Fly Like an Eagle

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

I want to fly like an eagle
To the sea
Fly like an eagle
Let my spirit carry me...
-"Fly Like an Eagle," Steve Miller Band

"I just can't make it work."

Clark Kent stood in the enormous structure known as the Watchtower, his long black coat almost brushing the stone floor. He didn't allow himself to show frustration often these days, but after weeks of futile effort, it was hard to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"Flying, you mean."

"Yes, flying." He stalked restlessly across the floor. "I ought to be able to do it, but I can't. Jor-El says it's because I'm still allowing my human side to rule my thinking, but..."

"Jor-El," Chloe Sullivan said, "is an idiot."

He couldn't help the slight smile that curved his mouth. Chloe was his oldest and best friend, and despite all the issues they'd had lately, they were slowly getting their friendship back on an even keel. Chloe had a way of cutting to the heart of matters, a snarky, direct way of looking at things that he'd missed while they were fighting.

"Jor-El has done a lot to get me on the right path," he pointed out.

"Has he?" She rose to her feet and walked toward him. "Have you looked in a mirror lately, Clark?"

He blinked at her. "I don't understand."

"Look at yourself." She pointed at his chest with a finger, and he looked down, seeing the blurry outline of a Kryptonian sigil on his t-shirt.

"That's my House symbol," he said, a little huffily. "It represents my Kryptonian heritage."

"Yes," she answered. "I know. But what part of this costume represents your human heritage?"

He sighed. "Chloe, I don't have a human heritage. I'm Kryptonian."

"By birth, yes. By upbringing, no. Do you really believe Jonathan and Martha did absolutely nothing to mold you into the man you are today?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. His human parents had been very, very important to him, and he knew that Jor-El-- the real Jor-El, not the AI he was currently training with-- had chosen them deliberately, in the belief that they were the best possible parents for him on this world. But the AI constantly seemed to deride his human parents and their contributions to his life, so he'd learned to not talk about them much.

"My human side has nothing to do with my work as the Blur," he said, lifting his chin. He was aware he sounded a little haughty, a little you-are-beneath-me-lowly-human, but he couldn't help getting a bit defensive.

"I know it doesn't. And that's the problem."

He cocked his head. "Explain."

"Clark, this..." She waved her hands, encompassing his costume from long black coat and t-shirt to his heavy leather boots. "This is not you. This is not the guy I've known since middle school. I don't know what this is, exactly. Your costume reminds me of the Angel of Vengeance, or maybe of that Bat vigilante we keep hearing about in Gotham. It's not you. You look like a vigilante."

"I am a vigilante."

"Are you?" She glared challengingly into his eyes. "Or are you a hero?"

"It's the same thing," he muttered, more defensively than before.

"No, it's not." Her finger was jabbing at his chest again. "And I think that's the problem, Clark. You need to get the difference clear in your own head. When you're rescuing people, saving lives, then you're a hero. But when you're burning the sigil of the House of El into property everywhere you go... then you're a vigilante."

"That's not what Jor-El told me. He says--"

"Since when do you let a machine do your thinking for you?" She was right up in his face now, looking annoyed. He suddenly recognized she'd been choking back a lot of opinions over the past month, while they were fighting, and now that things were settling down between them she felt more free to let him have it, the way she always had when she thought he was out of line. "Clark, look at yourself. Look at yourself! Is this really the man you want to be? Do you really think you look like a hero? Do you really think you're acting like a hero?"

He looked down at the stark black costume. In a sudden, vivid flash of memory, he recalled carving his symbol into someone's car door this morning, and shame rolled over him as he realized she was right.

He wanted to be a hero. More than anything, he wanted to protect people.

But since he'd put on this costume, he had to admit, he hadn't been going about it the right way. His parents-- his human parents-- wouldn't be proud of him.

Chloe seemed to read the doubt and guilt in his expression. She put a hand on his shoulder.

"You've been going through a lot," she said gently. "Everything that happened last year. Davis, Jimmy, the other people who died. Lois' disappearance. Our fight. I know it's been hard. But now that you have a little emotional distance from everything that's happened, I think you need to reconsider all this."

"Yeah." He nodded. "I think you're right."

Her hand tightened on his shoulder in a supportive gesture. "And once you figure out what the man you want to be looks like, what he acts like... well, then I honestly think flying won't be a problem for you any more."

*****

The next day, he blurred into the Watchtower. She turned around and stared at him for a long moment.

"Clark," she said gravely, "you're burning my retinas."

He burst out into laughter, and was startled to realize how good it felt to laugh. Since he'd started working with the AI, he'd been struggling to suppress every emotion. He'd hardly smiled, let alone laughed. But Chloe was right. He couldn't turn his back on his humanity. He couldn't turn his back on emotions.

Laughter and joy and love, and even grief and sorrow-- they all had their places in his life.

"I was going for something different than black."

"You succeeded." She walked around him, looking at the blue t-shirt, onto which he'd affixed a bright scarlet and yellow S symbol, and the long red cape he wore. "It's an improvement. But the towel..."

"It's a cape."

"A cape. Right. Of course it is. And hey, it goes great with the jeans."

"This isn't the final version of my costume," he said, sensing that she was poking gentle fun at him. "It's, you know, a prototype."

She studied him for a long moment, then nodded decisively. "I like it better than the black, that's for sure."

He smiled at her approval. "Me too."

"What does Jor-El think?"

He grinned a little more broadly. "I haven't shown him yet. I'm pretty sure he'll pop a microchip or two."

She chuckled, a warm sound that he suddenly realized he'd missed an awful lot while they were fighting. "Whether Jor-El likes it or not is irrelevant," she said. "For that matter, what I think about it is irrelevant. The question is, does it feel right to you?"

He looked down at himself, seeing the familiar colors he'd worn for years. For years his favorite outfit had been jeans, a blue t-shirt, and a red jacket. This wasn't all that different. It looked familiar. Comfortable.

Right.

"Yes," he said. "It does."

"That's what matters," she told him. "Okay, then. You're dressed like a hero. The hero you want to be. And so now... I want you to jump out the window."

He followed her pointing finger and looked dubiously at the open, arched window she indicated. "Uh, Chlo, we're an awfully long way up..."

"Go on, Clark. You can do it."

"But I tried to jump off the Statue of Liberty last week, and it was a total failure. I'm just not sure..."

"That was the vigilante you," she said implacably. "This is the hero you. Trust me, Clark. You can do this."

He walked slowly toward the window, then paused, studying it warily. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure." She walked up behind him, and her fingers closed around his in a reassuring gesture. "I have faith in you, Clark. I always have."

He turned his head and looked down at her. It was, he thought, nice to have someone in his life who believed in him that much. It was nice to have her back by his side, where she belonged.

"Okay," he said. "Wish me luck."

She smiled up at him, then rose up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Good luck," she whispered.

His eyes went wide. She'd kissed him.

Wow.

Instantly, all of Jor-El's lessons about suppressing his emotions faded from his consciousness. He grinned broadly, feeling himself light up from inside, like her kiss had flipped a switch and kindled something hot and incandescent inside him. He hadn't felt this happy in weeks, and he couldn't have repressed his delight if he'd wanted to.

"Go," she said, giving him a little push.

He went. He jumped out the window, his red cape rippling behind him.

And then he shot straight up, soaring confidently into the sky over Metropolis.

-The End-

Beginnings

Clark/Chloe futurefic
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Cap from Smallville Dedication.
Inspired by the F3 prompt of "Beginnings."

He hadn't meant to fall in love with Chloe Sullivan. It had just happened.

Looking back on it, though, he couldn't quite figure out when it had happened. Maybe, he thought, it had been the night they'd been watching TV together, and he'd started tickling her for some comment she'd made, and they'd suddenly found themselves kissing, and kissing had led to...

Well, he'd been inclined to date it from there. Certainly on the surface, that seemed to be the night he'd fallen in love with her.

But when he thought about it a little more, he couldn't help remembering a dark, fear-filled night when she'd whispered, "I don't know if I'll ever see you again," flung her arms around him, and kissed him.

Yeah, he decided, thinking about it. It had probably been that night, actually. Despite everything that had come afterward, despite the other lovers and the years that had intervened, he thought that was probably the night when Chloe had first burrowed her way into his heart for keeps.

But then he thought about it a little more, remembering taking her to a dance, the wind blowing wildly as they ran into the high school together, dancing together on a balloon-covered floor, and the two of them leaning in for a kiss...

Could have been then, he decided. Definitely, it could have been. In fact, it probably had been. He'd let her push him away, and he'd become obsessed with Lana Lang, but deep down, there had always been Chloe...

But then again, there had been the day they met. Even after all these years, he remembered her so clearly, a perky little blonde with a great big smile. She'd stood on tiptoe and kissed him, and he hadn't resisted. And he'd liked it. He'd liked it a lot. He hadn't ever been able to forget it.

On that very first day, he realized, with that very first kiss, she'd somehow become part of him, a part that he could never quite leave behind.

Thinking about it, he wasn't sure when he'd fallen in love with Chloe Sullivan. He couldn't quite pinpoint the day or the hour, or even the year. All he knew was that something had been seeded in him on the very day they met, something that had lain dormant for years, and then flowered into what he felt for her now.

He wasn't sure when he'd fallen in love with her.

But that kiss in his loft so long ago-- that had been the beginning.

And every kiss after that had been another beginning, a moment that had brought them closer and closer together, until at last they shared this beginning.

He looked at her and smiled, then glanced over at the man who stood in front of them.

"I do," he said.

-The End-

Silver

Clark/Chloe
Season 5, "Splinter"
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Written for the Chlark 24/7 prompt of "silver kryptonite."

Cap from Dynamic Duo.

He's standing just outside the Daily Planet, watching her through the wall of the basement. He doesn't ordinarily spy on her this way, without her knowledge, but today he's realized he can't trust her. He can't trust anyone.

Earlier he found emails on her computer, emails from Lionel Luthor, of all people. Then his father betrayed him, agreeing to give him to Lionel for experimentation. And then he saw Lex and his girlfriend Lana, working together on a spaceship. And now...

He doesn't even want to imagine what the next betrayal might be.

She's moving around the basement, doing her normal work, finding papers she needs for research, filing things. And then a blond man walks up behind her.

Clark doesn't recognize the guy. It's one of her co-workers, he guesses. The guy grabs her by the shoulders , spins her around, and plants a kiss on her mouth, right in front of the entire basement.

She doesn't object. She lifts her arms, wrapping them around the guy's neck, and kisses him back.

Clark stares, shocked.

Worse than shocked. Betrayed.

Not that he's dating Chloe. He's dating Lana, and has been for a couple of months now.

And yet... Chloe is his.

She's not supposed to be kissing other guys. She's not.

The guy pulls away, looks down into Chloe's eyes, and smiles. And then he turns away.

Dark, unreasoning rage explodes inside Clark, and he bursts into superspeed.

*****

"I want... I want to talk."

He's stalking back and forth in front of her, because he can't hold still. Something inside him is making him twitchy and anxious and restless. She stands in the alley, looking wary, almost frightened. He supposes the way he just picked her up and supersped her out of the basement freaked her out a little.

"Clark," she says, hesitantly. "Does this have to do with those messages you think you saw on my computer earlier? Because I swear..."

He shakes his head. God, he's hot, so hot and sweaty. Why is it so hot?

"This has nothing to do with Lionel," he says, still stalking. "I want to know how long you've been dating that guy, that's all."

She blinks. "Dating?"

"Yes." He comes to a sudden, complete halt and steps toward her, looming over her. "You didn't tell me, Chloe. You didn't even tell me. I saw you. Kissing-- kissing another guy. And you didn't tell me."

She hesitates for a long moment. "Clark," she says at last, gently. "I didn't kiss anyone."

"Don't lie to me!" Sudden rage gusts through him, and sweat pours down his back. He's so hot. "I saw you! I saw you and that guy, damn it!"

"Even if I did," she says, keeping her tone very even, very calm, "I don't really see why it would be any business of yours."

"So you admit it!" He's right up in her face now, snarling with rage. "You kissed him! You've been dating him. Haven't you? Haven't you?"

"No," she says steadily. He can hear the rapid beating of her heart, and he knows she's scared, which proves she's lying. "No, Clark. I'm not dating anyone. But if I were--"

"Stop lying!" Rage and jealousy twist inside him, driving him to a need for violence he's never felt before. She needs to be punished. She was kissing that guy, kissing him, and she won't admit it, and she shouldn't be kissing-- shouldn't be kissing--

Anyone except him.

His hand wraps around her throat, and he shoves her up against the brick wall of the alley. She chokes, helpless, and struggles, but there can be no escape, because he's strong and she's fragile and weak, and she should have thought of that before she kissed another man, before she betrayed him. She's been dating another man, kissing him, maybe even having sex with him, and the thought makes him so furious that his hand tightens on her even more.

And then he's kissing her, hard, brutal angry.

"Mmmppphfff!"

She's trying to get away. She doesn't want to kiss him. Damn her, damn her, all he wants is to kiss her, to make her his, and instead she wants to go back to the blond guy. Anger twists his guts into knots.

"I loved you," he chokes out. "I loved you, more than anything else, more than anyone, and you betrayed me. Twice, you betrayed me. First with Lionel, and now with that guy. It shouldn't have been him, Chloe, it should have been me, why didn't you choose me..."

Her eyes are wide with surprise and shock, and she's still struggling for air, but her struggles are weakening. He lets her go, shoving her back agains the wall, and she slowly collapses to the ground.

And then there's a voice behind him, speaking his name, and he turns to confront Professor Fine, who's holding a strange object in one of his hands.

And when the confrontation is over, the little silver splinter has been extracted from his body, and suddenly he's not hot and angry and violently possessive any more.

He feels normal.

And very, very guilty.

He lifts Chloe in his arms and superspeeds her to the hospital.

*****

"Chloe." He's standing at the door to her hospital room, because he doesn't even dare cross over to her, let alone sit down. He figures she's going to tell him to go to hell, and God knows he deserves it. The bruises on her throat fill him with a miserable guilt. "Chlo... I'm so sorry..."

"Sit down," she says gently. He's grateful she can speak, although her voice is hoarse. Hesitantly, he walks across the room and sits next to her. Her golden hair, which she's been wearing in a very straight, professional style, is tousled and rumpled, her natural curls reasserting themselves. He likes her bedhead. It's cute.

"Chlo..."

"Clark." She pats his hand. "It's okay. I know that what happened wasn't your fault."

"I'm so sorry," he says wretchedly. "You know that I would never hurt you on purpose..."

"Of course I know that." Her hand settles over his, holding his hand lightly in reassurance. "It was the silver kryptonite, Clark. And whatever you thought you saw-- it was just the silver K playing tricks with your mind. It wasn't real. I'm not dating anyone."

"I was imagining some pretty crazy stuff," he says, sighing. "My dad selling me to Lionel for experiments. You sharing information with Lionel. Lana and Lex working together on a spaceship. And then, you and that guy..."

She smiles a little, but it doesn't touch her eyes. "I don't quite see why it mattered to you, anyway. But I guess that was just part of the silver K infection."

He remembers kissing her, a hard, hungry, almost violent kiss. He remembers his angry words: I loved you. I loved you, more than anything else, more than anyone, and you betrayed me... It shouldn't have been him, Chloe, it should have been me, why didn't you choose me...

Those words don't make sense, because both of them know that the woman he loves is Lana. And yet they seemed to make sense at the time. Then again, a lot of things made sense at the time that don't now. Under the influence of the silver splinter, everything was bizarrely surreal, like a bad dream or a Dali painting. He nods hesitantly in agreement.

"I guess so," he says. The memory of Chloe kissing that guy rises up, and anger follows it.

He's still angry at the thought. That's strange. Maybe he's still got a little residual craziness floating around in his brain.

She squeezes his hand. "I'm just glad you're all right, Clark."

He swallows. "If I'd killed you..."

"But you didn't, so stop beating yourself up about it. I mean, silver kryptonite. Who knew?"

"I just don't want it to happen again. I went to Lex's mansion, but I couldn't find the rock. It seems to have disappeared somehow. Not that he ever admitted to sending it to Lana in the first place. But I don't trust him."

"Well, he is a Luthor," she says. A brief pause. "And speaking of the evil dynasty... well, I need to come clean about something. Those e-mails that you saw on my computer from Lionel... you weren't imagining them.

Shock stabs through him. "So you are talking to Lionel?"

"Yes, but not about you --about Lex. Lionel's been feeding me inside information about Lex's campaign for state senate."

He nods. That makes sense. But she seems to take his silence as an accusation, because her hand tightens on his.

"Clark," she says softly. "I understand that you haven't been yourself, but you know that I would never tell Lionel your secret. I'd never tell anyone. I'd die before I'd ever betray you."

"Yeah," he says, very softly. "I do know that."

He looks into her eyes and sees the steady, unwavering loyalty that's always there. And he sees something else there, too.

He sees love.

Suddenly he realizes why he felt so betrayed when he thought he saw Chloe kissing someone else. Because he knows she loves him-- knows that she's loved him for years-- and he just can't imagine her ever loving anyone else. Chloe's love is one of the great constants of his life.

But he can't expect her to wait around for him forever. His sane self understands that. Eventually, she'll lose her heart to some other guy, a guy who can return her love, who can give her the affection and adoration she deserves.

And then he'll have to watch her flirting with someone else, kissing someone else, getting close to someone else.

And in a sudden burst of clarity, he realizes that watching her fall in love with someone else will rip him apart from the inside out.

Chloe means more to him than he ever understood. The words he spoke under the influence were true. He does love her, more than he loves anything. They're friends, very close friends-- but they're also more, much more than he was ever willing to admit to himself.

He has the silver K to thank for showing him exactly what was hidden in the depths of his subconscious. All that jealous rage boiling inside him when he'd thought she'd kissed that guy-- if Chloe ever turns to another man, that's exactly how he'll feel. He won't become violent, of course, but inside... inside he'll hurt like hell.

He wants to tell her what he's realized, wants to kiss her again.

But there's something he needs to do first.

He squeezes her hand and stands up. "I'll be back," he says. "But right now, I need to talk to someone."

He sees a flicker of disappointment in her eyes, but she lowers her lashes, veiling the reaction. "Okay," she says, obviously trying for a light tone. "I'm not going anywhere."

He looks down at her for a long moment, and then turns and walks away.

*****

"Lana. We need to talk."

Lana Lang smiles at him. "Hi, Clark. I haven't seen you for a couple of days, since you got that splinter in your finger. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he says. Thankfully she never caught a glimpse of him during his Captain Paranoid phase, so she has no clue what he's been through recently. "Chloe's doing fine, too. I just saw her at the hospital, and she's recovering from, uh, the mugging. Um... I stopped by because we need to talk."

She looks at him, tilting her head on one side, so that her hair cascades over one shoulder like a shining curtain. He used to think her dark, glistening hair was beautiful, but suddenly he realizes he prefers Chloe's tousled mop of blonde curls.

"All right," she says. "What do we need to talk about?"

He takes a deep breath, and then blurts out the truth, the truth that the silver K made him face. The truth that deep down, he's known all along.

"I've fallen in love with someone else," he says.

-The End-

Wonderful

Clark/Chloe (hints of Clark/Lois and Ollie/Lois), Lois, Martha
Season 1 and futurefic
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Author's Note: I meant this to be a simple drabble, but it grew. The first three parts are drabbles (each 100 words) and the last two parts are triple drabbles (each 300 words).

Clark:

I look stupid. Dad was right to call this a penguin suit. I look like a tall, skinny penguin. Chloe's gonna laugh at me.

I wish I could have driven. I know it's old-fashioned of me, but I would have liked to pick her up. She deserves to be picked up. Then again, she doesn't deserve an old truck, either. She deserves a coach and four, or a big limousine.

But even though I look like I should live in Antarctica, even though I don't have a romantic mode of transportation for her... I really think tonight's gonna be great.
Chloe:

It's too pink. I knew it would be too pink. It looked just fine in the store, but now, in the daylight, it's just too darn pink.

He doesn't seem to mind, though. The way he's looking at me... wow. It's like he never realized I had two X chromosomes till tonight.

The big moron.

Finally he's looking at me the way I want him to. About time.

He slides on my corsage, and I pin on his boutonnière, and the whole time, we don't stop looking in each other's eyes.

Wow.

I really think tonight's going to be great.
Martha:

My goodness, Clark looks so grown up.

It's strange to look at your son, who was so recently small enough to hold in your lap, and realize that's he's growing up.

And Chloe. I remember the first time she came to the farm, all skinny legs and big eyes. She's all grown up too.

The two of them have grown up together.

And tonight, they take another step into adulthood together. They're so hopeful, so expectant. So excited. It reminds me of the first time Jonathan and I went to a dance together.

I hope tonight is wonderful for them.
Lois:

Geez, what a geek Smallville was.

Well, he still is. But who knew he was ever so skinny?

This picture of them at the Spring Formal is disgustingly adorable. The two of them together look... well, they were definitely cute together, even if my cuz is so short she had to crane her neck to talk to him.

But this was the distant past, and they're not even talking any more.

I hate that. I hate seeing them both so sad. Smallville stares at the phone about twenty times an hour, and every time I see Chloe she's turned so... I don't know, brittle. It's like she's hiding her loneliness behind this cold, hard shell of ice.

Hey, that was pretty poetic. My writing's coming along, huh?

But back on topic. I'm sitting here looking through Chloe's old photo albums, and I see how often she and Clark are next to each other. I mean, yeah, sure, they went to the spring formal together. But then there are pictures of them with birthday cakes, hanging out at the Torch, swimming at Crater Lake, riding horses...

It's like they've shared their whole lives together.

And now they're broken apart. They don't even talk. I wish I could do something to fix that. I wish I could do something to fix them. Even if it means... even if it means I can't ever...

Okay, I admit, I have kind of a thing for Smallville. It didn't take me long to figure out he was the Red-Blue Blur. I'm not dumb, you know. And who wouldn't fall for a hero?

We've been out on a few dates. But they didn't go so great. It was like something was missing.

And looking through these photo albums, I see what it was.

I'm not Chloe.
Martha:
My goodness, Clark is grown up. And so is Chloe.

They look perfect together as they walk down the aisle arm in arm, smiling. Clark wears a perfectly fitted tuxedo that, despite his complaints, does not cause him to bear even a slight resemblance to a penguin. Chloe is draped in a flowing ivory satin gown. They both wear brilliant, delighted smiles.

And I can't help but notice that Lois and Oliver, the maid of honor and the best man, look gorgeous together, too.

It's a beautiful, beautiful wedding. I was worried it might never happen, because Clark kept telling me he and Chloe weren't friends any more. But whenever we talked, I could hear the grief in his voice, and I hoped... I hoped...

Thankfully, the two of them have Lois and Ollie for friends. Lois and Ollie managed to trap the two of them together somehow-- it's not easy to trap Clark, but perhaps he didn't struggle too hard to escape-- and when Clark and Chloe emerged, they were friends again.

And more.

We all follow the happy couple outside the church. I stand in the crowd, watching my son and his wife dash through a hail of birdseed toward a waiting limousine. They're still smiling, happy, bright smiles of pure joy.

And then I glance back, seeing Lois and Ollie gazing into each other's eyes, oblivious to everything else.

I'm happy for all of them. A long, long time ago, I remember, I stood on the porch of our old house, and wished that the spring formal would be a wonderful night for Clark and Chloe. Sadly, it wasn't a happy ending.

But this-- this is the happiest ending I could imagine.

I hope tonight is wonderful for them.

And all the days and nights to come.

-The End-

Life After You

Clark/Chloe futurefic
PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
The lyrics are from "Life After You," by Daughtry.

Ten miles from town and I just broke down
Spitting out smoke on the side of the road
I'm out here alone just trying to get home
To tell you I was wrong but you already know
Believe me I won't stop at nothing
To see you so I've started running

Damn this old truck.

Clark Kent gazed ruefully at the ancient red vehicle as it crouched on the grass at the side of the road, smoke spilling out of its engine. Of course he didn't require a truck to get around, but he had all his belongings piled into the back.

He'd taken them away a few weeks ago, and now he was bringing them back, and hoping like hell he still had a home for them.

He looked over his boxed possessions and sighed. It didn't really matter if he left the truck here. None of his stuff was worth anything anyway.

Without her, he wasn't worth anything either.

He turned his back on the truck and blurred into a run.

All that I'm after is a life full of laughter
As long as I'm laughing with you
I'm thinking that all that still matters is love ever after
After the life we've been through
'Cause I know there's no life after you

He still remembered the day they'd moved in together, remembered the heady anticipation that had filled him when she'd arrived at his apartment door. He'd opened the door with a flourish. "Welcome to my humble abode, Ms. Sullivan."

She'd gazed into his apartment, frowning as if she hadn't been there a thousand times before. "Oh. Well. It is humble, isn't it?"

"My rugs are not worthy to touch your lovely feet, my princess. But if you will do me the honor of residing here..."

She'd rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop it, Clark. Just grab my bags, will you?"

"Yes, ma'am. Right away, ma'am."

"Hmmm." She'd walked into his bedroom, and was now thoughtfully considering the space. "I'll need three-quarters of the closet."

"Three-quarters?" he'd echoed. "What am I supposed to do with all my shirts?"

"These flannel things? Burn them. Come on, farmboy, start unpacking my stuff. I'm here to stay, whether you like it or not."

He'd grinned. "I definitely like it, Chlo."

Last time we talked, the night that I walked
Burns like an iron in the back of my mind
I must've been high to say you and I
Weren't meant to be and just wasting my time
Oh, why did I ever doubt you?
You know I would die here without you

He could make it from here to Metropolis in less than two seconds, but it felt considerably longer than that in subjective time. As he raced along, he remembered their last conversation.

He'd been in one of his not infrequent mopes, thanks to a building collapse in which he hadn't managed to save everyone. For the most part, his work as Superman was rewarding, but when he failed to save someone, he took it hard. When he failed to save a dozen people-- well, he'd spent most of a week walking around in a miserable daze.

Chloe had finally smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "Come on, Kent. You need to move on."

"Move on?" He'd been slumped on the couch, doing nothing in particular, but at her words he'd lifted his head and glared at her. "Are you kidding me?"

She'd sighed. "I know it's hard when you lose them, Clark, but..."

"But what? I'm just supposed to forget about twelve people who died because I was too damn slow?"

"Why not focus on the forty-seven who lived because you're so damn fast?"

He growled, turning his head away. "It's not enough."

"Clark," she said sharply. "You have to stop beating yourself up like this. You do the best you can. Everybody knows that. You know it too."

"My best wasn't good enough for those twelve people."

"You can't do any better than your best, Clark." She put a hand on his shoulder, but he yanked away from her.

"Don't touch me!"

She stared down at her, and in her eyes he saw as much hurt as if he'd slapped her. Guilt and self-disgust swirled inside him, a combination that made him lash out even harder.

"You don't understand me," he accused, getting to his feet. "You've never understood me."

She glared back at him, looking indignant. "I understand you better than you understand yourself, Clark Kent."

"No, you don't." Pain burned inside his chest, scalding him. "I think we both know this isn't working, Chloe. We should never have moved in together."

"You're the one who said we were meant to be."

"I was wrong." He scowled, trying to keep her away with words, because he knew if she put her arms around him he'd collapse into tears against her shoulder. "We've just been wasting our time for the past two years, Chloe. This just isn't working out."

"Fine," she snapped. "If you really feel that way, then feel free to leave."

"It's my apartment," he pointed out.

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking stubborn. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Fine," he snapped back. He spun on his heel and went into superspeed. In less than two minutes, his stuff was in the truck, and he was headed down the roadaway from Metropolis.

Away from her.

All that I'm after is a life full of laughter
As long as I'm laughing with you
I'm thinkin' that all that still matters is love ever after
After the life we've been through
'Cause I know there's no life after you

He remembered laughing with her now, remembered all the fun they'd had together. It was, he thought, easy to stay together through the fun times. It was easy to stay with someone through joy and laughter. But it was the hard times that tested a relationship.

He'd been tested, and he'd failed in a big way.

And it wasn't the first time.

He remembered his own voice from years ago, saying coldly: Clark Kent is dead. He remembered himself turning his back on her and walking away when she needed him most.

Three weeks ago, he'd done it to her a second time. He'd turned his back on her. After everything they'd been through together, he'd just walked off. Again.

Chloe, he thought miserably, deserved so much better.

The first time he'd done this, she'd forgiven him, and their relationship had taken its first shaky steps into romance.

He wondered if she could forgive him again.

He wondered if they'd ever laugh together again.

You and I, right or wrong, there's no other one
After this time I spent alone
It's hard to believe that a man with sight could be so blind
Thinkin' 'bout the better times, must've been outta my mind
So I'm running back to tell you
All that I'm after is a life full of laughter
Without you God knows what I'd do

He didn't quite dare barge right in, so he paused at the door and knocked, a bit hesitantly. He heard footsteps, and then she opened the door.

He saw the flash of surprise on her lovely features, but she suppressed the emotion almost instantly, and leaned on the doorjamb, studying him coolly. Her long hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore jeans and a Daily Planet t-shirt. The sight of her made his chest ache with longing.

"Hello, Clark," she said at last.

He'd hoped vaguely that she'd fling herself into his arms, sobbing with relief, and that they could just get past the awkward hi-I'm-back that way. But she was plainly determined not to let him off the hook so easily.

He looked down at her, seeing the glint in her hazel eyes and the displeased slant to her mouth. She was pissed.

But God, he was so damn happy to see her.

He realized that his only chance was to admit his guilt and throw himself on the mercy of the court. "I'm sorry," he said swiftly, before she could decide to slam the door in his face. "So sorry. I know I was a jerk. I didn't mean to be. I just-- I just never lost so many people at once before, and I..."

He still felt grief over the twelve people who'd died, but three weeks of lonely introspection had given him some perspective. He knew that as Superman, he'd saved an awful lot of people-- hundreds, perhaps thousands, over the years he'd been in Metropolis. He still hated that he hadn't been able to save those twelve, but if he focused on the people he lost, rather than the ones he saved, he'd drive himself into insanity. Just as Chloe had told him, he'd done his best, and that had to be enough for him.

Chloe had been right.

But then, she usually was.

She stared up into his eyes for a long moment, as if trying to gauge his sincerity, then sighed and straightened up. "Come in."

Meekly, he followed her into the apartment. It looked a little empty without his books and photos. Still, it was home, and a little twist of happiness curled in his chest. He hadn't realized that in addition to missing her, he'd been a little homesick, both for Metropolis and their apartment.

"Okay," she said, crossing her arms. "I'm listening."

"I'm an idiot."

"True."

"I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you."

"Also true."

"You'd be totally within your rights if you threw me out and got a restraining order."

"Can't argue that one either."

"But... I love you, Chloe. All those things I said-- that we weren't meant to be together, that you didn't understand me, that we'd been wasting our time-- I was just taking out my pain on you. You know I love you. And I know that you understand me more than anyone else in the world does."

A slight smile curved her mouth. "Clark," she said, very softly. "I love you too."

Tears of relief and gratitude burned his eyes. He blinked hard. "Thank you," he said hoarsely.

"But I'm getting a little tired of you walking off on me every time you go emo."

He remembered leaving her behind in the Watchtower years ago, tears streaking her face, and pain stabbed into him. He wondered how many tears she'd cried this time. He'd never wanted to make her cry.

He couldn't ever bear to hurt her that way again.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I won't do it again, I promise."

"You better not. This time, if we move in together... you'd damn well better stay. Forever."

He knew forgiveness when he heard it. He flung his arms around her and picked her up, hugging her tightly against his chest.

"Chloe," he mumbled into her hair. "I'm glad to be home. I'm glad to be with you. Life after you... well, it wasn't really life at all."

"I know what you mean, farmboy." She pulled back and kissed him fiercely on the mouth, then smiled up into his eyes. "The apartment just doesn't feel like home without your junk cluttering up the place."

He grinned wryly. "It's nice to be appreciated."

"I can appreciate you a lot more than this. Come to the bedroom."

She tugged on his hand, but he hung back. "My truck broke down outside of Metropolis, Chlo. I need to get my stuff."

"Five minutes, Clark. That's all I ask."

"Five minutes?"

"Maybe four. I've missed you, big boy."

He grinned, and allowed himself to be led into the bedroom, where they spent a great deal longer than five minutes together, loving each other and kissing and talking.

And laughing together.

All that I'm after is a life full of laughter
As long as I'm laughing with you
I'm thinkin' that all that still matters is love ever after
After the life we've been through
'Cause I know there's no life after you

-The End-

Bun of Steel

Clark/Chloe futurefic
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Based on a prompt by jlvsclrk.

"Clark... I've got something to tell you."

"What's that, sweetheart?"

"I'm, um, sort of, well..."

"Spit it out, Chlo. Whatever it is, I can take it."

"I, uh, well, I can't..."

"You're leaving me, aren't you?"

"Oh, stop with the big eyes, farmboy. Of course I'm not. It's nothing like that, you silly man. It's just that I... well, I've got a bun in the oven."

"!!!!!"

"Clark, for heaven's sake, put me down and stop spinning me around. That is such a cliche."

"What's wrong with cliches?"

"Well, for one thing, I have morning sickness, and I'm about to puke all over your shoulders."

"Okay. Putting you down now and backing far, far away..."

"Thank you. Look, Clark, I'm happy about this, but..."

"But??! What's not to be happy about?"

"Well, I'm human, and the baby is half Kryptonian. What if it's, you know, superstrong?"

"Um. Well. I got stronger as I got older. When my parents found me, I wasn't all that strong..."

"Didn't Martha tell me you flipped over their truck?"

"Well, yeah, but you know, it was just a pickup. I couldn't have flipped over a tractor trailer or anything..."

"How reassuring. Except not so much. The thing is, Clark, I'm just a normal human, and my body is... fragile. Suppose the Bun of Steel kicks me too hard?"

"I don't think it'll be extra-strong till it's born, Chloe. No direct exposure to sunlight."

"Hmmm. You could be right. But what if you're not?"

"I have to be right, Chlo. Because as much as I want to have a baby with you, I can't bear the thought of losing you, so you have got to come through this okay. Anyway, I get my strength from sunlight, so the baby should, too."

"It's not just strength. What if the baby develops heat vision and uses it on me?"

"I didn't get heat vision till I was fifteen..."

"Still. Just imagine how painful that would be. Or superbreath..."

"Which I didn't develop till I was an adult. Don't borrow trouble, Chloe. Our bun in the oven will probably be just like everyone else's, with no special abilities at first."

"I hope you're right."

"So do I, sweetheart. So do I."

*****

"Clark? I think I'm in labor."

"Oh, my God. I'm coming... uh, Chloe? Where are you?"

"Look up."

"Um... when did you learn to float, Chlo?"

"It's not me. I guess it's the Bun of Steel."

"So our baby didn't develop superstrength or heat vision or any of that stuff, but it's already floating?"

"And taking me along for the ride, apparently. Good thing we were inside the house. Otherwise I might just have floated off into the sky like a balloon and never been seen again."

"Maybe we should start calling it the Bun of Helium. When did this start?"

"With the first contraction. I guess the baby doesn't like the squeezing."

"Okay. Let's get to the hospital."

"Clark... I can't float into the maternity ward."

"True. Give me your hand and I'll hold you down."

*****

"Look at her beautiful little toes."

"They're cute, all right. But she's not floating any more."

"Good thing, too. If she was floating all the time, I'd be worried about losing her. Unlike you, I can't fly."

"It must have been a labor thing."

"Well, if she did it once, she'll probably do it again, sooner or later. We'll probably have to deal with all sorts of unusual abilities manifesting themselves eventually. But I'm glad the only ability we had to deal with during pregnancy was floating, and not superstrength or heat vision."

"Me too, sweetheart. I'm glad you and the baby both came through it all right."

"You know, we can't keep calling her the baby, Clark."

"True. So what are we calling her?"

"I don't know. We've been referring to her as the Bun of Steel for so long, I guess I forgot she'd have to have a real name."

"We could name her after you. Call her Chloe."

"I'm not sure the world can take two of me, Clark."

"Good point."

"What about calling her Martha, after your mom?"

"Mom would like that. But won't that get confusing?"

"Nah. Because she'll have a nickname."

"Marty?"

"Heck, no. We'll call her... Bunny."

-The End-

Read the sequel here.

In My Arms

Clark/Chloe
Season 8, "Injustice"
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Based on caps of a deleted scene. Caps from Kryptonsite.

She's just sitting there.

He just saved her from being run down by a truck. But she'd been soaked to the skin by the rain, shuddering with cold, and he'd brought her back to his house and told her to take a nice warm shower.

After a few minutes, he'd noticed the water was running, but that there were no sounds of splashing or movement. So he'd peeked in-- very, very cautiously, because he and Chloe are Just Friends-- and found her sitting in the tub, fully clothed, staring blankly at the tile wall, while water sluiced over her.

That shell-shocked, bewildered look is still on her face, and it's so unlike Chloe's normal cheerful expression that his heart melts. He isn't sure exactly what she's been through, but clearly it wasn't pleasant. There are cuts on her face, and she was covered in dirt when he found her, but it's the look in her eyes that really worries him.

"Hey," he says softly, taking a cautious step toward her.

She doesn't answer, even though he's sure she can hear him over the running water. She's still staring blankly at the wall, and he can see her shivering despite the warmth of the shower. He turns off the water, then picks up the red towel he'd handed her earlier, and kneels beside the tub, just behind her.

"Hey," he says again, very softly. "It's okay, Chlo. Everything's going to be all right."

He's repeating what he said earlier, when he saved her from being flattened by the truck. But despite his efforts at comforting her, she only shivers harder, and he hears a pitiful little sound in her throat. His heart instantly shatters into a million pieces.

He was afraid of this. He was scared to death something bad would happen if she left with Davis. He'd begged her not to leave, cajoled, threatened, all because he'd been afraid of what might happen to her. He'd been terrified that Davis would hurt her.

And now it appears all his worst fears were right. She's obviously been through something truly horrible. Chloe's a fighter, and for her to be this distressed, this shattered...

He wraps the red towel around her, trying to warm her, trying to comfort her. His arms go around her too, and she leans her damp head back against his chest, while he whispers soft words of comfort.

With her so close to him, he feels a slight and disturbing feeling of wrongness, but he pushes it away. There's nothing wrong with him cradling his best friend this way, even if it does feel kind of, well, intimate.

Chloe belongs here in his arms.


That's a strange thought, but suddenly he knows it's true. He remembers kissing her a few years ago, when they both thought the world was ending. For the first time, he admits to himself that was the last time things really felt right.

Even so, he'd been too afraid to take her into his arms and kiss her again, too afraid to risk a change in their friendship. Then, and for years afterward, he'd clung desperately to their Just Friends status.

Clearly he'd been an idiot.

He can't help thinking that if he'd held her this way sooner, sheltered her this way, maybe none of this would have happened. She might not have gotten mixed up with Davis. Maybe he wouldn't even have lost her to Jimmy, if he'd just taken her into his arms and held her when he should have.

But he didn't, and he'd almost lost her. He'd barely found her in time, barely saved her from dying beneath the wheels of a huge truck. He came perilously close to losing her.

He won't lose her again. He won't, damn it.

At long last, he's finally learned his lesson. He's finally admitted how much she means to him. He has Chloe Sullivan back in his arms.

And this time, he's keeping her there.

-The End-

Kryptonite (Alternate Ending)

Clark/Chloe futurefic
Rated PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
From a prompt by tobiwolf13. Based on my story Kryptonite.

You stumbled in and bumped your head, if
Not for me then you'd be dead
I picked you up and put you back
On solid ground...
I'll keep you by my side with my
Superhuman might
Kryptonite
-3 Doors Down, "Kryptonite"

She'd never gotten angry before.

Every day, she'd come to see him, and her heart had broken to see this strong, intelligent man reduced to the level of a five-year-old. The sight of his vacant eyes had filled her with nothing but grief.

Sure, she'd been angry with Lex Luthor, whose experiments with silver kryptonite had brought Clark to this state. She'd been angry with Martha Kent for having Clark put into Belle Reve, even though she'd understood that Martha had no real choice.

But when she'd been alone with Clark, here in this cell... she'd never let herself feel anything but pain and sorrow.

But today, seeing him smile his happy, empty smile while she read him a Superior comic, she couldn't hold back her churning, confused emotions any longer. Today, she felt more than grief.

She felt rage.

Rage for what had been taken from the world. Superman should have been out there for the past year, saving victims of crime, rescuing the weak and the defenseless, protecting the Earth.

Rage for what she herself had lost. Clark Kent had been her best friend since middle school. She wanted back the Clark who'd always been ready with a quip, who'd had a glimmer of humor in his eyes beneath his seriousness. The Clark who'd always been there for her, ready to rescue her or help her save the world or just chill out and watch movies with her.

She missed him, damn it.

The first fury she'd ever allowed herself to feel in his presence boiled up inside her, hot and potent, and a tear slid from her eye and splashed onto his hand. It shimmered, glowing silver, for a moment, then slowly sank into his skin.

She knew by now that her healing powers didn't work on him. She'd been trying for a year, shedding a single tear on him each day in a hopeless effort to heal him.

She knew it wouldn't work. And yet... her tears had never been absorbed into his skin before. Ordinarily they just rolled right off.

She stared at his hand in blank shock as a silvery light began to glow around them both. She reached out, holding his hand, clinging to him, and something dark and terrible began to fill her.

She had only an instant to comprehend that she was absorbing what was wrong with him, absorbing his dementia, absorbing the damage done to him by the silver kryptonite.

And then she collapsed to the floor, and the world went black.

*****

"That's it." The deep masculine voice spoke in her ear, very gently. "Breathe for me, Chloe. Breathe."

She felt strangely stiff, but at the sound of the familiar voice, she managed to force her eyes open. Clark was sitting next to her, very close, and as her eyes opened his face lit up in a wide smile.

"Chlo," he said, the single word filled with joy. "You're okay."

She blinked. The stiffness seemed to be ebbing. She managed to turn her head and look around. They weren't in Belle Reve, but in the familiar, warm confines of the old Kent farmhouse.

"They..." The word sounded like the creaking of rusty hinges. She swallowed and tried again. "They let you out."

He grinned. Not a vacant, childlike smile, but the brilliant grin she'd known since they were both fourteen. "That's because I'm okay. Thanks to you."

"I don't..." More rusty hinges. She coughed a little, and tried to sit up. The effort was a dismal failure. "I don't understand. I tried... for a year I tried. Every single day."

"I remember that." His big hand reached out and stroked her hair, very gently. "I don't remember too much, because my brain was pretty much fried, but that much, I do remember. You were there every day, and every day, you let a tear fall on me."

"And it... it never worked. So why...?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Maybe the planets were in alignment, or something. Was anything different about that day?"

She thought about it, and nodded. Slowly she managed to struggle into a sitting position. She looked into his eyes.

"I got mad," she said.

He cocked his head at her in a wordless question, and she explained. "I never let myself get angry around you. I didn't want to upset you. But that day, I was just so tired of seeing you that way. So angry about everything." She thought about it. "I guess maybe... maybe the force of my emotion triggered something new about my healing ability."

"I guess maybe." His hand reached down and took hers. "But it's not important how it happened. What matters is that you kept trying, that you never gave up on me. I wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for you." His voice fell to a whisper. "And I was worried you'd given up everything for me, Chlo. I was worried you weren't coming back."

"How long was I...?"

"You were dead for three days." He gazed at her solemnly. "I haven't left your side in all that time."

With only a bit of struggle, she managed to get her feet over the side of the bed. The stiffness was fading as her blood ran through her veins, warming her body. She made an effort at a teasing smile.

"I didn't heal you so you could sit around on your ass all day, Clark. The world needs its Superman."

"The world has made do without Superman for a year," he answered wryly. "I think it can get by for another three days."

She squeezed his hand. "The world has missed you. And so have I."

He looked at her, blinking hard, and suddenly his arms were around her, and she was pressed up against the broad wall of his chest. He held her in a tight hug, as he'd done so many times before, and muttered a single, gruff word into her hair.

"Thanks."

She buried her face against his chest in the familiar warmth of flannel, breathing in his familiar scent, and gratitude overwhelmed her. She'd healed him. Somehow, she'd managed to heal him. The world had its Superman back.

And so did she.

Tears slid down her cheeks, wetting his plaid shirt, but this time she wasn't trying to heal him.

This time, she was just crying.

-The End-

The Fourth

Clark/Chloe
Seasons 1-3
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.

The first time Clark kissed Chloe was an accident. But a good one.

It wasn't even right to say he kissed her, not really. She kissed him. She'd been hypnotized or whatever into thinking she loved him, and she slid her hands up his chest, grabbed his collar, and pulled him into a kiss.

And he'd liked it. A lot.

But she didn't even remember it, so there wasn't a lot of point in talking about it afterward. There wasn't a lot of point in thinking about it, either.

But he did anyway.

*****

The second time he kissed her was an accident. But a good one.

Pete had slipped a little red rock into his pocket, thus stripping him of his self-control. Clark didn't find out about it till much later. But before he figured out what had happened, he'd found himself making out with Chloe (who was high on an extraterrestrial parasite). In his barn. In Pete's car. In the Talon.

Chloe didn't remember a bit of it. But he did. Her kisses had been hot, and having her in his lap, pressing against him, running her hands over him, had been even hotter.

And he'd liked it. A lot.

But she didn't remember it, so there wasn't a lot of point in talking about it afterward. There wasn't a lot of point in thinking about it, either.

But he did anyway.

*****

The third time he kissed her was an accident. But a good one.

They'd been in a hospital file room together, and when the door opened, she suddenly grabbed him by his collar and shoved him up against the file cabinet. And before he knew it he'd found himself with a sexy blonde plastered up against his front.

He hadn't minded. Not at all.

In fact, when the doctor had interrupted them, and it had slowly dawned on his bewildered brain that Chloe was just covering, pretending they'd gone into the file room to make out instead of looking at private files, he'd been unable to hold back the disappointment that flooded him.

And when she walked out the door... well, yeah, he was totally disappointed. He'd wanted to kiss her again.

Because he'd liked it. A lot.

But it had just been an act, so there wasn't a lot of point in talking about it afterward. There wasn't a lot of point in thinking about it, either.

But he did anyway.

*****

The fourth time he kissed her wasn't an accident.

On the Fourth of July, he and Chloe and a bunch of kids from high school headed out to Crater Lake to see Lowell County's firework display (which a flyer informed them was funded by a generous grant from LuthorCorp). The two of them sat on the grass together, the stars glittering overhead, fireflies dancing around them in the darkness.

When the fireworks began, he shot surreptitious glances at her, watching her beautiful, animated face light up, both from the glow of the lights in the sky and from within. She looked so excited, like she was a little kid again, and something melted inside him. He loved her when she was like this, so animated and enthusiastic, so happy.

She didn't notice him looking at her, because her eyes were trained on the sky. She squealed at a particularly beautiful burst of fireworks, and clapped her hands in childlike delight.

And without the slightest intention of doing so, he leaned over and planted a kiss right on her lips.

She looked away from the fireworks and stared at him. Her eyes were wide with surprise, but he didn't think she looked displeased, just startled.

He smiled at her.

"Happy fourth," he said.

He knew she wouldn't really understand what he was saying, because she didn't even remember all the kisses they'd shared. She couldn't know this was their fourth kiss. But he still felt like it was the right time to kiss her, on a perfect summer evening, beneath the stars, beneath the glow of the fireworks that lit the sky in vivid color.

And she must have agreed. Because she leaned toward him, and her hands slid up his chest, just like they'd done the very first time they'd kissed.

And then they were kissing again, soft, gentle kisses that slowly shifted into one long, passionate kiss that went on and on and on. Clark forgot about the fireworks, forgot that there were other people around, forgot everything except the soft armful of blonde against his chest.

He liked kissing her. He liked it even more because it wasn't an act or an accident. It was very deliberate on both their parts, and he was glad.

He had a feeling he'd be thinking about kissing her, here beneath the fireworks that filled the sky, for the rest of his life.

But right now he wasn't thinking at all, just happy that tonight, they'd shared their fourth kiss.

And their fifth, and sixth, and seventh, and eighth, and...

-The End-

She Could Be You

Clark/Chloe futurefic, AU
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
The music is "She Could Be You," by Shawn Hlookoff.

I'm haunted by this photograph
Don't know why
Every time I look, I get shivers down my spine
You're such a beautiful face
I know those eyes
They take me back in time

The photo came in a plain manila envelope in his mailbox, with no return address and no postmark. He pulled it out of the envelope, and stared.

He'd seen that face before. He'd seen those eyes before.

He closed his eyes, remembering the dream. He'd had it years ago, but he still remembered it like it was yesterday.

He didn't remember what her name had been in the dream, if in fact he'd ever known it. But he'd dreamed that she'd been his best friend over many years, and then his lover. She'd been his loyal, steadfast companion, whose unwavering support had helped get him through many rough patches in his life.

He opened his eyes and stared at the picture.

It was just a dream, he told himself. The fact that this woman looks a bit like the girl in my dream is only a coincidence.

She wasn't real. In reality, he'd had to struggle through those rough times all alone. He hadn't had a close friend in years, not since his freshman year of high school, really. There had been no one in his life he could truly trust with his secrets, so he'd built walls, let himself become isolated. He'd let himself accept loneliness as the price he paid for being Superman.

But in his dreams... things had been very different.

He looked in the envelope, searching for more clues to her identity, but there was nothing but the photo. Nothing at all.

He stared at the photo for hours.

She could be you
I wouldn't even know
She could be you
But that was long ago
She could be you

The photo took up residence in a frame on his nightstand, just because he liked looking at it. Looking at her. He knew vaguely that it was peculiar to spend so much time looking at a photo of a stranger, but it didn't seem like the face of a stranger, more like the face of someone he'd once loved and now missed dreadfully.

And that was crazy, because he'd only seen her face once, in a dream. Only once.

He bent his investigative skills to trying to find out who she might be, and came up empty, to his great dismay. He badly wanted to know who she was. Every evening, when he looked at the photo, he missed her more and more.

Every evening, he ached more and more for the sight of a smile he'd never truly seen.

I wish that I could tell you
What you don't know
I dream about that day
But it's impossible
In another world, I'll be yours tonight
But I can't break free from this life

He obsessed over the photo during the day, and at night began to dream of her again, perhaps because he spent so much time looking at her face. He dreamed of moments that had never happened. The two of them sitting in a room in Smallville High School, typing; him rescuing her from a fire; him catching her as she fell; her kissing him in the basement of the Daily Planet.

All of it seemed so real, and yet it wasn't. He couldn't quite remember her name, yet every other detail of his dreams engraved itself onto his consciousness for all time. When he awakened in the morning, he remembered his dreams with an ache, as if he were longing for a real person.

She wasn't real.

But he wanted her to be.

She could be you
I wouldn't even know
She could be you
But that was long ago
She could be you

One day, a month after he'd gotten the photo, he came home from work, dressed in his unremarkable reporter clothing, a dark, rumpled suit and black-framed glasses.

She was waiting for him in his living room.

He stopped at the door and stared, rather stupidly. She was just as beautiful as she'd been in his dreams, her hazel eyes bright, her cornsilk blonde hair drifting over her shoulders. There were faint lines at the corners of her eyes that suggested she was close to his age, about thirty. "Uh..."

"Hello, Clark," she said softly.

He remembered her voice from a hundred dreams, remembered her laughing, crying, snarking at him, comforting him. He knew her voice the way he knew the music he'd heard in his childhood. It was part of his soul.

A memory from his dreams sparked, and suddenly he knew her name.

"Hello, Chloe," he answered.

She smiled, a wavery, almost teary smile, as if she hadn't let herself hope he'd call her by name. "Do you know who I am?"

He finally remembered he was standing at the door, the door wide open, letting the winter air into his warm house. He closed the door and took a step toward her.

"We've never met," he said, very softly. "But you're my best friend, and... and the woman I love."

Her smile wobbled even more, and a tear slid down one of her cheeks.

"That's about right," she answered, her voice steady despite the tear.

"I just... I just don't understand, Chloe. I've been dreaming about you. I dreamed about you before we ever met. I've spent the last month searching for you. How can you mean this much to me... when we've never met?"

I see it all the time
I know it's true
A picture doesn't lie

"This might sound crazy," she said, "but I've been dreaming about you for most of my life."

He blinked at her, then walked across the room and sat down next to her. "It might sound crazy," he answered, "except that I've been dreaming about you, too."

Her mouth curved in a wry smile. "In my dreams, you were my friend. My very best friend."

"And more," he said softly.

"Not until later. Much later. But in my dreams we were always inseparable, Clark. And yes, there was always a spark between us, of sorts. But the spark didn't become a flame until we were grown up."

"And then..."

"And then we realized how much we felt for each other."

He nodded, unsurprised. "My dreams were pretty much the same," he answered.

"See..." She took a breath, as if gathering herself to explain. "The thing is, my dad actually got a job offer to move to Smallville. But in the end he didn't take it. We moved to California instead. And now I wonder if... if..."

"If he'd moved to Smallville, if all our dreams would have actually happened?" He uttered a short laugh. "That sounds crazy, Chloe."

"Does it?" She frowned. "Is it any crazier than the two of us having the very same dreams?"

"Are they the same dreams?"

She shrugged. "It sounds like it. Tell me about your dreams."

He told her, in as great detail as he could, and she chimed in, telling him details before he could utter them, and sometimes describing incidents he remembered before he told her of them. They had shared dreams of going to a spring formal in high school together, of battling Brainiac together, of confronting meteor freaks together. They had shared dreams of watching movies together, of playing checkers, of hanging out together.

"Yes," she said at last, very softly. "We've been having the very same dreams."

He sighed, and closed his eyes. She knew all about his powers, even knew when he'd developed each of them, and he ought to be worried by that. And yet he wasn't. "But those aren't memories, Chloe. They aren't real. They're... I don't know, a shared hallucination, or something."

"Maybe, maybe not," she answered. He felt the warm pressure of her hand on his. It felt absolutely right, as if he'd waited all his life for the touch of her. "What if they're the echo of something that should have been? Our lives are shaped by so many small decisions, Clark. What if the wrong decision was made somewhere along the line, and the dreams we've both had are the memories we're supposed to have?"

He frowned. He didn't understand any of this. And yet he wasn't sure that it mattered all that much. There was an unmistakable bond between himself and this woman.

He'd never been able to find a woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He'd never been able to find his soulmate.

But now he knew with a calm certainty that he'd found her.

He wanted to fling his arms around her and kiss her, but he stopped himself. It was too soon for that.

"Those memories," he said. "Those dreams. As much as they seemed real, they weren't. They're dreams of what might have been, not of what was. We don't really know each other."

She nodded, and smiled faintly. "I understand. I know more about you than you do about me, Clark. I've been reading all about Superman's exploits in the paper. And I've been able to learn quite a bit about Clark Kent, mild-mannered reporter, too."

"Yes. And I don't know anything about you at all, not about you in the real world, anyway." He turned his hand over and let his fingers clasp hers. "But I'd like to get to know you, Chloe. I really would."

She smiled tremulously, and her fingers squeezed his.

"I'd like that," she whispered.

She could be you
I wouldn't even know
She could be you
But that was long ago
She could be you

Soulmates always found each other, he thought a year later. Somehow or other, they found each other.

He still didn't understand how he and Chloe had been drawn together, or how they'd shared the same dreams. He still didn't know if their dreams had been of a could-have-been alternate reality, or simply a shared imagining of some sort.

But it didn't matter, not really. What mattered was that at last they'd found each other, and that he'd never let her go.

He smiled down at the face he'd known for a year, and that he'd known in his dreams even longer.

"Ready?" he whispered.

She smiled at him from behind her veil.

"I've been waiting for this for years," she whispered back.

He grinned down at her.

And then the two of them turned to face the minister, to fulfill all their dreams.

She could be you
She could be you

-The End-

Hot Chocolate

Clark/Chloe
Season 6 (a little AU)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.

"It's awfully cold outside, Chloe. Here's some hot chocolate to warm you up."

"Thanks, farmboy. But I'd rather have coffee."

"It's almost midnight. You don't need the caffeine."

"Caffeine doesn't affect me, Clark. You know that."

"Uh-huh. Who was it who called me at three in the morning last week because she couldn't get to sleep?"

"I was working on a story. I was wired with excitement. It had absolutely nothing to do with the four triple cappuccinos I had."

"Yeah. Sure. Let's just stick with hot chocolate, okay? Here, I'll start the fire up for you. Have a seat on the couch and warm up."

"Thanks. Mmmm. This hot chocolate is pretty good."

"Not that I'm not always happy to see you, Chlo, but why did you come over so late?"

"I just wanted to talk."

"Um... okay. But you've never cuddled up to me quite this way when we talk..."

"Well, I've been thinking."

"Thinking. Okay."

"About our, you know, friendship."

"Our... ohhhhh. You've never done that when we talk, either."

"Maybe I should have done this a long time ago, Clark."

"Mmmmm. Maybe."

"See, I've been drinking coffee all this time, and never really given hot chocolate a chance. But hot chocolate is nice. Better than nice. It tastes good, and it's really... sweet."

"Um..."

"It doesn't make me nervous or edgy. It just makes me warm and happy inside. I think that's a good thing."

"Uh, well..."

"And I think maybe I'd like to switch over to something that's sweet and good, but that doesn't keep me awake at nights, worrying and jittering, the way Jimmy-- I mean, coffee-- did before we broke up."

"Oh. Chloe."

"I think hot chocolate might fit the bill nicely. I really like it a lot. I might even be falling in love with it. Besides, it's not just sweet. It's hot, too. Really hot."

"Mnnnhhh."

"Anyway, I figure it can't hurt to give it a try. Change is good. Right?"

"Oh, yeah."

"And in the morning... well, I'll see if I still want to keep drinking hot chocolate then."

"You aren't going to want to go back to coffee. Trust me."

"I think you're right. And I think maybe I'll sleep better, too."

"Actually... I don't think you're going to sleep at all."

"Hmmm, I like that idea. Hey! Why are you carrying me upstairs?"

"You know perfectly well why."

"Yeah, but you left my mug down by the couch, and I'm still chilly."

"Don't worry about it, Chloe. I'll keep you warm."

"For the rest of the night?"

"And tomorrow too, if you want. And even the next day. And maybe even the day after that. Unless you get bored or something."

"I'm pretty sure I'm not going to get bored. I think I officially have a new addiction. I'm going to come over for hot chocolate every night."

"Mmmm. I'm glad to hear it. Because I think I have a new addiction, too."

"To this?"

"Ahhhh."

"Or to this?"

"Mnnnnhhh. No... to you, Chloe. Because you're hot and sweet, too."

"Actually, I'm not all that sweet. Sweet girls don't do this."

"Oh, my God."

"Or this."

"OhmyGodChloyou'regoingtokillme. Okay, I take it back. You're not exactly sweet, but I'm addicted to you anyway. Maybe I always was, and just didn't know it."

"I'm glad you know it now."

"Yeah. So am I."

-The End-

Send Me an Angel

Clark/Chloe
Futurefic (spoilers for "Doomsday)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.

The wise man said just walk this way
To the dawn of the light
The wind will blow into your face
As the years pass you by
Hear this voice from deep inside
It's the call of your heart
Close your eyes and you will find
The passage out of the dark

Here I am
Will you send me an angel
Here I am
In the land of the morning star
-Scorpions, "Send Me an Angel"

He hung in the sky, looking over Metropolis.

His crimson cape rippled in the dawn breeze, and the sun rose on the horizon, casting a golden light over the city. The sprawl of enormous buildings beneath him looked picture-perfect, like the photograph on a postcard, but he knew as well as anyone that Metropolis wasn't perfect. He'd spent five years working to make it better, but it still wasn't a utopia by any means.

He intended to keep working to improve his city. For the rest of his life, if necessary.

He sighed at the thought. His job as Superman was fulfilling, and yet... lonely. He was all alone up here, he thought, looking around at the vast, empty sky. He was always all alone.

And that was exactly what he'd chosen, six years before. He remembered his own voice, cold and distant: Human emotion is what's stopping me from becoming the hero I could be.

He'd looked right into her eyes, and said the words: Clark Kent is dead.

He'd made his decision, to walk this road on his own, without anyone beside him. Not even his best friend, who'd been there for him since middle school. He'd decided to isolate himself from humanity.

Since that moment, he'd done this all alone, without friendship or support or love.

He'd tried to tell himself it was the right way to live his life, but as the sun rose over the city, lighting the lives of millions of people, he ached inside, filled with a terrible longing.

"I was wrong," he whispered.

He didn't know who he was speaking to. Up here, no one could hear him. But something inside him couldn't keep quiet any longer.

Maybe, he thought, it was an ancestral impulse. He knew his ancestors on Krypton had worshipped Rao, the sun god. Maybe the rising of the sun illuminated the dark corners of his soul and impelled him to honesty somehow. Or maybe it was just the culmination of six years' worth of growing loneliness.

Regardless, he couldn't hold the words inside any longer.

"I was wrong," he whispered again, gazing into the brilliance of the sunrise. "I can't do this alone any more. I need someone. Send me... send me an angel."

*****

At 9:03 a.m. Clark Kent stumbled through the etched glass doors of the bullpen, wearing his usual rumpled dark suit and crookedly knotted red tie. His mind was still on earlier days, happier days, and he couldn't quite help remembering how many times he'd come into the old Art Deco building to see her, all those years ago.

She'd gone back into journalism not long after their conversation, but she'd left Metropolis without even a goodbye, and headed for Gotham. He'd done his best to forget about her, but he couldn't stop himself from surfing the net every now and again, looking for her bylines.

She'd written a lot of good stories. Then again, there were a lot of good stories to be found in Gotham. The criminals were all psychopaths, and the resident superhero wasn't exactly a posterboy for normality, either.

He sighed, aware of the ache of loneliness in his chest as he thought of her. Maybe he'd look for her byline today. Reading articles she'd written wasn't as good as talking to her, but it was all he had left of her. He'd driven her away on purpose, after all.

Clark Kent is dead.

Clark Kent still existed, of course, but now he was mostly a disguise. He wore glasses, and fumbled his way through life, bearing little resemblance to the confident, competent Clark Kent who'd first started working for the Planet seven years before. He'd thought that was safer, but now he realized he wanted the old Clark Kent back. He wanted himself back.

He wanted to go back to letting people into his life, into his heart. He wanted friends. Maybe he even wanted a lover.

But he couldn't have any of that. He'd chosen another path six years ago. He'd pushed everyone away, and now it was too late.

Wasn't it?

"Kent!" The raised voice shouted across the bullpen, pitched a little louder than it needed to be. Clark sighed at the aggravation in Perry White's voice, and wondered exactly what he'd done wrong this time.

He stumbled his way into Perry's office-- and came to a dead halt.

"Kent." Perry was seated behind his huge oaken desk, glaring as if he'd been hours late for work, rather than three minutes. "I want you to meet your new partner."

He stared, because it was her. Older, with slight creases at the corners of her eyes and lines bracketing her mouth, but as beautiful as ever. Her long, honey-gold hair fell loose around her shoulders, and-- he looked despite himself-- she wore no rings on her fingers.

She looked back at him, and her mouth curved up in the slightest of smiles.

"Clark," she said.

That was all, just his name. But at the sound of her voice, emotions flooded him, joy and affection and a love he'd thought he'd pushed away six years ago, but that was apparently just as strong as ever.

Human emotion is what's stopping me from becoming the hero I could be.

Despite his best efforts, he realized, human emotion hadn't been eradicated from his heart. He still loved her as much as he ever had.

Six years had passed, but nothing inside him had changed.

Perry's words registered on his consciousness slowly. His partner. Chloe was going to be his partner.

He thought with remorse that Chloe had always been his partner, until the day he'd pushed her away.

He wanted to drop to his knees in front of her, bury his face in her lap, and tell her he'd been wrong. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was. He wanted to tell her that human emotion hadn't ever stopped him from being a hero, that his feelings for her hadn't weakened him or made him less of a man. He wanted to admit that he'd just been young and stupid and scared.

But Perry was seated behind his desk, watching, so he only nodded.

"Hi, Chloe," he said. "Are you back for good?"

"Yes," she answered. "I decided to come back home."

He thought he heard suppressed emotion in her voice, too, but he couldn't ask about it. Not now. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Chloe had come back to him.

Only this morning, he'd realized how much he needed companionship, support, love... and through some miracle, she was here.

His angel had come back to him.

Somehow, he'd have to convince her he'd learned his lesson, that he wouldn't push her away again. He hoped like hell she wasn't in love with someone else. After six years, maybe that was too much to ask for, but something in her eyes gave him hope, hope that it wasn't too late.

Perry and Chloe stood up and walked out of the office. Clark made as to follow them, but hesitated. His gaze slid to the window, where the morning sun shone down over the city, and he smiled, grateful that he'd finally realized he didn't have to hold himself apart from humanity to be a hero, that he'd finally let himself admit that emotion didn't weaken him, that he'd finally let himself acknowledge the strength of his own emotions.

Grateful to have been given a second chance to let her know how he truly felt.

Thank Rao, he thought, and followed his partner into the bullpen.

-The End-

Come To Me

Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4

Clark/Chloe
Season 8, "Doomsday"
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Cap by writrgurl.

"Clark!"

He heard her voice above him, and looked up. She stood there at the wrought iron railing, staring down at him, her golden eyes bright with relief and affection. And then he heard the quick clicking of her shoes as she hurried for the stairs.

"You're alive." He could hear the relief in her tone, and more guilt filled him-- guilt that she'd been worried about him, on top of everything else. He hated to be the one to load more emotional weight onto her slender shoulders. He should have been here to help her, to support her--

But no. He couldn't allow himself to start thinking that way. Not now.

She ran down the stairs and headed for him, and he didn't move toward her. But he couldn't quite make himself move away, either.

"Hey," she said softly as she flung herself against his chest. Her arms went around his shoulders, and despite himself he wrapped his arms around her and held her, closing his eyes and rocking her gently. He could hear her breathing harshly, struggling against sobs, and he swallowed hard against his own tears.

"How did you survive the geothermal explosion?" she mumbled against his jacket.

He opened his eyes, unpleasantly recalled to his task here. He forced himself to let her go, putting his big hands on her shoulders and pushing her away, very gently.

"Before Dinah pressed the button, I..." He stared down into her eyes, his hands still on her shoulders, and she stared back, her eyes anxious. He wanted to tell her what had happened, so badly, but he couldn't. He'd promised.

And besides, he knew her well enough to know that she'd try to stop him from pursuing the course he had to take.

"I don't know," he finished instead, lamely. He dropped his hands away from her and looked down at the unfinished concrete floor. "I got away from the blast, but... not fast enough to save anyone else."

He saw the grief in her eyes, and knew she was thinking of her cousin. Another casualty, another person he'd failed to save.

"Chloe," he whispered. "I've searched everywhere. There's no sign of Lois."

She nodded, blinking hard, as if trying to keep back tears, but her face was already wet with them. His heart twisted in his chest, grieving for her losses as well as his own. If only he'd done things differently-- if only he'd known more--

But he hadn't. He'd screwed this situation up in a huge, huge way, and as a result, people were dead.

He couldn't ever let that happen again. He just couldn't.

She shook her head and gave him a brave, wobbly smile. "I saw someone tacking her photo on a missing person's board," she said. The idea that there were missing person's boards in Metropolis, because he hadn't managed to confine that monster, made his chest clutch with pain. "I keep thinking that maybe-- you know, maybe I haven't..."

"Lost her?" He wanted to weep for her, for everything she'd lost in the past few days. But he reminded himself fiercely that she wasn't the only one. He remembered the little girl crying in the street because the monster had killed her mommy. He remembered the other bodies he'd seen, casually disemboweled by a blow of the huge, bone-spiked hands.

All my fault.

He tried to speak again, but couldn't, not with her honest, hopeful eyes staring at him. He turned and walked away. Behind him, he heard her shoes tapping on the floor as she followed.

She always followed him. Always.

But this time she couldn't follow him where he needed to go.

"You were there today, weren't you, Clark?" She was staring at him, and he knew she was referring to the funeral. He'd been seen her look back over her shoulder as she left, searching for him, hoping that he'd come somehow. And she was right. He had come, but he'd stayed far enough away that she wouldn't see him.

He tried to answer again, but couldn't. He remembered the coffin, the yellow roses, the tombstone, and pain rose in his throat, choking him.

He'd stood next to an angel monument, and the irony of it had scalded him. More than one newspaper article had referred to the Red Blue Blur as Metropolis' guardian angel.

But in the end, he hadn't been able to do a damn thing to save his city, or his friends. He'd been useless. Worse than useless.

"Why didn't you come to me?" she whispered. "I needed you, Clark."

He swallowed, hard, struggling to get his voice under control. At last he spoke.

"I'm the reason Jimmy's dead."

He was silent a moment, then turned to face her. But he couldn't quite bring himself to look into her eyes. "Oliver was right. I put humanity on a pedestal. It wasn't a Kryptonian beast that killed Jimmy. It was a human."

Davis hadn't actually been human at all, but he knew she'd understand what he meant-- that it had been Davis' ordinary side, the side that longed to fit in, to be just like everyone else. The side that was like ordinary Clark Kent, who kept pushing his Kryptonian heritage away in order to blend in.

That side of Clark Kent had gotten a hell of a lot of people killed.

She lifted her head and stared right at him. "I was standing right here, Clark." She took a step to the side, standing in front of a Gothic stained glass window. Golden light poured over her blonde hair, lighting it like a halo. "I know full well who killed Jimmy."

He turned away from her too-seeing eyes, her refusal to assign any blame to him, and looked around at the building she now resided in. Jimmy's wedding present to her, the top floor of an old, historic building, the apartment spacious but still undergoing renovation. The huge stained glass windows were beautiful, and yet...

"This place, Chloe... just get rid of it. Just walk away, and don't look back."

Irrationally, he wanted her out of Metropolis. If he couldn't be here to protect her, then he wanted her somewhere far away, somewhere safe.

The problem was that no place was safe.

Which was why he had to do this. As much as it hurt to leave her, he had to.

"You don't get it," she said softly. "Clark... Jimmy is here. He's watching over me."

A sudden spurt of anger filled him. He wanted to be the one watching over her. He'd always be the one to watch over her.

But he couldn't. Not any longer.

"He knew me so well he knew this place would be perfect," she said, flinging her arms wide. "Jimmy wanted me to know that no matter where I was in the city, I could look up here and see this beacon." Her face glowed. "The Watchtower."

Clark thought back on the day he'd shown Jimmy, who'd been looking for an apartment, this space.

I don't know, dude, Jimmy had said dubiously, his freckled nose wrinkling as he looked over the bare concrete floors. There's a hell of a lot of stairs to get up here.

It's got an elevator, Jimmy.

Yeah, but I bet it doesn't work half the time in an old building like this, CK. Anyway, it's kind of a mess, you know? I was thinking someplace newer, a little closer to the Planet...

Trust me, Clark had said. He'd stepped to the window and stared out, over the city, imagining Chloe here. It had felt right. The stained glass windows reminded him of the Daily Planet, where Chloe had once worked, and where he felt certain she'd work again, sooner or later. Chloe might not be a reporter right now, but she still knew everything that went on. This was her city.

He remembered her code name, Watchtower, and imagined Chloe standing here, staring out over the city. He smiled.

Trust me, Jimmy, he'd said again. She'll love it.

He'd been right, apparently. But he didn't want her to be Watchtower any more. He didn't want her involved with superheroes and their dangerous problems, not when he couldn't be there to protect her. He just wanted her to take up a quiet, ordinary life somewhere else.

But he knew there wasn't the slightest chance in the world that was going to happen. This was Chloe Sullivan, after all. She and ordinary had never been on speaking terms.

"Now look," she said, stepping toward him, her expression growing more intent. "After the funeral, Dinah, Oliver and Bart all disappeared. Maybe it's up to us to bring them all back home."

"Home." The word tasted bitter in his mouth, and he shook his head. "I don't have a home."

Her forehead creased in a frown. "I don't like the way that sounds."

He stared into her eyes, struggling to make her understand. "I've always tried to forget I was an alien..." Pain cut through him, and he turned away. "Or a creature. I've always tried to pretend I was human. I was raised to believe it was my Kryptonian part that was dangerous, Chlo, but I was wrong. It's my human side. It's the side that gets attached."

In his mind, a deep voice echoed: You have allowed your emotions for this woman to blind you to what needed doing, my son. And as a result, many are dead.

He pushed the memory away, and continued. "The side that makes decisions based on emotions... that's my enemy. Davis proved that to me."

He could see in her eyes she didn't agree. Of course she didn't. Her eyes lit with anger, and she stalked toward him. "So because of a psychopath, you're going to cut the rest of us out of your life? Clark!" Her voice rose earnestly. "Human emotion is what made you the hero that you are today."

He was touched that after everything that had happened, all his failures, Jimmy's death, she still thought of him as a hero. He wished he could think of himself the same way.

He remembered the ripped-apart bodies on the streets, the puddles of blood, and spoke coldly. "No. Human emotion is what's stopping me from becoming the hero I could be. That's what the world needs now."

Fresh tears spilled out of her eyes. "What are you saying?"

He looked at her steadily, steeling himself for what needd to be done. "Clark Kent is dead." He hesitated a moment, then added, "Goodbye, Chloe."

He wanted to hug her again, to hold her one last time, but he knew if he did, he would never find the strength to leave. He turned his back on her, hearing the soft, irregular breathing that meant she was crying again, and walked away. She took two steps, following him, then hesitated.

As he stepped through the doorway, he felt the now-familiar, slightly disorienting sensation of being transported. Rather than in her apartment, he stood in an enormous structure of blue-white crystal. He looked up at the cold, forbidding crystal overhead, and spoke.

"I'm ready, Jor-El."

*****

Chloe stared as Clark simply faded away. She was used to his rapid comings and goings, but this looked different. He hadn't blurred away; he'd just faded into nothingness.

A new ability? she wondered. Or something else?

It didn't matter, not really. What mattered was that he was gone. He'd left her here, all alone, after everyone she'd lost, everything that had happened. Just like everyone else, he'd left her... and something told her he wouldn't be back for a long, long time.

Pain swelled inside her chest, spilling over as tears. She put her hands protectively over her stomach and let herself cry.

Read Chapter 2 here.