Last Day of Summer

Clark/Chloe futurefic, angst
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.

"It's a great day for a barbecue."

Clark stood in the velvet-green yard behind the old yellow house and gazed up at the sapphire sky, dotted with cottony wisps of clouds. His wife walked up and stood beside him, sliding her hand into his.

"It's a beautiful Labor Day," she agreed. "You'd better get started. Everyone will be here soon."

He smiled a little. "I can't wait to see Pete again. I really can't believe he and Lana wound up together."

"And thank goodness Lana was finally able to get her kryptonite infection removed, so she could come too."

"Yeah. And my mom. She's been so busy I hardly ever see her. This is going to be great, Chlo."

"Yes." She patted his arm. "It is. Now get moving on those burgers."

"I can always use my heat vision."

"It's not the same-- they don't get that char-broiled flavor. Come on, farmboy, fire up the grill."

He grinned, and obediently headed off to get cooking.

*****

"I want to thank you all for coming." Clark stood in front of his friends, smiling broadly. "I haven't seen some of you in years. It's great to see you all again."

He looked over the crowd. Lois and Ollie, Pete and Lana, his mom and the congressman she was dating, A.C. and Victor, Bart and Andrea. Everyone was all paired up, and that pleased him. There were so many happy endings here. So much happiness.

There was so much more that he wanted to say, so many words of affection and love, but he couldn't seem to form the words. His throat had tightened up, with joy and with sorrow. He blinked back tears, and managed to smile at his friends and family.

"Thank you," he repeated at last, gruffly. "Thank you for coming."

*****

"It was awesome to see everyone."

He lay in bed that night, Chloe beside him. She patted his chest.

"I know it was what you wanted most," she said softly. "Everyone was willing to work hard to make it happen."

He sighed. "It's hard to believe I'll never see another summer."

"Yes." Her voice cracked. He heard her steady it, heard her trying to be the strong one. "Who would have guessed Kryptonians could get cancer, too? But Jor-El seems pretty certain about it, and so does Dr. Emil."

He put an arm around her. "At least I made it to forty," he said softly.

"That's only half a life, Clark."

"It's all the life I have," he said philosophically. "I guess that makes it a whole life. Just a little shorter than most. Anyway, I lived to see most of my friends happy. And I had fifteen years married to you. I couldn't really ask for more."

"I could." Her voice was wry, and just a touch bitter. "But I don't suppose there's any sense in asking for what you can't have."

"No," he said softly. "Maybe it's just best to be grateful for what you do have."

She sniffled slightly. "Maybe it is."

He tightened his arms around her, because it was the only way he had of easing her pain. Eventually he heard her breathing steady and slow, and he knew she had drifted off to sleep. He lay in the darkness for a while, thinking of all the things he was grateful for.

Some days it wasn't easy to focus on the positive, to be grateful for what he had, rather than angry about what he was losing. But tonight... tonight it was strangely easy to focus on the positive. He'd spent a perfect summer day laughing and talking with his friends and family, and for the perfection and beauty of this day, he couldn't help but be grateful.

He fell into a contented sleep, thinking of the smiles of his friends, the warmth of his wife's hand in his, and the sunshine of the last day of summer.

-The End-

Angel Among Us

Chloe/child angst
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Manip by writrgurl, used with the permission of the artist. Story prompted by writrgurl's manip.

Once upon a time, Metropolis had its very own angel, named Superman.

That was Daddy, right, Mommy?

Right, sweetheart. That was Daddy. Anyway, Superman flew over the city, protecting everyone. He was Metropolis' guardian angel. Whenever anyone needed help, whenever anyone called out in pain or fear... Superman was there.

Because he had stuporspeed!

Superspeed, honey. And just like an angel, he could fly.

Only he didn't have wings!

No, he didn't have wings. He had a long red cape that rippled behind him. Whenever you were in trouble, you knew you could look up into the sky and see a red and blue streak, coming your way.

But now he's gone.

Yes, sweetheart. He died a couple of years ago, saving us all. I don't suppose you remember him very well...

I remember he had dark hair and glasses, Mommy. I don't remember the cape.

That's because Superman was his secret identity. You weren't supposed to know about it.

You never would have told me if I hadn't found the suit, huh?

No, I wouldn't have. It's a secret, honey. You can't tell anyone. Not even your bestest, bestest friend. Okay?

Okay, Mommy. But what happened to Metropolis when Superman died?

You live here, sweetheart. What do you think happened?

I guess maybe people started to get hurt again.

Well, you might think that. But the truth is that when Superman--your daddy-- died, people rallied together--

What does rallied mean?

I mean, people started trying harder to help each other. Because they remembered Superman, and everything he did for the city, and they wanted to keep the city safe, just like he did. Everyone has worked very, very hard to keep Metropolis safe. So even though Daddy is gone, the city still has the lowest crime rate in the country.

All because they remember Daddy?

All because they remember Daddy.

I guess maybe Daddy is a real angel now, and he still helps people. Only now he's got wings instead of a cape!

I think you're right, sweetheart. I really do. Anyway, that's the end of the story. Sweet dreams, darling.

Night, Mommy. Can I have the red blanket? It looks like Daddy's cape.

So it does. Are you going to imagine you're helping keep Metropolis safe?

Yes, Mommy.

That's nice. But just remember, you don't need a red cape to help protect the city. You don't even need wings. You just need to care about people.

Just like Daddy did.

Yes, sweetheart. Just like Daddy did.

-The End-

And the Stars Go With You

Clark/Chloe angst, futurefic
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
The title is from a John Serrie album.

"Look at the stars." Her voice was quiet, almost reverential, as she lay on her back in the grass and stared up at the night sky. "Everything else in life fades eventually, but not them. They never change."

He knew it wasn't quite true, that stars sometimes faded into darkness, or went nova. His own presence on this planet was proof of that. But on the whole, she was right. Stars existed for an extremely long time. The ancient peoples had gazed at these exact same constellations thousands of years ago, and the very same stars would still be lighting the night sky thousands of years from now, long after the two of them were gone.

"The important things in life don't change, Chloe." He squeezed her hand. "The stars, the sun, my love for you..."

She turned her head and looked at him. In her eyes he saw the gleam of amusement-- or perhaps it was only starlight. "Why, Clark Kent," she said softly. "How poetic of you."

He flashed a grin, trying to pass his words off as a joke, even though they hadn't been. What he felt for her wasn't ever going to change, and they both knew that now. "I have a poetic side," he assured her.

"Uh-huh. You're about as poetic as I am, which isn't much. Still..." Her hand squeezed his in return. "Thanks. I appreciate the sentiment."

"It's true," he said softly.

She looked back up at the stars and smiled.

"I know," she answered.

*****

He lay on his back in the grass in the dusk, gazing up at those very same stars. Very little had changed. He could pick out a dark space or two where a star had once glittered, but on the whole, the vast sweep of stars above him glowed across the velvety dark sky exactly as they had on that evening so long ago.

But Chloe wasn't beside him.

She hadn't been beside him for a very long time.

He sighed, feeling the ache of loss as if it were yesterday. What he'd told her all those years ago was true. He'd loved her then, and he loved her now.

The important things in life didn't change.

Even though she'd been dead and buried for five thousand years, even though her body had turned to dust millennia ago... he still loved her.

He reached out for her hand, remembering that night five thousand years before, but there was nothing there. He remembered her soft voice.

Look at the stars. Everything else in life fades eventually, but not them. They never change.

And she'd been right. The stars didn't change, not really. And even all these millennia later, every time he gazed at them, he thought of her.

He wasn't sure if that was a gift, or a curse.

Darkness fell all around him, and he lay alone in the grass, with only the stars for company.

-The End-

Leaves That Are Green

Clark/Chloe angst
Season 9
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.

I was twenty-one years when I wrote this song.
I'm twenty-two now but I won't be for long
Time hurries on.
And the leaves that are green turn to brown,
And they wither with the wind,
And they crumble in your hand.

Once my heart was filled with the love of a girl.
I held her close, but she faded in the night
Like a poem I meant to write.
And the leaves that are green turn to brown,
And they wither with the wind,
And they crumble in your hand.
-Simon and Garfunkel, "Leaves That Are Green"

"I miss you."

"Clark..." Her voice held an unmistakable note of impatience. "We've been through this before. I'm not coming back."

"I understand that," he said into the phone. "I do. I mean, we both agreed we should go our separate ways. But I was just wondering..."

"If you could come to see me? No, Clark. I told you before, I think it's better if we just make a clean break."

"But Chlo..."

"Goodbye, Clark."

The phone went dead. He put it down and settled heavily onto the couch in his empty apartment.

He'd known Chloe Sullivan for a decade now. The two of them had been best friends, and then lovers. And then...

He sighed, remembering their last conversation.

"I got a job writing for the Gotham Gazette."

He'd frowned. The two of them were lying in bed together, having just made love, and he rolled over and looked at her. Her blonde hair was gilded by the light from the bedside lamp, and her bare skin glowed golden. She looked like a goddess. A sexy one.

"You're not taking it, are you?"

"I have to, Clark. You know that I've always wanted to be a journalist. Ever since I was a little kid. I've tried other things, but... I keep coming back to journalism."

"But you're Watchtower now."

She was silent a moment. At last she said, "I like helping Justice, Clark. I do. It's a worthwhile job. It's important. And I wouldn't mind doing it on the side. I mean, mild-mannered reporter by day, superhero by night... it works for you, after all."

"You don't have the time," he said. "You're not superpowered."

"Oh, I see. So because I'm just an ordinary human, I'm not allowed to do two jobs? News flash, Clark. Ordinary humans hold down two jobs all the time."

"Yeah, but Watchtower's pretty much a full-time thing. You have to be on call almost 24/7. And besides, the headquarters are here. Ollie won't want you relocating to Gotham."

"And neither will you, I suppose." She patted his chest in sympathy. "I'm sorry, Clark, but there's nothing for me here. I can't write for the Daily Planet as long as Tess runs it, and the only other option is the Inquisitor... which is no option at all, if we're going to be honest about it."

"There's the Smallville Ledger."

She snorted. "Sure, I should take a massive career step downward and write for a small-town paper. Come on, Clark, be serious."

In his heart, he knew she was right, but he persisted anyway. "You can't leave, Chlo. We're practically living together."

"And as great as this is," she said bluntly, "I'm not throwing away my career for a guy. Not even you. That's not who I am, Clark. At least, it's not who I want to be. I've been..." She sighed. "I've been putting my career aside to help you and Ollie for a while now. But the honest truth of the matter is, it's not what I really want. I want to get back to serious journalism."

He was silent, and she patted him again. "We can do the long-distance thing," she said gently. "It's not like long distances matter that much to you."

He thought of not having her here at night, her warm body curled up against his. Something inside him rebelled at the thought. He knew he was being selfish, but he wanted her smile to be the first sunshine of his day, every morning for the rest of his life.

"They do matter," he answered. "People can't see me popping up in Gotham every day if I'm supposed to live here. Eventually, someone'll notice me visiting you all the time. I can't call that kind of attention to myself, Chlo."

"So come to Gotham and live with me," she suggested.

"I can't," he said tiredly. "I can't live in Gotham and work here, for the same reason. And I'm not giving up my job at the Planet, either."

She was silent for a long moment. "I understand that," she said at last. "I respect that. I wouldn't expect you to give up your job for me. But you can't expect me to give up my career for you, either."

"No," he answered softly. "I guess I can't."

"We could always..." Her voice was hesitant. "We could try for a regular, human-type long-distance relationship. You know, phone calls and texts and visits."

"I can't," he said, hearing the note of grief and despair in his own voice. "I'm used to seeing you every day. I don't think I can stand anything less."

She sighed, and turned, wrapping her arms around him.

"I can't offer anything more," she whispered into his chest.

The two of them had tried the long-distance thing, but in a matter of months it had petered out. Their relationship was simply too intense to survive long separations. They'd found themselves arguing every time they saw each other, squabbling instead of making love, and every weekend had ended up in cold anger and harsh words instead of affectionate kisses and hugs.

Eventually they'd admitted it just wasn't working out, and said goodbye for the last time.

He missed her. She'd been an important part of his life since middle school, and he missed her an awful lot. But he wasn't willing to give up his career for her. With his lack of credentials, he'd been ridiculously lucky to snag a job at the Daily Planet, and he knew it.

And besides, it was the Daily Planet. He couldn't give that up, even for her.

And she was doing great at the Gazette. He surfed the website regularly, and saw her articles featured on the front page on an almost daily basis. She was right-- here in Metropolis there was nothing for her. He couldn't ask her to work for a tabloid like the Inquisitor, not when she had a job working for a very reputable, well-regarded paper.

The two of them couldn't live in the same city. And they couldn't seem to make a go of a long-distance relationship, no matter how hard they tried.

Their relationship had once seemed so promising, like leaves budding in the spring. But it had withered and died, and now there was nothing left. Nothing except his longing for her, a longing that wouldn't quite die.

But he needed to kill it somehow, because he was beginning to admit to himself that things between the two of them would never go back to what they had been. His life with her was over and gone, never to be recaptured.

He looked around his empty apartment, and sighed again. He'd made his decision, and so had she. They'd both put their careers over their love life. And he couldn't even think that was the wrong decision for either of them. It had been the right thing to do, for both of them.

But he missed her. He missed her terribly.

And he was afraid he always would.

-The End-

This Ever Changing World

Clark/Chloe futurefic angst
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Screencap by writrgurl.

"Ahhh, God. Yes."

He hadn't meant to utter the words. Then again, he hadn't meant for this to happen at all.

But it had. She was here, in his arms, the two of them kissing with a wild desperation, a violent passion, an aching need that couldn't be denied any longer.

They'd denied it for years and years. But despite their best efforts, it had a way of exploding to the surface every now and then, and disrupting everything. That was why they'd finally agreed to avoid each other as much as possible.

She'd been in Gotham by that point, which had made it fairly easy for him to stay away. But they'd run into each other at a journalism conference this evening. He'd seen her bright smile across the crowded room, and had approached her with a tentative smile of his own. The two of them had agreed to have dinner and drinks together, and then...

Well, here they were, sprawled together on a king-sized mattress in a hotel room, arms locked around each other, naked bodies tangled together.

It felt inevitable, really. Like it had always been fated, from the day they'd met. Like they'd been struggling against something far larger than themselves for years and years.

It felt right. No other woman had ever felt so right in his arms. Her scent filled his head, a sensual, sexual fragrance he'd never been able to forget, and the painfully familiar sound of her heartbeat pounded in his ears. His eyes stung with tears at the terrible rightness of it all.

"Chloe." He spoke her name softly, just because he couldn't stop himself from saying it. He'd held it back too many times when making love to other women, and now that she was in his arms, he couldn't stop it from rising to his lips with the reverence of a prayer.

"Clark," she whispered, and in her voice he heard the same reverence, as if with the utterance of his name she'd finally admitted everything she felt for him, everything they were to each other.

He groaned, and let himself sink into her.

He'd never made love to her before, and yet it felt like coming home. The warmth and heat almost sent him over the edge, but he gritted his teeth and held back. He'd waited too long for this moment. He couldn't bear to let it go so quickly. His fists clenched and his muscles stiffened, and he forced back the orgasm that threatened.

"Chlo." His voice was rough with strain, and maybe with tears as well. "Chloe. I've missed you so much."

"Me too." Her hands sank deep into his hair, and her lips touched his ear and cheek and mouth and jawline, showering him with kisses that proclaimed adoration. "Every day I think of you..."

"I know," he whispered, covering her with adoring kisses of his own. "I talk to you in my head all the time. I imagine the things you'd say, the way you smile, the sound of your laughter..."

"I remember the way you smell." She buried her face in his shoulder, inhaling. "The scent of your skin. I can't forget it. I've tried so hard, but I just can't."

He thrust into her, a little more roughly, and heard a sound break from his throat that sounded very much like a sob. "Chlo... I don't know why I ever thought I could live without you. I can't forget you, I can't stop thinking about you, I can't... I can't..."

He couldn't finish. But her arms tightened around his shoulders, and he knew she understood. He buried his face in her dark gold hair.

"More," he muttered hungrily.

Her legs lifted, wrapping around him, and he sank into her as deeply as possible. Another long groan ground its way out of his chest.

So many years wasted. So many goddamned years...

But he couldn't let himself think of that now, not when he finally had her in his arms, his body deep inside hers. Not when the scent of vanilla surrounded him, making his head spin. Not when their hearts pounded together in a heavy drumbeat of thunder.

He pushed everything else away, and just let himself exist in the now.

Her body tightened around his, in hard, rhythmic pulses. She felt so good, so perfect, that he couldn't keep the pace slow. His hips moved harder, thrusting, driving into her, and she sighed and moaned, her hands sliding down, her fingers digging into his ass in a clear demand for more.

"God, yes." He heard himself gasping out the words. He usually wasn't much of a talker during sex, but tonight he couldn't seem to shut up somehow. "Oh, God, Chlo, fuck yeah..."

"Clark." Her voice rose too. "Oh, Clark, Clark..."

He could feel the pulsing become more intense, could feel the smooth satin of her body grow wetter, slicker, hotter, and he moved even harder, pounding into her. His own body began to tremble all over, and he buried his face in the pillow, trying to hold back his desperate cries, and froze to stillness despite his body's relentless urge to move ever faster.

"Please, Clark." Her hands dug into his ass hard. "Please, now."

"I can't." His voice was muffled in the pillow. "I can't, Chlo. I don't want it to be over. Please."

"It'll never be over," she whispered. "Never."

Somewhere deep inside, he knew that was true. He'd learned it this evening, when he spotted her across a roomful of journalists, and something inside of him had sprung to life, an exuberant joy he'd thought long since dead. He knew he would never again be able to see her, or even to think of her, without that joy rising up inside him.

She meant more to him than he'd ever been able to admit to himself. He'd known her since he was thirteen, and she was deeply interwoven into the fabric of his life. And no matter how he tried to unravel himself from her... he couldn't.

He could never truly let her go.

Even so, he didn't want this interlude to end. He sobbed into the pillow, shuddering, feeling his balls taut against his body, his cock throbbing in an intense pulse of need. His whole body vibrated with tension, and his breath came in short, hard gasps.

"I want to make love to you forever," he mumbled into the pillow.

She turned her head and brushed her lips over his ear. "I wish you could."

He slowly withdrew and thrust, just once, and the pleasure was so excruciating that he threw back his head, a long, frantic wail rising from him. He froze again, trembling, but this time she didn't let him stop. Her body tensed around him, and then he felt the unmistakable first contractions of her orgasm. And at that moment, she whispered in his ear.

"I love you, Clark."

Those words sent him tumbling over a precipice so high he thought he'd never stop falling. Pleasure cascaded through him in endless bursts, and he knew he was screaming with it, but he didn't much care. The ecstasy, the fulfillment, was everything he'd ever dreamed of, and then some.

Rush after rush of flame exploded from him, while he writhed against the nearly unbearable rapture. At last it ebbed, and he fell against her, pressing her into the mattress. He buried his face in her throat, drawing in her scent, and closed his eyes, truly happy for the first time in years.

"I love you too," he murmured.

*****

When he opened his eyes again, she'd turned off the lamp, casting the room into darkness, but he knew from the faint sounds he heard that she was getting dressed.

"Chloe," he whispered, hearing the plaintive note in his own voice. "Don't leave me."

He heard her sigh into the darkness. "Clark," she said softly. "You know I have to go."

He clenched his eyes shut against a wave of bitterness and pain. He did know that. And it hurt.

Years ago, they'd had a misunderstanding, an argument that had escalated into some truly cruel words on both sides, and they'd parted ways. She'd moved away, leaving him adrift. Lost and alone, he'd somehow staggered through life without her, until...

Well, he didn't want to think about that right now. He put everything else out of his mind, and focused on her, because it just hurt too much to think about other things right now.

"I love you," he said into the darkness, very softly but very firmly. "I've always loved you, Chloe."

A beat of silence. And then her voice, just as bluntly honest as ever.

"I love you too, Clark. But that's not enough."

"It is enough," he argued. "We've both made mistakes, Chlo. Huge, enormous, stupid mistakes. But now that we've finally found our way back to each other..."

"Clark." Her tone was remonstrative. "This was... well, it was wonderful. But we can't do it again. Not ever. You know that."

She pulled her jacket on, and as her hands moved, a stray beam of light from the window made something glint gold on her finger, for just a moment.

He knew what it was. He'd seen it last night, and yet he'd gone to bed with her anyway. He hadn't been able to stop himself.

He felt tears scorching his eyelids. "I can't live without you."

"Of course you can." Her tone was tart, but not without sympathy. "You've done it for years."

He knew it was true, in a manner of speaking, but living without her hadn't been truly living. Yes, he'd been content, even happy, over the years, but he hadn't once experienced that radiant joy he always felt in her presence. He'd almost forgotten such a thing as joy existed.

"Chlo." He hated pleading, but he couldn't seem to help it. "Please. Don't go."

"I have to go," she whispered. She bent in the darkness, and brushed a soft, loving kiss over his lips. "I love you, Clark. I'll always love you."

A tear escaped him and slid down his cheek. He put his arms around her, holding her close for a few precious seconds. "I love you too, Chloe."

She pulled away, and he let her, because he knew she was right to leave. Of course she was right. He lay there in the dark room, listening to her quick, decisive footsteps on the carpet as she walked away from him. The door opened, letting a slice of light into the room, washing them both in radiance for just an instant.

And then she closed the door, leaving him in darkness.

All alone, he felt the tears running down his cheeks. He lifted his hand, impatiently brushing them away, and saw the faint glimmer of his own gold wedding band, barely visible in the darkness.

Chloe, he knew, was right. Lois didn't deserve this. Neither did George. They both had lives, families, that they couldn't just walk away from.

Just because he'd married Lois during that dark, lonely period of his life, just because he'd never learned to love her quite the way he loved Chloe, didn't mean he could simply discard her now that he'd found Chloe again, now that he'd admitted what she meant to him. He had a life, a life he'd chosen with his eyes wide open. And so did Chloe.

On some level, he wished that he could erase all of it, that he could go back to a simpler time, to be hers and hers alone.

But a life couldn't be erased. He thought of Lois, at home with their children, and everything they'd shared over the years, and he knew he couldn't just walk away from all of that. Not even for Chloe. He couldn't ask her to give up everything that mattered in her life for him, either. He couldn't ask her to give up George.

In his voice, he heard the echo of her voice. It'll never be over. Never.

But it had to be over. There were too many other people who could be hurt here, too many other people who loved them. He had to let her go, no matter how much it tore at his heart. All he and Chloe could ever share was the memory of this one night.

It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough.

But it was all he could ever have of her.

Just when I believed I couldn't ever want for more
This ever changing world pushes me through another door
I saw you smile
And my mind could not erase the beauty of your face
Just for a while
Won't you let me shelter you

Hold on to the night
Hold on to the memory
I wish that I could give you something more
That I could be yours
-Richard Marx, "Hold On To the Night"

-The End-

Committed

Clark/Chloe futurefic, angst
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.

It was called Isis. Long years ago, she'd run the place.

Now she lived there.

She'd been committed to Isis years ago, her brain fried by an alien artificial intelligence. The Brainiac virus had first taken her over when she was twenty-one, but with help, they'd defeated it and expelled it from her mind.

At least they'd believed they'd defeated it.

But when she was twenty-five, it had risen a second time from the depths of her mind and taken her over again, and this time the battle had left her a shell of her former self. Clark had done everything he could to eradicate the infection, and in the end, he'd won, but at a terrible cost. Everything that had made her Chloe Sullivan had been erased along with the virus. He'd tried desperately to save her, but failed.

They'd only been married for six months, and he'd lost her.

She wasn't dead, of course, just... vacant. Most of the time, she lay in her bed and stared at the ceiling. But sometimes she grew frightened, lashing out violently, attacking people without provocation.

He hadn't wanted to commit her to the care of a sanitarium, not even the one she had created, with Ollie Queen's help, for the meteor afflicted.

But even he couldn't watch her every second of the day. He had other jobs, other people to take care of, other people to save. And when he'd left her alone on the farm for a few moments, and she'd plucked a knife off the counter and attacked some hapless Jehovah's Witness who came to the door-- well, he'd realized then he didn't have much choice.

Even so, he came to see her every day. Ten years had passed, and he'd never tried to move on, never tried to file for divorce, never dated anyone else.

Hell, he'd never even flirted with anyone else.

He'd married her, vowed to love and cherish and protect her forever. And that was a commitment that he would never, ever break.

So every day he went to visit her, even though she almost always stared at the ceiling, oblivious to his presence. He held her hand, with no way of knowing if she was aware that he was touching her or not. Every single day.

He intended to keep on doing this every day, until the day she died. It might be sixty more years. He didn't care. He'd promised for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, and he'd meant every word of it.

He was committed.

-The End-

Lethe

Clark, Lois, Chloe, Jimmy
Season 8, "Bride"
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Screencaps from Dynamic Duo and KEakaCK.

Their dance was over.

Clark Kent stood aside and let Jimmy Olsen claim Chloe, let him take her into his arms and start dancing. He stood there, all alone despite the crowd, and tried to look like he was happy to watch the happy couple dance.

He should be happy. After all, Chloe was happy, and that was all that should matter to him. Over and over again, he'd assured himself that her happiness was all that mattered.

But it just wasn't that easy to put his own feelings away.

He remembered dancing with Chloe, long, long ago, at their freshman spring formal. He remembered the way she'd smiled at him, happy and bright and carefree. She'd obviously had a crush on him, but that was okay, because he'd had a crush on her too.

Things had been simpler then. They'd danced to "Perfect Memory," and she'd leaned her head against his shoulder, and he'd pressed his cheek against her hair. And then they'd looked into each other's eyes, and he'd bent to kiss her.

They'd been interrupted before his lips could brush hers. He'd wound up getting involved with Lana Lang rather than Chloe, but over the years, he'd wondered what would have happened if his lips had actually touched Chloe's, wondered what might have changed. He'd wondered if they'd have become a couple.

If he'd kissed her that night, it might be the two of them together now, dancing together as newlyweds.

But he couldn't think that way. It was too late to be thinking of Chloe like that. She was married to another guy, and she looked just as happy and carefree as she had back in their freshman year.

And that was entirely his doing, because he'd stripped her memories of his secret away. She'd told him on the dance floor that she felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, although she didn't know why.

He knew why. And he still wasn't sure it had been the right thing to do. But she was happy. And that was what he'd wanted for her. That was all he'd ever wanted, for Chloe to be happy.

He just wished he didn't feel like someone had dropped a kryptonite boulder on his heart.

It dawned on him that he was staring at Jimmy and Chloe dancing, and that he wasn't smiling as he watched. He had a feeling he looked like exactly what he was, a guy who was in love with a woman he couldn't have. He didn't want anyone to realize he was carrying an Olympic-sized torch for Chloe Sullivan.

Embarrassed, he turned his head to the side, and found Lois Lane watching him.

Lois was Chloe's cousin and his coworker. He liked her okay, although she had a big mouth and she frequently annoyed him, but lately he'd gotten the impression that she kind of, well, liked him. The way she looked at him, some of the things she said, were a little too overt for even him to miss. He might be dumb when it came to women, but Lois was totally lacking in subtlety, and always had been.

He gazed back at her with a flicker of interest, because she was a very pretty woman. She wore an orange satin bridesmaid dress that clung to all her curves, and her dark hair fell in waves down her back.

And besides, she was looking back at him in a way that said she was definitely interested.

Chloe didn't look at him that way. Not anymore. Of course she didn't. She'd been dating Jimmy for two years, after all. From her point of view, Clark was old news. He was her friend, nothing more.

And yet he couldn't help remembering the way she'd looked at him on the dance floor, all those years ago. There had been a time when they'd been more than friends.

He'd always thought that one day, they might be more than friends again.

Lois broke eye contact and looked down, as if she'd suddenly realized she was staring, and felt awkward about it. "I guess I can give these well-heeled puppies a rest," she said, a little too brightly, and headed past him.

It occurred to him that he was standing here alone, looking pathetic and lonely, a guy who couldn't even get a date to a wedding. A guy who was clearly carrying a torch for the bride and who kept staring at her, despite his best efforts.

He badly needed something to distract himself from Chloe.

He reached out and caught Lois' wrist as she walked past. She turned her head and blinked at him, surprised. Not bothering to say anything-- because conversations between him and Lois tended to end in unpleasantness-- he drew her into his arms, keeping a respectful distance between them, and started dancing.

Lois was tall, and felt a little awkward in his arms. With a pang, he remembered dancing with Chloe a few minutes ago. She fit into his arms perfectly. She always had.

He wished it had been the two of them, dancing at their own wedding. He wished they'd begun dating at the spring formal, all those years ago, and never stopped.

He remembered Chloe pinning a little white rose onto his lapel that afternoon. Today he'd carefully removed it from his yearbook, where it had been pressed between the pages all these years, and given it to her to place into her bouquet.

One little piece of their history together had walked down the aisle with her to her new life with another guy. He'd walked down the aisle with her too, and given her away.

God, why had he done that? Why had he let her go?

He glanced to the side, seeing Jimmy and Chloe dancing together, smiling into each other's eyes, and loneliness and sorrow washed over him in a flood.

He was all alone. His girlfriend Lana had dumped him six months ago and left town. And now Chloe was married.

He didn't have anyone.

But there was a woman in his arms, and she was looking up at him like she wouldn't mind helping him forget his loneliness for a while.

And yet, as pretty as Lois was, he couldn't stop himself from glancing at Chloe again.

Just then, someone bumped into Lois, and she fell against his chest. He looked down at her, momentarily distracted from his unhappiness. Lois felt nice and soft and warm. She felt... female.

He hesitated, and she looked up at him, then put her hand on his chest in an unmistakable invitation.

He didn't have to be all alone tonight, he thought.

The fact that he didn't feel much for Lois beyond a vague sort of friendship didn't really matter all that much. She was a girl, and he was a guy, and other guys did that sort of thing all the time. Why shouldn't he take what was so clearly being offered?

She tilted her head up, waiting for him to kiss her.

His mind flashed back over the years, to the night when he'd bent to kiss Chloe. She'd looked up at him with something approaching adoration, and he knew his own eyes had been filled with a similar expression. Chloe had always meant so much to him. Even back then, when they'd only known each other a little over a year, she'd been one of the most important people in his life.

Whether he thought of her as a friend, or as something more, there had never been the slightest doubt in his mind that he loved her.

Lois wasn't that important to him. But she did fill out the orange gown very nicely.

Pig, he thought in self-reproach, mildly disgusted with the direction of his own thoughts. Lois might not be a close friend, but she didn't deserve to be used that way, especially not when her expression made it clear that she was looking for more than a one-night stand. She didn't deserve a guy who macked on her while thinking about another woman.

But if he didn't kiss Lois, he was going to stand here staring at Chloe and being pathetic.

Kissing a pretty girl in a tight dress would make him feel better. And right now, that was all he wanted-- to feel better. To forget Chloe, if only for a moment. To forget that she'd chosen another man, that she was married to Jimmy Olsen, and that as long as he lived, he'd never have her. To forget that she no longer even really remembered everything they'd meant to each other.

To forget the memory of her in his arms on a balloon-covered dance floor, smiling up at him as if he was the most important person in her life.

He thought bitterly that he should have had Jor-El remove his memories of Chloe, so he didn't have to think about her constantly. Right now he'd give anything to forget, to erase the memory of Chloe smiling up at him as "Perfect Memory" played, to forget all the times she'd kissed him, all the times they'd almost kissed. Right now he would have given just about anything for a quick dip in the River Lethe.

But he couldn't forget. The best he could do was push his memories aside for a little while, and focus on another woman.

He tightened his grip on Lois, and bent to kiss her.

-The End-

Something Old

Clark/Chloe
Season 8, SPOILERS for "Bride"
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Still from Andreas at LJ.

"Something old."

Standing in the loft of his barn, he presents her with a withered white flower, very gravely, and she looks down. A faint, wistful smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

"Clark," she says, softly. "Is this from the spring formal?"

He nods, feeling oddly exposed all of a sudden. He's kept the thing tucked away carefully all these years, but he can't exactly explain why. It's not like their single date turned out really well. In fact, he'd wound up in the middle of a tornado, saving another girl, and it was a miracle the little flower had stayed pinned to his lapel.

But somehow it had.

Their friendship is like that too, he thinks. All the storms they've weathered, they've weathered together. Every time he's thought he's lost her, she's come back to him. They've faced everything, even the end of the world, side by side.

Until now.

He watches her carefully tucking the dried white rose into her bouquet, and sighs. After the events of last week, she doesn't remember half of their friendship. Hell, maybe two-thirds. Everything that had anything to do with his secret has been erased from her brain.

And that was his fault. He'd chosen to do that to her. He'd wanted her to be happy, unencumbered by all his baggage.

He still thinks it was the right thing to do. At least, he hopes it was. But it means that all those times they stood together, all those times they saved each other, all those times they lost each other, only to find each other again...

As far as she's concerned, they never happened.

The thought makes a lump ache in his throat, and he watches as she places the bouquet carefully back on the table. The little boutonniere she pinned onto him so many years ago is lost amidst the bigger, fresher, showier flowers, but it's going to accompany her down the aisle to another man.

And so is he.

At the thought, his throat aches worse than before. He's losing her, losing her forever. He's already lost so much of her by his rash decision to strip her of her memories of his secret. But today he's losing what's left of their friendship, their history. And it hurts.

But he wants her to be happy. That's all he wants. All he wanted to do was lift some of the weight from her shoulders.

And he succeeded. Because she's happy. She really is. There's a happy glow in her eyes he hasn't seen there for far too long a time.

She smiles up at him, and he bends, and brushes a politely formal kiss across her forehead. Suddenly his mind flashes back to the week before, her body lying motionless on a slab of ice, a great crystal structure rising around both of them. He remembers kissing her forehead. And he remembers his own words.

You're the best friend I ever could have wished for. The truth is, you've saved me more than I ever could have saved you. I'm sorry... so sorry...

He hadn't been sure whether he was sorry for taking her memories away, or sorry for himself, sorry for losing everything that had linked them together. He still isn't sure. All he knows is that he is indeed terribly sorry.

Grief spills over him in a wave. He bends again, and this time his lips are brushing over her mouth. He lifts his hands, capturing her face between them, and kisses her, softly at first, then more urgently.

This is so wrong. He's supposed to be giving her away today. She's getting married to another man, and he'd promised himself he wouldn't do anything to screw up her perfect day.

And yet here he is, kissing the hell out of her.

At first she's still against him, maybe even responding a little, but slowly he becomes aware that her hands are on his face, and not in a loving way. She's trying to push him away. Reluctantly, he lifts his head and stares down into a very angry pair of hazel eyes.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she hisses.

Anger fills him at the rejection. But hard on the heels of the anger comes a very profound regret. What the hell is wrong with him? If he really wants to keep her safe and happy, then dragging her back into his life, into an intimate relationship with him, would be stupid.

No more secrets and lies, he thinks grimly. I'm never basing a relationship on secrets and lies again.

And that means no relationships, ever.

It's not like she's interested in an intimate relationship with him anyway. She's glaring up at him, bristling like an angry kitten, and he realizes his hands are still cupping her face. He removes them, feeling his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," he says humbly, thinking he's said that to her an awful lot lately. "I just... I just..."

"Clark..." She sighs, and the anger drains out of her expression. She looks at him with compassion. "Look, we both know you've been carrying a torch for me since high school. But it's time to let me go, okay?"

He blinks at her. Suddenly it occurs to him how their history must look to her now. He's been hanging around her desk at the Daily Planet or the Isis Foundation on a daily basis-- why? She no longer has context for those memories, no longer remembers helping him save people, or helping him investigating the weird and unexplained. As far as she knows, he's just been hovering around her constantly for the past four years. Of course she thinks he's carrying a torch for her. Why else would he have been spending all that time with her?

And the truth is... she's right. He'd never admitted to himself how much he loved her till this week. But now he can't deny it any longer.

But his feelings for her don't matter, because he's not putting anyone through the dangers of knowing his secret. Not ever again. No matter how he feels about her, he has to let her go.

"I'm sorry," he says again. "I didn't want to make things awkward, or screw up your special day..."

"Oh, nothing can do that," she answers brightly. "Don't worry about it."

He winces, stabbed through the heart, and forces a smile.

"Okay, then," he says. "I just wanted to give you--" A little piece of our life together. A little fragment of my soul. "The flower. But I'll let you finish getting ready now."

He turns and walks slowly away, then pauses at the top of the stairs, and turns back.

"Chlo," he says, "I really am sorry."

He's sorry for much more than his desperate kisses, but she has no way of knowing that. She smiles at him brightly.

"Don't worry about it, Clark. It's forgotten."

The terrible truth of those words staggers him. So much between them has been forgotten. So much has been lost. She doesn't remember everything they've done together, everything they've meant to each other. He's just an old friend, and from her point of view, their friendship is as old and withered as the rose he gave her.

He's the past. Jimmy is her future.

He takes one last look at her, beautiful and pure and glowing in her white gown, and then he walks down the stairs by himself, very slowly.

Later he'll walk down these stairs with her on his arm, and give her away to another man. He thinks about that, and admits to himself he doesn't want to give her away. Just the thought makes his throat tighten with grief and loneliness. He doesn't want to let her go. He desperately wants to keep her for himself.

But he remembers his words to Jor-El: Chloe deserves a life free from the burden of my secret.

And despite the ache in his heart, he walks away from her.

-The End-

Wedding

Clark, Chloe angst
Season 8, spoilers for "Bride"
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Screencap from andreas at LJ.

They walk down the stairs of the barn together, her arm in his, as the assembled crowd smiles up at them. She's beaming from ear to ear, and he forces his brightest smile onto his face.

He can't cry at Chloe's wedding. It wouldn't look right for him to cry.

He glances down at the woman by his side. She's beautiful, the loveliest woman he's ever seen. He knows brides are always beautiful on their wedding day, but he's never seen one so radiant.

She's so clearly happy. Joy shines in her eyes and lights her smile. Beneath the filmy veil, she is simply glowing with happiness.

There's nothing weighting her down any longer, because last week, he took away her burden. No... his burden. The burden he's let her carry for him for years. And now she looks more joyful and carefree than she has since their freshman year of high school.

And yet, despite her obvious happiness, he's spent every night this week tossing and turning in his bed, wondering if he did the right thing.

No. The truth is, he doesn't have to wonder.

He knows what he did was wrong.

As she'd succumbed to amnesia, she'd told him she loved her memories of him and his secret, that they'd made her who she was, that she wouldn't give them up for anything. She'd begged him to help her hold onto them.

And yet, when her memories were restored, he'd had Jor-El strip the knowledge of his secret from her anyway.

Chloe was his best friend, and he worried constantly about her safety, worried about her sacrificing too much to protect him, worried about the effect his secret had on her personal life. He'd thought removing her knowledge was for the best.

And looking at her happy glow, maybe it was. Ignorance is bliss, isn't that the saying? She certainly looks blissful.

But then again, he thinks, happiness isn't everything.

Maybe happiness isn't as important as he thought it was.

The problem is, over the past week he's grown to realize she's not the same person she was. He recognizes her bright, happy smile, but he doesn't recognize anything else about her.

She's lost so much more than he meant her to. She doesn't know him, not really. He's not her hero any more, just her dweeby redneck friend from high school, a guy she's on good but somewhat distant terms with.

And even worse, she doesn't know all the things she fought to learn over the years. She doesn't give a damn about the things that she once passionately cared about. She no longer cares much about working with the meteor afflicted, or even about journalism. Those things don't matter to her any more, because she doesn't really remember the stories she's written, or the people she's helped. Her memories of everything she's had to do with those subjects over the past four years have been severely edited, if not wiped away entirely.

In fact, most of her memories have been edited. So much of her life involved his secret that removing her knowledge of the secret impacted her far more than he'd imagined it would.

The memories that seem to have remained the most intact are her memories of Jimmy.

And so all she really cares about... is Jimmy.

They come to the bottom of the staircase, and he hesitates, looking into her eyes very seriously, trying to tell her without words how much she means to him. Trying to tell her that he never meant to mess up this badly.

All he ever wanted to do was protect her.

She doesn't seem to notice the look in his eyes. She's smiling, without a care in the world, marrying the man she thinks she loves best.

She is happy, he thinks, guiding her toward the pastor. But the cost for her happiness is too damn high. Because she isn't Chloe Sullivan any more, not really. She looks like Chloe, but she's missing Chloe's passions, her drive. Her soul.

And it's his fault.

He screwed up. He's the one who stripped her soul away from her. He did something to her he had no right to do, took something from her he had no right to take, and now he doesn't know how to fix it.

He can't fix it. All he can do is hand off the empty shell of the woman who was once his best friend, his loyal secret-keeper, his protector and his savior and his partner, to another man.

He stops at the front of the barn, and she lets go of his arm, then turns to Jimmy, a radiant smile on her face. Clark steps back, his own smile still fixed on his face. Because he has to keep smiling.

He can't cry at Chloe's wedding.

But God, he wants to.

-The End-

Immortal Memory

Clark/Chloe drabble (100 words)
Rating: PG (character death)
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Written for Chlark 100: Immortality.

Clark remembered everything about her.

He remembered the way her hair fell around her face like strands of sunlight, remembered the brilliance of her smile. He remembered her eyes, green-gold like grass in the spring, and the way she smelled, the fragrance of warm vanilla, of cinnamon, spicy and yet purely sweet. He remembered the sound of her laughter, a rippling trill of joy that she’d shared with him, but that she’d never used to wound.

He remembered everything. He hadn’t forgotten a single detail.

Even a thousand years couldn’t erase the memory of the only woman he’d ever loved.

-The End-

Letting Go

Clark/Chloe angst
Season 8, SPOILERS
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.

"Flowers? For me?"

She looks surprised, and he can understand that, because she's getting married next week, and he's just her friend. Her best friend, but just a friend.

Even so, he offers the little bouquet of blue flowers to her with a smile. He suspects he looks more sorrowful than he ought to, but he can't help it. Every time he looks at her now, grief hits him, so hard it almost sends him to his knees.

"Forget me nots," he says.

She smiles. Her smile is bright and happy and genuine. There's no reason it shouldn't be. There's nothing weighing heavily on her, no reason for her to be anything other than radiantly joyous. She's marrying the guy she loves in a week. Of course she's happy.

"Like I could ever forget you," she answers lightly.

They've known each other for almost nine years now, since middle school, and they've been best friends all that time. So yes, it's ridiculous to think she could ever forget him. Of course it is.

She finds a vase in her desk, presumably left over from some flowers Jimmy sent her previously, and gets up, heading to the small washroom to fill it with water. He trails after her aimlessly.

Everything he does now feels aimless, like he's lost his rudder. As if in losing her, he's lost himself. He doesn't know how to fix this, how to fix everything.

He can't fix everything. Hell, he can't fix anything.

There's nothing he can do to fix any of this.

She disappears into the washroom for a moment, and he bows his head, blinking hard.

He hopes she won't notice his tears.

*****

"All her memories are gone," he says, his voice desperate. Chloe is clutched in his arms, inert, motionless, helpless. "She's gone. Please, Jor-El. You have to help her."

The Fortress rises high above him, as tall and cold and remote as ever. He hates the AI that's an integral part of the Fortress, and once it was destroyed, flattened into a plain of ice and snow, he'd sworn he'd never rebuild it.

But for her, he'd rebuilt it. He had to. No one else on Earth could save her. Rebuilding the Fortress was his only hope of getting her back.

"Her memories are being erased as a result of her infection," Jor-El intones. "In order to avoid any possible conflict with her id, the Brain Interactive Construct is erasing her personality and her memories."

"We have to get them back." Clark knows he sounds desperate, maybe even frantic, but he doesn't care. He's finally begun to realize how much Chloe means to him, and he can't just let her forget everything. He can't.

"We can try." The AI sounds dubious. "But the Construct has been growing within her for quite some time. Some memories may already be damaged beyond repair, or inextricably entangled with Brainiac's programming."

Clark places her still, limp body onto a flat slab, and looks up pleadingly at the vast structure. "Try. Please."

The AI hesitates only a moment.

"Very well, my son," it answers. "I will try."

*****

Chloe emerges from the washroom, smiling brightly, and puts the flowers on her desk. She works at the Isis Foundation now, helping the meteor afflicted, while Clark works at the Daily Planet, where she used to work. He'd been certain she'd come back to the Planet when she was back to normal, and that the two of them would be able to work together, but she seems oddly happy where she is.

He thinks maybe her change in career plans has to do with Jimmy. Jimmy was never totally comfortable working with her, because she's frankly better at journalism than he is. Jimmy isn't the kind of guy who can handle a girlfriend or a wife who's better than he is. Clark figures Jimmy is encouraging her to work at Isis, where the two of them aren't in any sort of competition.

But she's a journalist. She's always been a journalist. It really bothers him that she's willing to put that aside for Jimmy.

Everything about her relationship with Jimmy bothers him. But there's nothing he can do about it. Not now.

"Want to do lunch?" he asks, a little hesitantly.

She sits down at the desk and smiles up at him. "Thanks, Clark, but I have a lot of work to do here."

There's a distance between them that didn't used to be there, and it makes him want to spin around and put a fist through the wall. Her attitude is still warm and friendly, and yet somehow all the intimacy of their relationship has vanished. They're friends, but they're not friends. Not any longer.

He hadn't realized how much he relied on the intense closeness between them until it was gone.

*****

"I have saved most of her memories," the AI reports at last, "and eradicated as much of the Brainiac infection as possible."

Clark doesn't like the sound of that. Most of her memories. As much of the infection as possible. He wants back his friend, Chloe Ann Sullivan, not the zombie who's been taken over by Brainiac, her memories and personality erased. He wants Chloe to be restored intact to the person she used to be.

"What memories has she lost?" he asks.

The AI is silent for a long beat of time.

"Your secret," it answers at last.

"What?" Clark lifts his head and glares up at the soaring pillars of ice, far overhead. "You can't take that away from her! After everything we've been through together, everything she's done for me--"

"It was not my decision." The AI's voice is even and calm, and Clark can't tell if it's lying or not. He can never tell. "Brainiac's programming was utterly entangled with those memories, Kal-El. It is difficult to explain this in organic terms, but when Brainiac infests a mind, he roots into its deepest and most cherished memories, like a weed digging its roots deep into the richest soil it can find. The only way I could remove the programming was to remove those memories along with it."

Clark takes a deep, steadying breath, trying not to let his anger overtake him. He isn't quite sure how it could be possible for Chloe to forget his secret. It's tangled up with everything the two of them have done for the past few years. But if Jor-El says it's gone, then somehow it's gone.

"Okay," he says. "So I'll just tell her my secret again."

"No," Jor-El answers. "She cannot relearn your secret, my son. If she does, the remnants of Brainiac I was unable to eradicate may be able to take root again."

It sounds crazy, and he only half believes it. Part of him suspects it's a ploy by Jor-El, a way of removing what the AI sees as a danger. He knows Jor-El has never been happy with humans knowing his secret, and he suspects this might just be a way of removing what Jor-El sees as the danger that Chloe might one day spill his secret.

But he doesn't know that for sure. That's the problem. If he tells Chloe his secret-- maybe she'll be fine. But then again, maybe the AI is right, and knowing his secret will leave her open to another takeover by Brainiac. And this time-- losing her mind to Brainiac might be fatal.

He can't risk it.

He can't tell her his secret.

*****

He hadn't fully understood how much the shared knowledge of his secret lay at the foundation of their relationship. For years now, she'd been his secretkeeper. They'd done everything together, worked together, hung out together. And much of the easy warmth of their relationship had been based on a shared secret.

Take away the secret, and suddenly the intimacy is gone.

It's hard to define how, exactly. But without the knowledge of his secret, without the full knowledge of everything they've shared over the past few yars, Chloe's simply no longer focused on Clark. He's not at the top of her priority list any longer. He's just a friend, a friend who's rapidly losing out to Jimmy Olsen.

Jimmy's her fiance, and that means he's her top priority. Clark has the uncomfortable feeling that it's very wrong to let her marry a man when she no longer remembers everything, when she's operating on incomplete information. But there's nothing he can do about it. She's focused on Jimmy, not Clark.

It isn't the way things used to be. It isn't the way things ought to be.

He aches for the way things used to be. He wants Chloe back, his Chloe, the Chloe who put him first, the Chloe who was always there for him, no matter what. The Chloe he shared everything with.

But she's gone, and he can't get her back.

He doesn't dare tell her his secret, just in case Jor-El is right, in case knowing the truth will allow Brainiac a foothold into her subconscious. He loves her too much to let Brainiac in again.

He loves her.

He thinks about that, startled by the thought. He does love her. He never realized how much he loves her, how much he's willing to sacrifice for her. He loves her so much that he'll step aside and let Jimmy have her. He'll let her go if it means Brainiac can't hurt her any more.

But letting go of her hurts. It hurts an awful lot. It makes his chest ache and his eyes sting and his throat tight. He thinks maybe he's going to burst into tears, right here in her office. And he can't, because he can't explain to her what the problem is.

He can't explain to her how much he once meant to her, how he'd been more important to her than Jimmy, in some ways at least. He can't explain to her how the two of them had shared a secret for years, how she'd protected him with her life, how she'd defended him.

All the times she saved him, all the times he saved her-- they're gone, vanished from her memory, never to be seen again.

Everything that made their relationship special, unique... it's all gone now. He can't get it back.

He can't get her back.

She gives him one last smile, then turns back to her computer, the little vase of forget-me-nots sitting next to her. He mumbles a goodbye, then turns and walks blindly out of her office.

And once he's outside, he gives up trying to hold back the tears. He's lost his best friend, and the woman he loves. He's lost a relationship that's unique and irreplaceable in his life. And for Chloe's sake, he has to let her go. He has to. But he doesn't want to.

He walks down the sidewalk, and lets the tears fall.

-The End-

Beautiful Stranger

Clark/Chloe angst
Season 7, "Apocalypse"
PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Manip by leothelion. Used with permission of the artist.

Haven't we met
You're some kind of beautiful stranger
You could be good for me
I've had the taste for danger
I looked into your eyes
And my world came tumbling down...
-Madonna, "Beautiful Stranger"

She's never met him before, and yet his face is so familiar that it hurts to look at it. Her chest actually aches deep inside, as if she's been missing this person, this particular man, all her life. As if she's been waiting till this moment.

Which is ridiculous. She laughs at herself, telling herself it's just that he bears something of a resemblance to George, her fiancé. The dark hair, the broad shoulders, the piercing eyes-- this guy really looks a lot like George.

But George is the man she loves, and this guy is just a stranger. A beautiful stranger, to be sure, but just a stranger.

"Chloe?" he says.

The way he's looking at her is odd. There's a hopeful light in his eyes, as if he's been looking for her for a long time. As if he thinks she can help him somehow.

"Yes," she says, cautiously. "Have we met?"

He offers a friendly smile, and an outstretched hand. "Chloe Sullivan? Smallville High, class of oh-five?"

She takes his hand, cautiously. It feels warm and strong, but oddly smooth and uncallused, as if he's never done hard labor in his life. His hand feels strangely right in hers, and she has to force herself to let go.

"I'm sorry," she says. "My inner database is coming up empty. Do I know you?"

She has a reporter's memory, and she's quite certain she's never met him before. She'd never forget a guy who looked this way. And yet there's that niggling sense that he's somehow very familiar...

"Clark Kent," he says. The smile fades, and he looks at her earnestly, taking a step forward. "We went to high school together."

She tilts her head curiously, more puzzled than before. There's a Kent family in Smallville. They live on the outskirts of town, on a farm that produces organic produce, and Martha Kent runs the Talon, the coffee shop where Chloe practically lives, when she's not writing stories for the Daily Planet. Martha's son is named Clark Kent, but he doesn't bear any resemblance to this guy. He's sixteen, with blonde hair and a letterman jacket he virtually lives in.

She's almost certain there wasn't a guy with the same name in her high school class. She'd remember that. She isn't sure who this guy is-- but he's not Clark Kent.

He obviously realizes she doubts him, because he shrugs, and offers a disarming smile. "You may not remember me. I was a bit of an outsider."

Uh-huh. Like she would forget a guy who looked like this. She nods dubiously, playing along, because her reporter's curiosity has been piqued.

"Listen," he says, "I'm trying to find a mutual friend of ours, but she's not in the phone book. Lana Lang?"

She lifts her eyebrows. She remembers Lana, very vaguely. Queen of every dance, belle of every ball. Chloe had been more the geek type.

"The cheerleader?" she asks. He nods, and she shakes her head. "We didn't exactly swim in the same social ponds. I mean, to be honest, her blip fell off my radar the day after graduation."

"You were a reporter for the Torch, though, right?"

She nods slightly. She's a reporter for the Daily Planet now, but she doesn't feel comfortable volunteering information about herself to this intense-eyed stranger, who is frankly a bit on the weird side.

"Maybe you can use some of your investigative magic," he says, still staring at her earnestly. "Help me track her down."

Yeah, sure. She's a highly compensated reporter for the Daily Planet, and she's going to spend one of her rare days off doing free investigation for some random guy she's never met before. She almost says something snarky, like You don't need a reporter, you need Google. But something in his eyes stops her from snarking.

Beneath the friendly smile... he looks so lost.

Part of her wants to go with this guy and help him find whatever it is he's looking for. She doesn't understand the impulse, but it's there. She remembers the feeling she had when she first saw him, that she'd been waiting for him all her life.

The feeling is stronger than ever.

But George walks up behind her and puts his hand on her shoulder, and she forces herself to remember that he's the guy she's been waiting for all her life, and at the same time the guy who's always been there for her.

George Dean has been her best friend since high school. It took the two of them a long time to find their way to intimacy and romance, but after all these years, they're finally standing on the verge of a life together. She and George have a long, complicated history, and their lives are intertwined in a way most people couldn't possibly begin to understand. This guy, this stranger, could never compete with that.

Even so, she speaks kindly, because the lost look in his eyes touches her.

"I would love to help, but we have somewhere we have to be."

The guy, Clark or whatever his name really is, looks past her. "Oh," he says, looking unaccountably sad. "You and your boyfriend."

"Fiancé, actually," she says, putting her hand on George's so that the stranger can see her diamond ring. "The wedding's on Sunday."

The stranger smiles, and somehow looks sadder than ever. "Congratulations. That's great."

He's obviously trying to be polite, but he's also strangely insincere about it. It doesn't take an investigative reporter to see that he really isn't happy about her upcoming wedding. It makes no sense, and Chloe is a little annoyed by it.

She looks away from him, away from the inexplicable attraction she feels for him, and toward the man who's the cornerstone of her life. Her friend, her lover, her hero. "So," she says. "You ready?"

"Yeah," he answers. Today, their day off, he's wearing a t-shirt and jeans, but his t-shirt proclaims him to be a member of the Metropolis PD. He's tall and muscled and handsome. Even on his days off, he looks like a hero. "Your dad just called. He's waiting at the tuxedo shop."

"Okay." She follows George toward his car, then turns back, drawn irresistibly to the stranger and his sad eyes. Sure enough, he's still watching her. "I'm sorry I couldn't help," she tells him.

"It's okay," he says, although it clearly isn't. The shadows in his eyes make that perfectly plain. He looks like he was counting on her, and she's let him down. He looks like she's shaken the foundations of his world by her refusal to help.

She feels an odd trickle of guilt, which she tries to suppress. Whatever this guy's problems are, they're his, not hers.

She's never met him before. She needs to remember that.

"I hope you find Lana," she says, and turns away, opening the car door.

"Chloe," he says.

At the sound of his deep voice saying her name, she lifts her head. It's strangely familiar, and gives her an odd moment of deja vu, as if she's heard him say her name every day of her life. And yet she knows she hasn't. She knows it. She stares at him, bewildered.

He offers her a smile, but it doesn't touch his sorrowful eyes. "I'm really happy for you," he says softly.

"Thanks," she answers, as something twists painfully inside her chest. She doesn't want to say goodbye to this beautiful stranger. She wants to stay with him, to get to know him, to find out what it is about him that calls to her so deeply.

She doesn't want to leave him behind.

But she knows that's just her being fanciful. There's no connection between her and this guy. There can't be. They've never met before today.

She sighs, and gets into the car with George. Her hero, her rock, her life.

She glances, very quickly, over her shoulder. The stranger is still standing there in the middle of the road, staring at her, looking lost and alone.

But she reminds herself that whatever his issues are, they're not her issues. She has a life that doesn't involve him. She has a fulfilling, busy life that makes her very happy.

She does her best to put the beautiful stranger and his sad eyes out of her mind, and focuses on the man beside her. The man she loves and respects more than any other. The man who's always been such a major part of her life. The man she's going to marry.

George puts the car into gear, and the two of them drive away.

Chloe doesn't look back.

-The End-

The Bridge to Forever

Clark/Chloe angst
Futurefic
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.

"She's not really gone, you know." The old woman at the funeral had smiled reassuringly, patting his hand. "Death can never truly separate us from the ones we love."

Clark Kent thought about those words endlessly, a thousand times a day. He knew they were something of a cliche, and recognized that the woman had simply been mouthing customary words of condolence, words that she might not even believe herself.

But he wanted to believe them.

He wanted to believe that Chloe Sullivan Kent was still out there somewhere. They'd been married for over thirty years, and he had always been incredibly attuned to her, able to hear her from half a world away. But now that she was dead, even with his enhanced senses, he couldn't hear her or see her or feel her presence in any way.

If her spirit was anywhere at all... she was far, far away, where even he couldn't find her.

He did have one bit of knowledge to console him that humans lacked, though. Many humans had faith in the concept of an eternal soul, but they possessed no actual proof that such a thing existed. But Clark knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that living beings could be separated from their spirits. His father had used the technique to imprison incorrigible criminals in a dimension called the Phantom Zone, imprisoning their spirits while destroying their bodies.

So people's bodies could be separated from their spirits. That much, he knew for certain. The question was, what exactly happened when humans died? Did their spirits simply fizzle out, or did the spirit lift out if its corporeal body and float into Heaven somehow?

After weeks of contemplating the question and coming to no firm answer, he finally broke down and asked the question of his "father," the AI which held the memories and will of his long-dead genetic father Jor-El.

"It is an interesting question," the AI responded after a moment's thought. "But the truth is that I do not know, my son."

"I just can't stop myself from thinking that maybe Heaven really exists." Clark stalked back and forth across the icy floor of his Fortress of Solitude. The air was bitterly cold, but cold didn't affect him. "Not Heaven per se, not in the sense of angelic choirs singing and halos and harps. But couldn't there be another dimension, not all that different from the Zone, where human spirits go when they're, well... detached from their bodies?"

"It is..." The AI hesitated. "A possibility. But I do not know how one would go about finding such a dimension."

"You found the Phantom Zone, didn't you? Or did you somehow create it?"

"The Zone itself already existed. All I created was the gateway."

Clark nodded. "How did you do it?"

"This device." A crystal rose out of the Fortress' console. It looked just like every other crystal, but to Clark's Kryptonian vision, it was as individual as a snowflake, and had clearly been designed with a very specific purpose in mind. "It can scan the dimensions, and even form a gateway to them when needed."

"How many dimensions did you scan to find the Zone?"

"Approximately nine million, two hundred sixty-two--"

"Okay." Clark reached out and grasping the crystal. "I get it. A lot."

"Yes. It would be an enormous job, my son, even with your abilities. To find a human afterlife, if such a thing exists, would be extraordinarily difficult."

Clark looked down at the crystal gripped in his fist, and sighed, thinking of Chloe's laughing eyes, her smile, the soft caress of her hand against his. After thirty years of marriage, losing her felt like losing one of his limbs. He longed for her so badly it hurt.

"I have to try," he said softly.

He spent the next six months trying. He didn't abandon Metropolis, the city he'd guarded for three decades, but he did quit his job at the Daily Planet, providing himself with a substantial amount of spare time. In the hours when he wasn't flying patrols over his city, he sorted through data he'd gathered for dimension after dimension.

Over half the dimensions were filled with "real" life rather than spiritual life, and he discarded those easily. But the rest-- well, it wasn't easy to determine where a human afterlife might be found, because his crystal hadn't been calibrated to differentiate among different sorts of spiritual entities.

After months of working on the problem, though, he at last discovered that spiritual "life signs" were oddly similar to brainwaves, and by searching for frequencies similar to human brainwaves, he was able to narrow his search down to a mere ten dimensions.

At last, one morning, he found Heaven.

"I wish you would not call it that," the AI grumbled, as querulously as it was able. "It is not a religious or mythical place, my son. It is every bit as real as the Phantom Zone."

"I understand that," Clark said patiently. He'd dealt with Jor-El observing over his shoulder for the past six months. It was irritating, but the AI sometimes made useful suggestions, so he'd tolerated it. "I realize it's not a perfect place with no strife and no sin. If it contains human spirits, then it's just as flawed as Earth is."

"And that is extremely flawed," Jor-El said dryly.

Clark couldn't hold back a laugh. The AI had always had an odd mixture of disdain and protectiveness toward the denizens of Earth. "True," he admitted. "But the one thing that makes it like Heaven, Jor-El, is that it's eternal. It's forever. The spirits there... they never die. They never fade. There are billions of spirits there. And... and Chloe is one of them."

He'd checked and rechecked against the record he had of Chloe's brainwaves, and he was absolutely certain. Chloe was there, somewhere.

Jor-El was silent for a long moment. "And you wish to be with your love forever."

"Yeah." Clark heaved a sigh. "It's been six months, and I still miss her as much as I ever did. I don't want to stay here without her. Somehow, I have to find her."

"Even if that means giving up your life here on Earth?"

Clark closed his eyes.

"Without her," he said, very softly, "it's not much of a life."

"You do understand that you cannot pass into such a dimension physically, do you not? Do you understand what that means?"

Clark nodded solemnly. "Yes. I do."

"Perhaps you could wait," the AI suggested. "You are not immortal, my son. Eventually, you will die, whether of old age or in the course of your work. And then..."

"And then we won't be reunited, Jor-El. There aren't any Kryptonian life signs in this particular dimension. I don't know where Kryptonians go when they die, assuming we go anywhere at all, but it isn't the same place Chloe went. If I die... I'll never see her again."

That was his greatest fear, the fear that he might die, and live on in another eternal dimension without her. The idea that he might live forever and yet never see her again. The thought ripped at his gut with agonizingly sharp claws. He couldn't bear the thought of an eternity without her.

"And what of your responsibilities to Earth's people, Kal-El?"

Clark sighed. "I've worked to protect Earth for thirty years, Jor-El. I hate to leave it. But there are other superheroes. Younger superheroes. They can continue to do my job, maybe better than I can now. I'm not as young as I once was. And besides..." He uttered another sigh. "My heart's just not here any more, Jor-El. It's with her."

Jor-El was silent again. At last he said, "I understand what it feels like to lose your soulmate, Kal-El. Do what you must."

"Thank you," Clark whispered, strangely grateful for the AI's approval. He and the AI had often been at odds, but they had slowly developed a grudging respect for one another.

He lifted the crystal, and activated a different control. A portal began to form in front of him, glowing a silvery white. Beyond it, he could see a gleaming, ethereal bridge that seemed made of mist and rainbows.

"The bridge back to Chloe," he whispered. "The bridge to forever."

"Goodbye, my son," Jor-El said, very gravely. "I hope that you find happiness there."

Clark thought about Chloe, his wife, his soulmate, his one love.

"I will," he answered, just as solemnly. "I'm sure of it."

He squared his shoulders and walked into the portal, and as he crossed through the glowing light, his body collapsed to the ground, lifeless. Clark-- the essence of the corporeal being who had called himself Clark Kent-- looked back, aware that he couldn't change his mind now. He was only a disembodied soul now, although he felt as solid as he ever had. But he knew he could never pass back through the portal.

As he looked back at the sight of his lifeless body, and the stark interior of his Fortress, the portal closed behind him. He looked away from the past and started across the bridge.

Beyond its misty borders, this dimension stretched out, bright and beautiful. It didn't have the eerie, alien look of the Phantom Zone. It looked like a glorious sunny day on Earth.

It also looked vast. In point of fact, it was vast. There were billions of spirits here, and he had no idea how to find one specific soul among so many.

But he had all eternity to solve the problem. Somehow, sooner or later, he'd find her.

He looked away from the distant, sunlit vistas, and saw her waiting for him at the other end of the bridge, smiling.

Joy flooded him. He smiled back, filled with gratitude and relief and an intense joy beyond any he'd ever known. He'd found her. After all his months of searching, he'd found her. And now he would never be parted from her again.

He quickened his pace, and walked into forever.

-The End-