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The Chronicles of Smallville: A Series of Altered Adventures

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  • The Chronicles of Smallville: A Series of Altered Adventures

    Title: “The Chronicles of Smallville: A Series of Altered Adventures”

    Author: Superman Lives On

    Genre: Action/Adventure, Mystery/Intrigue, Drama/Romance

    Rating: PG-13

    Spoilers: This story encompasses Season One of Smallville and even references a few aspects of future events. However, as the title implies, things have changed – for the better, hopefully. Follow along and see how this time around differs as we begin with a simple question…

    What if Clark had not been robbed of the credit for his very first rescue of Lana?

    * * * * *

    The Chronicles of Smallville
    A Series of Altered Adventures

    By Superman Lives On



    ONE

    Chrysalis

    How could one man live in something so darn big?

    Such was the first thought that sprang to Lana Lang’s mind as she beheld the Luthor Mansion, rising from the ground before her like an enormous stone monument to some bygone age. She knew very little of the old castle, other than that it had been shipped over from Scotland brick by brick and that it was purportedly the Luthor family’s ancestral home. Personally, she saw it as little more than an expression of vanity and pomposity on Lionel Luthor’s part…though, of course, that didn’t mean it wasn’t of historical value.

    Right now, however, her thoughts were on much more recent history. Specifically, she was thinking of the events of yesterday – and the aftermath that had occurred today at Smallville High. Even now, she was, to put it mildly, bowled over by what had happened.

    She had been kidnapped by Greg Arkin, who had somehow acquired abilities and an attitude very much like those of the insects he was obsessed with, and taken to an old treehouse, apparently to be his mate. She shuddered at the thought – thank God that he hadn’t gotten away with it. She had woken up in the old wooden structure partly covered in spiderweb – but it wasn’t her would-be mate who had peeled it away.

    It was her boyfriend, Whitney Fordman.

    She shook her head in slight wonder – even now, the realization touched her. Whitney had come to save her – and just before that, just before Greg had attacked him in the stables and taken her hostage, he had come to apologize for damaging her trust in him. Surely he must also have apologized to the person he’d hurt most – Clark Kent.

    Clark… Now there was another guy who’d surprised her lately – and by saving someone’s life, no less. In fact, he’d saved the very man who now lived in the castle she stood before. Had it not been for Clark, Lex Luthor would have drowned after a terrible swerve off Loeb Bridge. Of course, she’d never thought Clark was anything less than a good guy…not to mention a really shy and cute guy—

    Ahem. At any rate, Whitney had demonstrated yesterday that despite his slightly overzealous tendencies, he really wasn’t that different from Clark. He’d saved her from Greg, who hadn’t been seen since, and then he’d made up for the mistake that had hit closer to home for her – he’d returned her favorite necklace, which she had loaned him for good luck.

    That very necklace now hung around her neck where it belonged, the diamond-shaped meteor rock that served as its pendant gleaming a deep green despite the cast-over sky. She figured that she’d keep wearing it for a good long while – that way, if any bad luck came from it again, it’d be more likely to fall on her than anyone else. It had certainly almost claimed her yesterday.

    She shook off the morbid thought. There was no need for it – she’d survived, thanks to her boyfriend. Word of his heroics had traveled fast around Smallville, and today at school, he’d received more than a few metaphorical and literal pats on the back by his buddies and her fellow cheerleaders. He’d taken it all very well, and she certainly couldn’t begrudge him – he’d earned it, after all. Still, she mused, it probably wouldn’t help his ego very much. It couldn’t hurt him to be more modest.

    Oh, now she was just being ridiculous, she chided herself. Whitney had saved her life, for goodness’ sake – in what way did that give her the right to criticize him? She’d already done more than enough of that earlier yesterday, when she’d chewed him out for stringing Clark up in a field just before the Homecoming game on Saturday the 1st. He’d apologized for that prank, to her and no doubt to Clark, and she should just let it go.

    But some part of her wasn’t so eager to do that. It kept reminding her of how upset she’d been on Clark’s behalf, how she’d gone by his barn and talked with him in the beautiful loft, how she’d wanted to apologize for what Whitney had done…and how Clark had gently told her that she didn’t owe him any apology. That, in turn, brought up what had started Whitney off – Clark walking her home Friday night, her offering to save him a dance at Homecoming, and her giving him a kiss on the cheek. That memory, in its own turn, reminded her of how they’d talked in the graveyard, the first time they’d really talked – certainly the first since they were kids—

    Stop it, she told herself sternly. Stop thinking so much about Clark, and stop trying to make him look better than Whitney. You can’t let one bad apple of a day ruin the whole relationship. You’ve already forgiven him, so forget about it and move on.

    Indeed, she was here because she wanted everyone involved to move on – and Lex Luthor had been involved. He’d been the one to lead her to the truth about what Whitney had been up to before the game, and he’d been awfully skeptical about her choice of boyfriend. Well, not a choice as such—

    No. Now was not the time to get distracted with semantics. The point was that Lex had been wrong about Whitney, and she felt that it was only fair she tell him so in person, clear the whole thing up once and for all. Giving herself a decisive nod, she walked toward the gate and the guards standing there.

    Fortunately for her, they let her through after a very short delay – apparently, Lex was only too happy to see her. A servant led her through the ostentatious and richly furnished and decorated corridors of the castle-turned-mansion, soon arriving at the double doors leading into the main study. She walked through as they were opened and found that Lex had already risen from his glass desk to greet her. “Welcome to my castle, Lady Lang,” he quipped, making a small bow.

    Lana laughed in spite of herself. Whatever foibles Lex had – and she still recalled a rather graphic display of such from about five years ago – she couldn’t deny that he had a sense of humor. “Your guards let me in pretty quickly,” she said. “Were you expecting me?”

    “In a way, I suppose I was,” Lex agreed, smiling amiably. He walked over to her, his gray eyes going to her neck for a moment – and his thin, almost colorless eyebrows raised. “Aha – looks like you got something back.”

    She thought she heard a note of genuine delight in his voice. “Yeah,” she said, fingering the necklace, “Whitney returned it after all.”

    Lex’s expression became blank. “Oh,” he said, sounding surprised…and almost disappointed. “So did the quarterback tell you what he was up to before the Homecoming game and dance?”

    “Yes,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. She chided herself and said more firmly, “Yes. It took some doing, but I got the truth from him. I know what he did to Clark, and I appreciate you looking out for him.”

    Lex shrugged. “It was the least I could do for the guy who pulled my rich kid’s butt out of the river,” he said, though he couldn’t quite hide a smile. “How’s Clark doing, by the way? I thought he might need a doctor after getting strung up like a victim of the Romans, but he insisted that he’d be fine.”

    Lana swallowed uncomfortably at that description. “Well, he’s doing okay,” she said, “and I’m glad he is. I was upset too, believe me.” She shook her head a bit. “But Whitney apologized for it, to me and to Clark.”

    “Did he?” Lex said mildly, though he obviously meant, “Oh, really?”

    “Yes,” she said, feeling a little irritated. “And right after that, he saved my life just as Clark saved yours.”

    “From Greg Arkin, so I hear,” Lex nodded, concern on his face. “Are you alright?”

    She nodded back, her irritation gone. “I’m fine, thanks. I was a little shaken up by the whole thing, but I’m still in one piece. And I have Whitney to thank for it. And right after that, he returned this” – she touched her necklace – “after I thought he’d lost it.” She took a deep breath. “So, I just wanted you to know that while I appreciate you looking out for Clark, you were wrong about Whitney. He may be a little overzealous, but he’d never really hurt anybody. Besides, he saved my life, and he deserves better than to be criticized. I’m not going to let one bad apple of a day ruin the whole relationship, not when Whitney and I are on such a good track.” She nodded slightly as she finished.

    Lex regarded her with a skeptical eye. He hadn’t survived past his twenty-first birthday without learning a thing or two about rehearsed speeches, especially those that weren’t being delivered by their original writers. And he wasn’t stupid enough to just swallow any kind of innocent act on the quarterback’s part – not without concrete proof. He smirked knowingly. “Is that really you talking, or your aunt?”

    Lana jolted a bit, feeling startled. How on Earth had he known that Nell Potter had told her those very words in the fallout of the whole sorry incident? Actually, after she thought for a moment, he likely didn’t know – he’d just made an eerily accurate guess.

    “Uh-huh,” Lex continued, seeing from her reaction that he’d nailed it. “Now let me see if I have this right. Whitney apologized to both you and Clark for putting the guy through a pre-medieval hazing ritual, and then he saved you from some kid exhibiting bizarre behavior and even more bizarre abilities, and then he gave you back your favorite necklace which he’d lost around the same time as said ritual?” He whistled softly and shook his head a bit. “Either he’s made one hell of an about-face, or you’re exaggerating the chain of events.”

    Lana felt irritated again—but, she had to admit, he’d made a valid point or two. “Well…I didn’t actually see him apologize to Clark,” she admitted reluctantly. “I only saw – I mean heard – him apologize to me. And I don’t know how he managed to stop Greg, but he obviously did – he woke me up and got me out of the treehouse where Greg had taken me. Does it really matter how he stopped him?”

    “Probably not,” Lex said, though he didn’t really believe it. “And the necklace?”

    She touched it again, remembering the rush of joy she’d felt when she’d found it hanging from the handle of her front door. “He didn’t give it back in person,” she admitted. “Actually, he left it hanging on the door last night. I thought I heard him outside, but I didn’t see him when I got onto the porch. I only saw this.” She smiled a bit. “I guess he wanted me to know that even when he isn’t around, he’s still close to me.”

    That sounds like Clark for sure, Lex thought, smiling a bit as well. But she’s seriously kidding herself if she thinks it sounds like the quarterback. Or, as the case may be, Nell is kidding her. Either way, she obviously doesn’t have the whole story – and no doubt the golden boy is making the most of his undeserved praise. He scowled inwardly and very darkly at the thought, then sighed. Well, Clark, you obviously consider her happiness to be a higher priority than her being with you. I won’t lie – that’s more admirable than most could manage, and I ought to know. But there’s no way I can call myself your friend if I don’t let her know just how good you really are.

    With that, he cleared his throat. “So you never actually saw Whitney return it, or stop Greg from hurting you, or apologize to Clark?”

    “No,” Lana said, wondering where he was going with this. It occurred to her that he was probably going to call Whitney a liar, and despite her uncertainty about the matter, she bristled inwardly.

    What he said next, however, caught her completely off guard. “In that case, there’s something you need to know, Lana,” he said, his expression and tone calm but very serious. “That picture in your trophy case, where you’re wearing that necklace – it wasn’t the first time I’d seen it.”

    What? she thought, stunned. He’d seen it before?

    Lex cleared his throat again, leaving a bit of a dramatic pause – if he was going to break the news to her, both the good (aka Clark) and the bad (aka Whitney), he might as well deliver it right. “I was driving by the cornfields on Saturday night,” he said. “I remembered how I’d been there the day of the meteor shower.” He brushed a hand over his bald head. “That’s how I wound up with the Windex shine. I’ve never forgotten that part of the day – especially not the poor guy strung up like a scarecrow, who I ran into just before the meteor fell.”

    Lana shivered, feeling bad for said guy – and no doubt Clark would too, if he were hearing this. Lex went on smoothly: “So imagine my surprise when my headlights ran over the field and showed that same guy coming out. I swear to you, Lana, that he hadn’t aged a day.”

    That made her jump a bit. Smiling inwardly, now certain that she was hanging on his every word, he continued: “He vanished before I got out of the car. I was pretty freaked out, I have to admit, and I was just about to leave – when I heard someone groaning for help, just like I had twelve years ago. I grabbed a flashlight and hurried through the field – and, to my horror, there was Clark, strung up on a wooden cross, stripped down to some blue boxers and with a big red S spray-painted on his chest. I got him down, and like I said, I figured he needed a doctor. But he wouldn’t let me drive him to the hospital or even back home – he grabbed his clothes and ran off.”

    Now Lana felt just as confused as Lex had felt that fateful night. But a piece of clarity snapped into place upon his next words: “I happened to look down, and there, lying on the ground, was a little necklace with a green stone. I realized that he’d had it around his neck, and I took it home with me, hoping I could figure out how it factored in.”

    Lana’s rich hazel eyes widened. After a moment, she gestured for him to continue. He did so: “It all started to make sense when I dropped by the stables and saw you wearing it in that picture, and then heard you say you’d loaned it to Whitney.” He shook his head a bit. “I have to admit, I was honestly taken aback that Clark would save him from that crash after what he did – but then, I’m not Clark. I don’t exactly have a knack for saving lives.

    “At any rate, I figured that since Clark was the last person to have the necklace before I intervened, he should be the one to return it to you and tell you the whole story. So I gave it back to him in a box of lead armor my mother had given me. And unless he gave it back to Whitney…well…” He trailed off, not saying any more.

    He didn’t need to. Lana’s eyes had gone very wide as he’d narrated his part in the events of yesterday and the weekend…and then, they’d narrowed as something had welled up through the dawning comprehension…something she had felt when she’d realized what her oh-so-golden boyfriend had done to such an absolutely innocent and sweet guy as Clark Kent. Now she felt it filling her whole body, making her shake a little.

    Lex saw it – and he shuddered a bit, very glad that he wasn’t on the receiving end of what had come over her…for he knew full well, by the flashing of her eyes and the change in her breathing, what it was. At length, she took a deep breath, then spoke very quietly, very clearly, very calmly: “Thank you for telling me this, Lex. It looks like I owe you an apology – you weren’t wrong after all.” She turned around. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to set something right.”

    Lex nodded, letting her leave without another word. For a moment, he stood there in dead silence…then he blew out a soft breath, surprised at how unnerved he’d felt from her deadly quiet and precise words. It slowly melted, though, as a more familiar feeling of triumph made him smirk.

    Sorry, folks, he thought dryly, walking to his liquor cabinet and pouring himself a drink to celebrate, but the clock’s running out and the quarterback has no time-outs left. It’s definitely not ending well for the home team. He raised the glass in a silent toast, smiling more warmly. To Clark Kent – the unsung hero about to get his reward.

    * * * * *

    Damn, but it felt good to be on top.

    Whitney Fordman was charged – no, more than that. He was pumped, way beyond normal, as he locked up his things in the boys’ locker room, coming off an exhilarating practice. Coach Walt had put the jocks through grueling moves, not letting up on them even after the rousing success of Saturday’s game – and damn, did it rock to have them down so cold. That was why Coach did it, of course – he had to keep his boys in the best shape possible.

    It definitely paid off big-time every time, Whitney thought, brushing a hand through his blond hair as he ran his bright blue eyes over the locker to make sure it was firmly shut. All that practice to crush the midgets of the team like Pete Ross, all those pep rallies to spike up the adrenaline and get the followers pumped up, all the cries of support from those super-cute cheerleaders waving their pompoms and jumping around on the edge of the field – it gave them the charge they needed to kick ass over and over again.

    He smirked as he thought of one particular super-cute cheerleader, her petite and thin body perfectly fitted into a red outfit – especially that sweet little ass of hers. What he wouldn’t give to see her out of it…ah, well. He would just have to wait a little longer – he’d been patient ever since her aunt had set them up, and after the way he’d charged heroically to her rescue yesterday, saving her from that damn bug-boy freak, no way would she see him as anything less than the golden god he was. Hell, another feat like that and she’d probably throw all her restraint and properness to hell and jump him right then and there.

    He shivered in delight at the idea, and for a moment, he thought he might need to pop back into the shower for a quick cold one. The moment passed, though, and he chuckled as he turned to walk out of the locker room. It had been so easy to take the credit for saving Lana – and then for returning her necklace on top of that. He had no idea how Kent had managed to stop the bug-boy – hell, he’d been surprised to see this year’s Scarecrow at school today, though he’d played it cool. It would’ve made way more sense for Arkin to have torn the farm boy apart with his bare hands – but then, news of that would’ve spread around town like wildfire. The Kents would have been devastated, never mind that they’d lost a nerdy loser – he was still their son. And Lana…

    Well, Whitney was actually glad he didn’t have to see how she would react if Clark died. Besides, it was more satisfying to profit from his goody-two-shoes act – take all the credit for his good deeds and let him suffer in silence while the hottest cheerleader in town got crazier and crazier for her golden god, until she fell to her knees in gleeful worship. At that, he shivered again, and he had to pause at the doors to compose himself. That done, he opened them to stride out—

    —and there stood the object of his desire, almost as gorgeous in her white blouse and pink jacket and blue jeans as she was in her red uniform. He drew up short, a grin coming to his lips – but it died mid-way as he took in her expression. She didn’t look happy to see him at all – in fact…

    “Whitney,” she said in a very quiet, very calm tone, “you and I need to talk, right now.”

    Oh, sh*t. He’d heard her say that just two days ago, and if the look on her face was any clue, this was even worse than last time. She didn’t just look p*ssed – this was more. She looked quietly, thoroughly outraged. At him. At him.

    He did the only thing he knew how to do well, other than get angry – he played it cool. “Sure,” he said, offering a confused smile. Maybe he could bluff her suspicions away. “What’s up?”

    “What’s up,” she said, her voice taking on a sharp edge, “is that you’ve taken credit for something you never did – two things, actually. You’ve been prancing around, basking in the praise from everyone, while someone else lingered in the background, unable to speak out against the guy who stole the spotlight.” She stepped closer, her teeth all but gritted, and said in a tone so cold that he swore ice formed on the nearby lockers: “You’ve lied to me – again – and you’ve lied to everyone else, too.”

    Oh, f*ck. She’d gone straight to the point, no banter or anything, and she’d flat-out accused him of something he knew damn well that he was guilty of – though he hadn’t a clue how she’d found out. Even if he tried to bluff, there was no way she’d believe him – but he tried it anyway, as best he could after her shockingly cold words. “What?” he croaked, trying to sound completely nonplussed but only coming off as stunned and apprehensive. “What are you talk—”

    “Don’t,” she hissed, cutting him off. “Even. Try. It.” She glared into his eyes, rich hazel burning hard into bright blue. “You didn’t save me from Greg, did you? You didn’t return my necklace.” He glanced down at it, much preferring the deep green to—

    Look at me!” she snapped, unable to keep her rage more controlled; his gaze jumped back to hers. “You didn’t even apologize to Clark for stringing him up in that field, did you?” she said, forcing calm into her voice; her eyes still blazed with repressed fury.

    At that, he felt compelled to defend himself. “I did!” he insisted, his voice cracking. Her glare didn’t abate, and he reluctantly amended, “I tried to – he didn’t accept it.”

    “I find that hard to believe,” she said, shaking her head a little without breaking their locked gazes. “And to think – a few days ago, I might not have been so quick to doubt you.” A note of hurt was carried on those words. She let it through, wanting to impress on him just how upset she was. “But how could you have made anything more than a half-hearted apology?” Her voice became very quiet, huskier than usual – and he might have found it sexy if he weren’t so terrified. “How could you even look Clark in the eye, knowing what you did to him?” She shook her head more fully. “You stole the credit from him, Whitney. You took all the praise that he deserves.”

    Whitney felt a vein throbbing in his head – but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t do any more then take an unsteady breath. His mouth was bone-dry, his body all tensed up to fight or flee. He knew that trying to bluff, trying to lie even more, would be worse than useless. He’d only be digging himself a deeper grave.

    Lana inhaled deeply through her button nose, her eyes seeming a bit moist but no less heated. “It was Clark who saved me and returned my necklace in the night,” she said, her voice softening. “Wasn’t it? Tell me the truth, Whitney – don’t try to steal any more credit.”

    He felt a flicker of sudden, desperate hope. Maybe if he told her the whole truth, came completely clean, she would forgive him. She might not be happy with him, but she’d still be his – and he could work on the rest bit by bit. He swallowed and nodded slightly, his voice coming out steady somehow: “When I came to in the stables, Clark showed up. I told him what had happened, and he figured he knew where Greg was going. We ran out to the car and he told me where to go. I told him I wanted to apologize – but when I looked up, he was gone, like he was never there.” He shrugged. “I dunno what to make of that. Anyway, I drove out there and found you in the tree fort, covered in that web – I didn’t see any sign of Greg or Clark.”

    Lana watched him patiently, taking a deep breath as he finished. “And you never found my necklace,” she said – it wasn’t a question.

    “No,” he admitted. “I guess Clark went back to where he’d dropped it and then returned it in secret. I didn’t know where it was until I saw you wearing it again today.”

    She nodded slightly. “But you acted like you’d returned it all along,” she said softly, her voice regaining some of that sharp edge. “When you looked surprised at first, I thought you had to be just playing around. But you weren’t – you hadn’t expected to see it at all. Even then, you kept up a good act – everyone’s thrilled at the idea of you saving me from some kid with weird abilities.” She grimaced, then sighed a bit wistfully. “If they only knew who the real hero was.”

    Lex had been right – she’d put her trust in the wrong guy. She’d let herself be the arm candy of a guy whose greatest achievement was some brawny sports move, while another, much humbler and quieter guy had been watching out for her safety…and her happiness. God, I’ve been such an idiot! she thought, barely managing to keep her sorrow and self-recrimination from showing in front of Whitney. How could she have so easily given in to Nell’s empty words, so readily given this guy another chance, when all along there’d been a much better guy right next door, a guy who truly wanted her to be happy and was willing to let other people take the credit for his good deeds?

    No more. She wasn’t going to make that mistake ever again. When she’d begun Smallville High, mere short weeks ago, she’d hoped that she could put her turbulent and pain-ridden past behind her…but, she now realized, if she was to have any chance at that, she had to start making her own way in life, start making her own choices, instead of letting it be dictated to her by anyone else.

    First things first. She hated to hurt anyone, but there was simply no way to do this without causing upset…and besides, Whitney had brought it on himself. “Do you have any idea how much this hurts me?” she half-asked, half-said, staring hard into his eyes; she made no effort to hold back her tears. “Do you realize what you’ve done? You’ve betrayed my trust in you, Whitney, and that’s something I can’t just forgive and forget. When I realized that Clark had returned my necklace and you had stolen the credit, it didn’t take long at all for me to realize what else you’d lied to me about. If you hadn’t done that, if you’d been honest with me from the start, then maybe we wouldn’t be here. But you weren’t honest until I forced you to be, twice now…and I don’t think the third time can be the charm. I can’t afford to trust that you’ll learn your lesson.”

    She shook her head, letting the tears fall, though her voice remained at least somewhat steady, as did her gaze. “I’m sorry…but it’s over.”

    With that, she turned away from him and walked off, her steps steady and purposeful. She wasn’t going nowhere – on the contrary, she had a very specific destination in mind. She only hoped that she could get out the rest of her tears before she reached it.

    Whitney stared after her, his whole body rigid. His mind held only one thought, echoing over and over like a mantra: No…this can’t be happening… No…this can’t be happening…

    But no amount of his disbelief, his anger, his frustration, his pain, or even his sorrow could change the hard, cold reality. He’d just lost her…he’d lost to Clark Kent in the battle of character.

    And it hurt.

    * * * * *

    There were times when it could really hurt to be silent.

    Over the course of his still-short life, Clark Kent had known a number of pains. Very few physical pains had stayed with him, thanks to his body’s strange resilience – he was close to unbreakable, at least on the outside. Inside was a completely different story. He remembered vividly the all-encompassing pain he’d felt when he’d first seen the Wall of Weird, not four days ago, and realized that all the death, destruction and devastation in Smallville – all the terrible events that people usually only read in horror or science-fiction books, all the bizarre mutations and assorted inexplicable happenings – came back to the meteor shower…to his arrival on Earth…to him.

    He remembered the similarly-intense pain he’d felt when his father had revealed to him what little he could tell about where he’d come from…but that little amount hadn’t been little at all. For years, he’d known that he was different from everyone else alive, set apart due to his frightening and unearthly powers – and he’d hated it. Now, he knew that those powers truly were unearthly. He was unearthly. He wasn’t even human, no matter how much he looked like one – but God help him, he’d give anything to be one.

    And he remembered the impossibly horrible, skin-cracking, sweat-breaking, stomach-roiling, brain-churning agony that he had suffered while strung up to that wooden cross, stripped to his boxers and spray-painted with a blood-red letter S, a simple necklace with a simple – yet eerily glowing – green stone hanging around his neck. That stone had accounted for all the physical agony – it had been a piece of pure meteor rock, and it explained all those years of not being able to go near its rightful owner without collapsing and feeling utterly sick.

    But that agony hadn’t been merely physical – far from it. The inner agony, the pain that seared his very mind and heart, his very soul, had come from the terrible knowledge that he had caused the most beautiful girl in all of Creation the worst pain that any child could feel. It was she to whom the necklace belonged…and it was only right, in a horribly karmic way, that her prized possession should cause him such a blistering but tiny amount of the pain he had forced her through just by existing.

    How ironic, really, that he’d shared such a private and quiet moment with her the night before, when they had met by chance in the graveyard – or had it been chance? But what else could it be? There was no way in Heaven or Earth that he could possibly have been fated to see her that night, to talk with her about her long-lost parents, to give her what comfort he could…comfort that he somehow knew no-one else had ever given her, no matter how hard they tried. Then again, perhaps it had been fate – a cruel little twist of fate – that they had encountered each other, that he might have known such a connection with her – the angel of his desperate dreams and waking nightmares – only to slowly die under the power of her necklace, a piece of the very meteor that he had brought crashing down upon her parents twelve years ago.

    Of all those pains, however, of all those agonies, he had never suspected that silence – his usual refuge from the trials and tears of the world, especially those he caused for others – could itself be painful. Perhaps he should have realized it sooner – but then, perhaps not. Perhaps he was meant to learn it today, when he saw Whitney Fordman – the star of the football team, a god among local gods, and her boyfriend to boot – all but gloating over his dashing heroics of the day before. The problem, of course, was that they weren’t Whitney’s heroics at all – neither the much-publicized rescue from Greg Arkin nor the more private return of her necklace. Clark had done both – neither could atone for the pain he had caused her just by existing, and both combined didn’t even amount to a fraction of redemption, but that didn’t mean neither was the right thing to do.

    And that didn’t mean that he could say a word about it. He’d already suspected since last night, when he’d left the necklace hanging on her door and she had thought it was Whitney outside, that the jock would get the credit. Heck, he’d known from the moment he saw Whitney leading her away from the old tree fort near the Creekside Foundry that the guy would just take the credit flat-out. What he hadn’t known was how much it would hurt, and how badly he would ache to march up to her and tell her exactly what he had done for her sake – and how he would realize that he never could, that he would never deserve such credit after all he had done to her.

    But he was resigned to it – he had been since yesterday. What did his pain matter next to hers? Nothing. What did his hopes and fears, dreams and nightmares, mean next to hers? Nothing. What did it matter if he had saved her and returned a smile to her face and she didn’t even know it was him? It didn’t. Only her safety mattered. Only her smile mattered. It was all that mattered – that she remain alive and happy. And he would strive to keep her alive and happy to the last drop of his blood, no matter how alien it was. No matter how damned he was for all that he had wrought, he’d be damned countless times over before he let her be harmed or upset.

    “Clark?”

    For a moment, he thought that his endless ruminations on the subject had caused him to hallucinate hearing her voice – but no. That single word, spoken so softly and yet so clearly, was far too solid, too real. He looked up – and abruptly stood up. There she was, walking slowly through the open sliding door of the barn, golden sunlight playing over her beautiful, smiling features. She wore the same outfit he’d seen her wearing at school today – gray shoes, blue jeans, white blouse, pink jacket – but, truth be told, it didn’t matter to him what she wore. She would never be anything less than perfect to his eyes.

    “Lana,” he said, his light baritone voice and his handsome face showing pleased surprise. He began to mirror her smile, and she came closer, eager to tell him what she’d learned, to thank him for what he’d done – though she didn’t know how she could ever repay such selflessness—

    And an instant too late, Clark realized what else she was wearing. The agony hit him with the force of a freight train hurtling out of control, the carved meteor rock on her neck emanating a bright green glow – he lost his balance and collapsed to the hard ground, barely able to throw his hand out in time to keep from truly face-planting.

    “Clark?!” Lana exclaimed, her smile vanishing under shock and concern. She’d managed to regain her composure in the car, letting herself cry over the end of her trust in and regard of Whitney – a view that she now knew was based on illusions and Nell’s pushiness – before she finally calmed down. Then she’d cleaned herself up, wiping off her thankfully light makeup, and driven directly to the Kent Farm on Hickory Lane. She’d figured that he would be in the barn, so she’d made a beeline for it, letting herself smile with anticipation – and her smile had only brightened when she’d seen him sitting on the steps to his loft, wearing his usual plaid shirt and blue jeans as well as his farmer’s boots.

    But now, her composure threatened to fall apart completely – for he was clearly in agony, and she feared what the cause could be. She rushed forward, her heart speeding up as she heard him groan despite his efforts to keep it in, and dropped to her knees in front of him. “Clark, what’s wrong?!” she asked, her eyes wide and her breath coming faster.

    As blessed as he knew he was to have her even near him, he couldn’t say the same at all for her necklace. It glowed with unearthly power as he tried to look up at her, taunting him and tormenting him with physical agony matched only by his memories of the Wall of Weird, of her crying face as a child gazing out from that magazine cover, of those despairing eyes staring into his and telling him in no uncertain terms that he was to blame, that it was his fault, all his fault—

    He tried to speak, but all that came out was a low cry of pain – his arm slipped out beneath him, and he crashed fully onto the ground, groaning as his nose was mashed against it by his own weight—

    “Clark?!” Lana gasped, feeling more frightened than she ever had in her short life. Not even the utter fear she’d felt as Greg had ominously declared that it was time for them could compare to her current terror for Clark’s well-being. She was all but sobbing as she tried to roll him over, just managing it. “Talk to me!” she begged him, not caring if she sounded hysterical. “Clark, please, what’s wrong?!”

    He couldn’t answer her – he physically couldn’t. The key to his agony now hung from her neck, taunting him silently with its eerie glow – though, even through her near-desperate pleading and his involuntary sounds of pain, he could just barely make out, as if it were on the very edge of his hearing, a low and melodious tinkling sound, like some otherworldly hum that no-one was ever meant to hear… All your fault, it seemed to be telling him, like an eerie voice whispering into his ear, all your fault, her pain is all your fault…

    Even through her near-terror, Lana could tell that she wasn’t helping him at all. Why did he always seem so pained around her? Why hadn’t it happened in the graveyard Friday night, or in the loft yesterday? Why had it come on so strongly this time? She recognized the symptoms – it was like he was constipated and nauseous and congested all at once – but it had never been this bad before! She should go – she should get help, call a doctor, tell his parents that something was wrong, something other than just hovering over him uselessly! She decided to try one more time before she left, try to get through to him. “Clark?” she asked, trying and failing to be calm, her eyes getting moist again. “Please, do you know what’s wrong?”

    Oh, he did know. He knew all too well…and in that moment, as he heard her desperate plea, saw her unrestrained concern for his well-being, he could no longer stay silent, no matter how much he thought he deserved this torment. Through the blinding, blistering agony, he managed to groan a single word: “…neck…lace…”

    She blinked – then she took it in – then she reached down and looked, bringing her necklace into full view—

    And she saw. She saw the eerie, unearthly glow of the green stone, her eyes going wide in shock. She saw – and in an instant, she knew.

    Oh, there was much she didn’t yet know about Clark Kent. There was much that he had kept hidden from everyone, including her, though he had always desperately longed to share it with her. But in that moment, that single pivotal moment, she realized that her necklace – this piece of the terrible rock that had killed her parents, this thing that her aunt had given her as some kind of present that she no longer understood and no longer cared to understand – was the cause of his agony. This was why he kept collapsing around her, why he so rarely went near her. This was why their friendship had been put on hold from their early childhood until the start of high school.

    And this was why Lex had found him in such miserable shape Saturday night – he had been all but paralyzed by this single green rock that had no place on Earth, put around his neck by Whitney in a wrathful fit of jealousy and cruel domination.

    Time itself seemed to grind to a stop. She saw and felt with piercing clarity as her delicate hand closed over the glowing green stone, obscuring it from view…but not lessening Clark’s agony by one degree…

    The whole universe held its breath for one eternal second…

    And the freight train that had knocked Clark over came roaring through her head, a ferocious and furious rush of sound – and with a piercing scream of “NO!!!” she wrenched her hand away, tore the stone right off her neck, and shot to her feet, spinning around, and flung it away from them both, sending it hurtling clear across the whole length of the barn. It crashed right into the wooden wall at the other end and dropped to the ground, the ends of the broken chain flopping onto either side of it.

    And that sinister green rock – the substance that would one day be known and reviled as Kryptonite – lost its hold on the Last Son of Krypton, lost its eerie glow and went dark, never to hang around Lana Lang’s neck again.
    Last edited by superman_lives_on; 08-16-2010, 09:27 AM.

  • #2
    The Chronicles of Smallville: Chrysalis

    * * * * *

    Clark gasped for breath, sitting up in his surprise. His head spun for an instant, but only an instant. It was a phantom sensation, a last echo of the terrible agony that the meteor rock had inflicted upon him.

    He rose to his feet, feeling his strength return in full, and took a deep breath. Wow – he’d never realized before just how good a simple breath of fresh air could feel. He smiled a little, stretching his body and feeling his spine crackle a bit.

    Before him, Lana turned around, her own breath coming out in soft pants, her beautiful face showing comprehension and concern in equal measure. “Clark?” she asked, her velvety voice softer than he’d ever heard it. “Are you okay?”

    “Yeah,” he murmured without hesitation. He was okay – the contrast between his current state and how he’d been only seconds ago was staggering. He shrugged a bit. “Never better.”

    No sooner had he said it than Lana threw herself forward, flinging her arms around him and holding him in a tight hug – the kind she hadn’t given him since they were kids. Any other guy might have been knocked over by the force of that hug – he simply gasped in surprise, then immediately slipped his muscular arms around her petite frame, holding her firmly but with utmost gentleness. He felt even more staggeringly good – that simple hug seemed to banish every last trace of pain. He could almost hear his inner demons, his self-inflicted agony and torment, falling away with screams of outrage.

    She shook in his embrace, the emotions that had been running high starting to play out. She sniffed hard, all but sobbing in relief…and after a long moment that seemed to go on forever, she lifted her head and gazed up at him, a tear trickling from one lovely golden-green eye. “That necklace,” she whispered, swallowing to keep her voice steady. “That’s why you could never come near me.”

    What response was there to that, other than the truth? He nodded, offering her a sheepish smile. “Looks like it,” he said, his voice a bit raspy. “I guess I’m allergic to meteor rocks.”

    She let out a heartrending sound, not unlike a whimper, and clutched him tighter still. “Clark, I’m so sorry,” she moaned. “I had no idea – I would never have—”

    “I know, Lana,” he assured her, clearing his throat and speaking more clearly but still softly. “Please, don’t be sorry – you had no way to know. I didn’t even know until recently.”

    She nodded, but did not release him – not yet. He didn’t mind at all. “When Whitney strung you up,” she said quietly. “He put it around your neck. That’s how he lost it.”

    He grimaced, but didn’t deny it. “Yeah. That’s when I realized what it was doing to me. I couldn’t really do anything by then, of course.”

    “And Lex had to save you,” she said, nodding again. “He told me the whole story when I went by his mansion about an hour ago.”

    Somehow, Clark couldn’t be surprised about that. Lex must have realized that he’d turned down the opportunity to win Lana over, and thus decided to take matters into his own hands. “He did, huh?” he said dryly.

    “Yes,” said Lana, finally loosening her grip a bit, “and I’m glad he did, Clark. Otherwise, I would’ve gone on believing a lie, trusting a guy who didn’t deserve it.” She looked into his eyes, a fascinating shade of green that sometimes seemed gray or blue. “It wasn’t Whitney who saved me from Greg and returned my necklace. It was you.”

    He smiled shyly. “Guilty as charged.”

    At that, she let out a giggle, a bubbling and musical sound that he’d loved for years. Then she realized that she was still clinging to him – and, with a more bashful giggle, she released him. “Sorry about that,” she said merrily. “I hope I didn’t strangle you.”

    “I’m gasping for breath right now,” he quipped, his smile widening to show his pearly whites. “Seriously, Lana, I didn’t mind at all. It was…well, it just plain felt good,” he admitted. “Especially since we haven’t done that in years.”

    She nodded agreement, looking rather wistful. “Has it really been that long?” she wondered. “Sometimes I feel like only yesterday we were five years old, playing in the fields and babbling to each other about anything and nothing at all.”

    “I know what you mean,” he said, gently putting a hand on her shoulder – somehow, he couldn’t feel so shy about that now, not after that intense hug. “Those are some of my best memories.”

    “Mine too,” she agreed, smiling up at him warmly. Then she looked away, sighing sadly. “Then Nell gave me that necklace when she officially adopted me – and after that, you couldn’t come near me without getting sick.” She shook her head. “For years, I thought there was something wrong with me, something that made you upset or ill.”

    “Don’t,” he said gently, slipping his arms around her and giving her a softer hug. “This was never your fault, Lana.”

    She sighed and hugged him back, resting her head on his massive chest. “I know that,” she admitted. “But I still felt that way for years. And now that I know the truth…I feel kind of stupid.”

    “No more than I do, trust me,” he said, chuckling in a rather self-deprecating fashion. “All those years, I thought it was the worst case of nerves ever.”

    She giggled at that, then lifted her head and looked at him fondly. “Aww…you got nervous around me?” she cooed.

    “Guilty,” he admitted, blushing a bit. “I still kind of do – but it’s not so bad now. At least they’re good nerves.”

    “Good nerves,” she echoed dryly. “What a concept.”

    He shrugged, letting her out of the hug. “Well, you are one of the most popular girls in school – and there’s good reason for it. If you don’t mind my saying so,” he added, blushing a little more.

    She gave him a reassuring smile, her eyes twinkling. “I don’t mind at all, Clark,” she said warmly. “I take a compliment as well as any other girl, especially one so sincere. Thank you.”

    “You’re welcome,” he said, sounding a little relieved as he smiled back; his blush decided that it wasn’t needed after all and crawled off his face. “But I’m only saying it because it’s true, Lana. You deserve to be well-liked, and anybody would be really lucky to have your friendship. I know I am.”

    She felt very warm inside at those words – just as warm as she’d felt when he’d comforted her in the graveyard. “Clark,” she sighed, smiling widely, “I’m the one who’s lucky – I have your friendship.” She looked away for a moment, her smile fading. “But I didn’t realize just how lucky I am until lately – and I feel lousy for not seeing it sooner.”

    “You don’t have to feel lousy about that, Lana,” he said, touching her shoulder again. “Neither of us knew about the meteor rock for years.”

    “I know,” she sighed, looking back at him. “But it’s not just the rock. It’s everything about my life.”

    At that, Clark got a strong feeling that this conversation might take a while – and he certainly didn’t mind at all, but he didn’t think standing around was the most comfortable way to have it. He silently invited her to sit on the lower steps with him, and she gladly accepted, sitting close to him and folding her hands in her lap. “Ever since I talked with Lex,” she began, “I’ve been wondering how much of my life is really my own…and I’m pretty sure the answer is very little.”

    He nodded silently, not wanting to interrupt her for a moment. She took a deep breath, then said softly, “Clark, I have a confession to make. I never actually wanted a relationship with Whitney. I only started dating him because I let Nell pressure me into it.” She shook her head. “I told myself that maybe I could make something good out of it, that maybe he wasn’t the stereotypical jock – and for a while, he actually seemed like a good guy, even if he got a bit overzealous. But now…” She sighed. “Now that I realize how low he’ll sink to get some glory, I’m thinking that I never really knew him at all until today.”

    Clark hated to see her so down in the dumps about anything, even if some little part of him couldn’t help but feel gleeful that Whitney had been hoist by his own petard. Score one for the Scarecrow. “I’m sorry, Lana,” he said gently.

    She looked at him, her expression bemused. “For what?”

    He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry that Whitney hurt you so badly. And I’m sorry that he wasn’t what you’d hoped he could be.”

    She nodded, smiling a little. “I appreciate the thought, Clark. But to be honest, I’m a little surprised you didn’t let him have it after how badly he hurt you. So long as there wasn’t any necklace around, you could probably take him.”

    He blushed guiltily. “Well, uh,” he coughed, “I can’t say it never occurred to me. But…” He shrugged. “I didn’t see any point. Besides, I figured it was more important that you were happy.”

    She smiled more firmly, then looked away, her expression turning serious again. “I don’t think I’ve been truly happy for years,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “I definitely wasn’t happy with him. I was just playing a role that Nell had picked out for me over last summer.” She looked down, her eyes closing as her expression became sad and rather bitter. “Just another tacky trophy that she wanted me to win for her. Just another fake crown to wear…just another lousy pink dress.”

    Clark felt very bad upon hearing that. And to think that he’d been beating himself up over taking her parents away from her – her aunt had been making her live a life that she didn’t want. He cleared his throat a bit. “Well, that doesn’t mean it has to define you,” he said, tentatively taking one of her delicate hands in his much larger one. “You’re so much more than that, Lana. You deserve to be happy.”

    What could Lana say to that? There was no doubting the sincerity and honesty in his eyes, in his voice, in his gentle touch. She smiled at him, putting her other hand on top of his. “Thanks, Clark.”

    He smiled back, nodding. “Anytime.”

    For a long moment, they just gazed into each other’s eyes, marveling at the rich color and texture, at the light that sparkled within them…then they looked away, biting their lips. “So,” he said after a pause pregnant with things they didn’t yet dare to say, “um…” He looked at her inquiringly. “What will you do with yourself now?”

    Lana inhaled deeply, considering for a few seconds. “Well,” she finally said, “one thing’s for sure – I’m never letting Nell pressure me into another relationship.” She glanced toward the far side of the barn, scowling. “And I’m never wearing that necklace again. It’s poison.” She shook her head, looking disgusted. “Why did she even give me that thing? There’s no good luck at all – it’s nothing but bad luck, pain and angst. And I’ve had enough of that. I want to move past that forever.”

    “Amen,” Clark said quietly, too stunned for a moment to say anything else. He cleared his throat again. “Maybe you need to lock it away so it can’t affect your life anymore.”

    She looked at him questioningly, raising her eyebrows artfully. “You have something in mind?”

    He nodded and rose to his feet, moving up the stairs a little. He came back down carrying a fairly large metal box. She blinked, then comprehended. “Lex mentioned that he gave it back to you in a box of lead armor.”

    “Yeah,” he confirmed. “He told me it was a gift his mother had bought – she gave it to him before she died. Apparently, it’s made from the armor of Saint George.”

    “The patron saint of boy scouts,” Lana nodded. “I read about him in a book. He made that box from his own armor when he was fighting a dragon, and he put all his pain and weariness and fear into it. When he went back to face the dragon again, it saw that he wasn’t afraid and hesitated – and he seized the moment to lunge forward and plunge his sword into the beast’s heart.” She smiled a bit. “No small feat for a box, huh?”

    “Definitely not,” Clark agreed. “And it stops the meteor rocks from affecting me – I guess the lead blocks whatever weird radiation they give off.” He handed her the box reverently. “If it could hold Saint George’s fears and doubts, maybe it can hold yours.”

    She took it, smiling at the gesture, and walked through the barn. The necklace wasn’t hard to find at all – it just lay there on a patch of ground, feigning innocence. She snorted at the thought as she opened the box, took the offending item and popped it in there. She closed the lid with a decisive clunk, then rose to her feet, inhaling deeply. Somehow, she already felt that she’d let something go…something that had been with her for so long that it had seemed ingrained into her. But it wasn’t ingrained – it had been forced upon her. And from now on, she would leave it where it belonged.

    Clark watched her come back and set the box aside, looking at him wonderingly. “You know,” she said after a moment, “Lex mentioned seeing some guy at the edge of the cornfield where you were. He said it was the same guy who’d been the Scarecrow in 1989 – and that he hadn’t aged a day.”

    Clark’s eyes went wide with instant comprehension. “Jeremy,” he said softly. Goodness – things really were tying together.

    Lana cocked her head inquiringly at him as she sat down with him again, and he elaborated. “His name is Jeremy Creek. He was affected by the meteors too – but unlike Greg, he gained electrical abilities. He was locked up in the state infirmary, where he’d been in a coma – and he hadn’t aged because of an electrolyte imbalance. He woke up after a recent electrical storm, and he came back to Smallville to take his revenge. You know those guys who kept falling into comas last week?” She nodded. “They were all former jocks.”

    “And they did to him what Whitney did to you,” she breathed, her eyes wide. “How did you figure this out?”

    “I didn’t,” he said, smiling modestly. “It was Pete and Chloe who solved the mystery.” His smile vanished. “Jeremy came to see me when I was strung up, and he said he was going to the Homecoming dance.”

    At that, Lana’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh, my God,” she murmured, her eyes widening even further as her mind treated her to a nightmarish image. “The sprinklers in the gym…everyone in there…” She shook her head, staring at him in amazement. “But you stopped him.” She blinked her eyes hard. “God, Clark – we all owe you our lives, and you never took any credit!”

    Clark looked away, his blush returning with a vengeance. “Nobody owes me anything,” he said, sounding embarrassed. “I couldn’t just let Jeremy or Greg hurt anyone.” He looked down, seeming guilty. “I was too late to save Greg’s mom.”

    “That wasn’t your fault,” Lana insisted, taking his face in her hands and making him look at her – but neither her voice nor her movements were anything other than gentle. “The responsibility for her death is on Greg’s shoulders, not yours.”

    At that, he couldn’t help but feel touched. “You think so?” he said softly.

    “I know so,” she said just as softly, smiling reassuringly. “Greg made his own terrible choices, and you made your own better ones.”

    He blushed again, glancing down – but only for a moment. Her eyes drew his like a pair of magnets. “I’m not sure that Greg had much choice left,” he admitted. “He was stung by swarms of bugs that had been mutated by the meteors. He became a slave to his instincts.”

    “Even if that’s the case,” said Lana, stroking his cheeks, “he chose to attack Whitney – twice – and come after me. However Greg got his abilities, he used them for his own selfish ends.”

    Clark nodded a bit, conceding the point. “I couldn’t save him either,” he said softly, his voice pained. “I was able to save Jeremy. It turned out he’d never really woken up from the coma – his bizarre powers had driven him insane. When he came out of it, he didn’t have them anymore, and he didn’t remember a thing since the meteor shower.” He smiled a bit, then frowned. “But Greg killed himself while he was trying to kill me. He got himself squashed by a hunk of metal in the old foundry, and a bunch of bugs crawled out and swarmed away.”

    Lana felt bad for him. “I’m sorry, Clark,” she said gently, her eyes earnest. “I know you guys used to be friends. That must have been horrible.” She stroked his cheek again. “But that doesn’t mean you were responsible for what happened to him. It’s clear to me that you did everything you could to save everyone.” She shook her head in wonder. “You are…amazing.”

    He glanced away, his blush threatening to suffocate his face. “You really think so?” he whispered.

    She shook her head. “No – I don’t think,” she said firmly. “You are amazing, Clark Kent. What you’ve done for everyone, for me…” Her soft pink lips formed her warmest smile ever. “I don’t think I can ever repay you.”

    He looked at her with his own warm smile, his eyes shining. “You don’t have to, Lana,” he said. “Just knowing that you’re alive and happy is more than reward enough.”

    The feeling that swept through her at those words was simply indescribable. She’d never felt so cherished – at least, not since her parents had died. All of Nell’s gestures combined didn’t even come close to what Clark had done for her – and why he had done it. She knew that no words would ever suffice to thank him…

    …but then, words weren’t the best form of communication anyway. She licked her lips, cleared her throat, and said in a very warm tone, “Even so, throughout this whole conversation, I haven’t properly said thank you.” She tilted her head and asked, her voice turning husky, “Will you let me?”

    His eyes searched hers for a long moment…then he nodded, silent permission. She let her eyes flicker over his face, drinking in every beautiful detail, particularly his full and soft-looking lips…then she swallowed and leaned closer, letting her eyes flutter shut as she cupped his jaw with her delicate hand…his own eyes widened for a split second, but then they also fluttered closed…

    And then their lips met…and all time ground to a halt.

    Oh, my God. Had Lana been capable of any coherent thought, that would have been it. Nothing – nothing – had ever felt so searingly good, so all-encompassing, so intense and yet gentle as this…as the simple touch of her lips to Clark’s. She pressed closer, her whole body swelling with heat and tenderness as she kissed him…and she felt his strong, powerful yet gentle arms slip around her, holding her close.

    Had Clark been capable of any coherent thought himself, he would have been certain that he’d died and, against all odds, woken up in Heaven. The angel of his whole life, the beautiful girl next door, the one who had let her true self be hidden beneath silly outfits and fake smiles…she was kissing him. She was actually kissing him. He didn’t hesitate to return it, to carefully pull her close to him and gently suck on her hot lips just as she was sucking on his.

    She let out a soft sound, a whimper of delight, and slipped both her arms around his neck, her hands stroking his back and head. Her lips parted daintily, the tip of her hot pink tongue tentatively tapping his own lips. He gladly opened them, letting her slip inside…and the moment their tongues met, a shock of electricity jolted through them. They moaned in unison as their mouths merged, hot breath mingling, and they pulled each other even closer.

    She wound up in his lap, easily slipping her denim-clad legs over his thighs as their arms locked around each other’s torsos. They kept on kissing, neither one wanting to break contact at all…alas, her lungs began to scream for air, and she broke away with a gasp, panting heavily. He started panting too, realizing just then that his own lungs were complaining. She sagged against him, resting her head on his shoulder and letting her hot breath flow over his neck as she regained control of it. He reached his hand to stroke her head, the other gently massaging her back through the jacket and blouse.

    For a long time, neither said a word. What could they say? No words would have been apropos. They simply held each other gently, recovering from the mind-blowing pleasure of that simple kiss…though, truth be told, it had become fuller rather quickly. At length, Lana moved her head and met Clark’s eyes, seeing in them the same awe and quiet joy that she felt. After all those years of distance, they were finally where they ought to be…they knew it beyond any doubt.

    She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling, and leaned in, pressing a much softer and shorter kiss to his lips. Then she reluctantly moved out of his lap and stood on the ground, letting him rise to his feet so that she could give him a hug. “I’ll see you around, Clark,” she said, her voice hushed.

    He chuckled lightly at that. “I’m always around, Lana,” he assured her. She moved back from him and nodded, her eyes still sparkling…then she walked away, dragging her hand over his chest. He watched her go, picking up the lead box along the way to the open door, and marveled at how much more beautiful she now seemed. He hadn’t thought that possible.

    But then, there were a lot of things he hadn’t thought possible – and she had just proved a number of those disbeliefs wrong. Who was he to argue with that? And to think that he’d been so hard on himself for things that he knew intellectually hadn’t been his fault.

    For the moment, at least, he no longer felt that they were…and he had her to thank.

    As Lana walked outside, she noticed that the afternoon sun was shining very brightly. It had broken through the clouds by the time she’d arrived at the Kent Farm, and now the clouds seemed to have all fled. She smiled at the thought, holding the lead box close to her chest and closing her eyes for a moment. She’d never felt so sunny inside…and she knew exactly who deserved the credit.

    She walked to the car, opened the door and put the box on the navigator’s seat, then hesitated for a moment. She turned and looked back at the barn, imagining that she could see through it to the kind, handsome, heroic young man within…the boy who had proven to be so much more than he seemed, just as he saw her. She smiled even more widely, her lips parting as she inhaled…and, too quietly for anyone to hear, she whispered some very simple words.

    Within the barn, Clark glanced up, having turned to fiddle with some machinery…and for a reason he couldn’t quite fathom, he found himself smiling even wider than he’d already been. It was as if someone had whispered something to him, though he couldn’t make out the words…and truth be told, he didn’t think it mattered what they were. Somehow, their existence was more than enough.

    Neither he nor his departing guest knew just how much had changed that day. They knew, of course, that things had changed – for the better. However, they had no idea that reality itself had been changed. The repercussions would be felt throughout the fabric of time and space, of the universe itself…and one day, they would come to realize just how much they had done with such seemingly simple words and actions.

    On this Tuesday, September the 4th, 2001, all it had taken was a simple detour to a stony castle for Lana Lang to discover who was truly her knight in shining armor.

    * * * * *

    It was warm and dark…so very warm. His eyes were closed, and he sensed more than saw the light of candles trying to banish the dark. For now, though, he was content not to look – he only wanted to feel.

    And he felt much. He felt the thick and soft mattress beneath him…he felt the blankets draped over him…he felt the velvet-soft, heavy form lying atop him. He felt the hot lips caressing his bare chest, the wet tongue laving his skin.

    And he heard. “Oh, Clark…” He heard the low, silky, husky voice, filled with warmth and pleasure, as the lips moved away for a moment. He heard her raspy breathing as she shifted over him…and he heard the gentle moans she emitted as she moved back down to his chest, trailing her mouth over him.

    He shifted his hands, feeling the smooth and perfect skin beneath, feeling the strong and lean muscles, feeling the incredible heat and texture…and he heard her moan even more in response. Then he felt something else…something that gave him such simple and piercing joy as he had never known. They were moving…together…slowly…perfectly…

    He let his eyes open…he had to see, had to know with his mind what he knew with his heart…and he gazed into her eyes, those rich and deep pools of golden-brown and forest green, shining brightly even as dark smoke flowed through them. He saw, and he knew…

    …and again, he heard her voice, so warm and thick and liquid… “I love you, Clark…”

    “Lana,” he groaned in reply, his own voice just as raspy and thick. “I love you…”

    He leaned forward, and she arched to meet him, still moving with him…their lips met for a hungry yet smooth kiss…his hands traced the lines of her body, moving down to rest where he felt them moving in unison…she moaned into his mouth, then parted it to gasp as he stroked her…

    “Oh, Clark,” she breathed again, hushed with pleasure, need, and wonder. “Oh, Clark…”

    “Lana,” he breathed back, and moved his lips to hers, closing his eyes as they worshiped each other…


    “Clark! Clark!

    His eyes snapped open in surprise – and he very nearly met the ceiling of his room up close and personal before gravity demanded to know what he was doing up there. He gasped as he fell, landing hard – Thunk! Crunch! Snap!

    For the second time that week, he woke up floating – and his bed got broken for it.

    And every single creature on the Kent Farm, from the milling cows to the tweeting birds to the rather anxious Jonathan and Martha Kent, jolted as a cry of pure frustration and disappointment rang through the air:

    “Aw, DANG it!”
    Last edited by superman_lives_on; 02-22-2010, 11:20 PM.

    Comment


    • #3
      Excellent start!

      Wow! What an amazing beginning, Matt! Ah, it was nice to see the friendliness back between Lana and Lex. I'm so happy that he let Lana in on the truth about what truly occurred out in that field and who really returned her necklace. Ick, Whitney's thoughts were just disgusting. He most certainly deserved Lana's very public wrath. That was quite a shock for Lana to find out about the poisonous nature of her necklace in that way, and I'm so glad that Clark has already started to open up to her about himself. And of course, I loved the fact that those two have already started their relationship. Ha ha ha, that was quite an amusing ending, too! Hopefully one day, Clark will get to experience such closeness with Lana for real. I look forward to more, my friend!

      Comment


      • #4
        Now that is a start Matt....I love the re-telling of the show from this point. Lana knows that Clark is "special" but of course even Clark isn't completely aware of just what he is at this point. Hopefully things can move forward in a fulfilling way for both Lana & Clark. I love Clark floating like he did once already. You made the first step Matt from your writers block....now lets get this GOING.

        Edit: Also I just love season 1 Lex Luthor, he was such a sly fellow, but seemed to want what was best for Clark. Nice to see him throw the QB under the bus.

        2nd Edit: I did notice one line I thought was neat. "I'm always around" That was one of my favorite lines in "Superman Returns"....in that movie it was used more of as a joke about him being Superman/Clark and Lois not realizing that, but in your version it still applies...he will always be there for Lana and everyone else. I don't know if that line was intentional, but found it funny that I thought of this.
        Last edited by dollarman82; 01-14-2010, 05:33 PM.

        Comment


        • #5
          Great start PPMS

          Comment


          • #6
            The Chronicles of Smallville: Atrocities

            TWO
            Atrocities

            Tuesday, September the 11th, 2001…the day that innocence was shattered all throughout the United States of America.

            For everyone, the day began just like any other day. From the streets of New York City to the halls of Washington, D.C.…from Aberdeen, South Dakota to Miami, Florida…from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania to Greenville, South Carolina…from Los Angeles, California to Metropolis, Kansas…not a single soul could have imagined the terror, death and destruction that would ensue later that morning.

            For the citizens of Smallville, Kansas, it was a particularly clear and beautiful day. The weather had been very good ever since last Tuesday – something that Clark and Lana had taken to be a good omen, particularly in the wake of their life-changing conversation at the farm. The fact that they could now go near each other at any time without him collapsing, and thus share conversations outside of class other than simple homework help, only increased their mutual good feeling. They’d done their best to be discreet about how close they had actually become, and so far it seemed to be working. Only mild rumors had circulated about the circumstances surrounding her breakup with Whitney – apparently, the king of the jocks wasn’t in the mood to add to them…or say anything about the subject at all.

            In short, they felt on top of the world. Alas…that mutual feeling did not survive past this day.

            Clark had met the school bus on time for the past week – something that his two best friends were more than a little impressed by. Neither Pete Ross nor Chloe Sullivan knew the cause of this or the cause of his overall sunnier mood, let alone that they were one and the same – while they had heard of the breakup, it didn’t occur to them that Lana might already be seeing someone else in secret, let alone the boy who had secretly pined for her his whole life. As far as they were concerned, she’d simply gotten sick of being Whitney’s arm-candy, and Clark saw no reason to inform them that this was only part of the truth. As far as he was concerned, it was his and Lana’s business and nobody else’s.

            The three friends were working in the office of the school newspaper, the Torch, before first period. Ever since Chloe’s arrival in Smallville last year, she had worked with a passion and diligence to take control of the rather dull and mediocre paper and transform it into something worth reading, something that did more than merely pass on bone-dry facts and cookie-cutter op-eds to the student body. She had succeeded in that goal, though not everyone was pleased about the changes. Rather than let herself be beaten down, though, she saw those complaints as backhanded compliments – or at least as challenges begging to be overcome.

            Clark and Pete were among a number of students who contributed to the paper, though neither of them held their blonde friend’s enthusiasm and talent for journalism – indeed, they admired her for it. Of course, that didn’t mean they thought she never crossed any lines – she could be very nosy. Clark counted himself and Lana lucky that Chloe hadn’t caught on to the changes in their friendship – if she found out, he doubted she would ever let him hear the end of it.

            Still, he thought as he passed Pete some pictures, if Chloe did find out by any chance and start hounding him about it, he was sure that he could endure it. It would be a small price to pay for the happiness he had never seriously thought he would share with Lana. He smiled at that and glanced up at the clock, an unusually accurate timepiece – Chloe did not like the idea of missing any sort of deadline. It flicked to 7:46 as he looked. They were making good time, he noted – not a bad start to the day at all.

            He turned back to the task at hand…but, for some reason he couldn’t place, he found himself looking at the clock again. Four seconds had passed…now five…six…

            “Clark!” Chloe’s voice cut sharply through, startling him. “What’s the holdup?”

            “Sorry,” he mumbled, looking at her apologetically. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the odd distraction. But as Chloe turned back to her computer, he couldn’t help but look at the clock again. 7:46 and ten seconds…eleven…twelve…

            He shook his head again, but it was no use – he couldn’t stop looking. Fifteen seconds past now…

            It was then that he noticed the queasy feeling in his gut…some deep-rooted instinct, perhaps, that was telling him something was wrong. He had no idea what, but he knew, with a certainty that went beyond any rational thought, that something was very, very wrong.

            Twenty seconds past…twenty-one…

            “Clark?” Chloe was looking at him again – but she looked more concerned than irritated. “Are you okay?”

            He pulled his gaze away from the clock, wanting to reassure her…but he couldn’t. Somehow, he just couldn’t overcome the queasy warning within him. “Not sure,” he said, his voice low and rather pensive.

            Twenty-five seconds past…

            “You alright, man?” Pete had noticed the expression on his tall friend’s face, the way he was holding himself. He looked…kind of sick. Not violently sick, but very uneasy, as if he knew that something bad was about to happen. “You don’t look so hot.”

            Clark shrugged at him and looked at the clock again. Thirty seconds past – thirty-one – the queasy feeling was now more like a clawing, boiling sensation – thirty-two – it was all he could do to keep still – thirty-three—

            Pete and Chloe had noticed the focus of his attention and were watching the clock too, but they saw nothing particularly fascinating about it—

            Thirty-five – Clark’s hands were clenched into fists, the churning sensation in his gut now more like screaming—

            Thirty-six – he shouldn’t be here – he should be out there, looking around, finding out what was wrong—

            Thirty-seven – he should be doing something – but what, and where, and why?

            Thirty-eight – his eyes widened, his gut clenching itself in sheer, seemingly sourceless horror

            Thirty-nine – Pete touched his shoulder lightly and began to say, “Clark, what’s wrong?”

            The clock hit 7:46:40.

            And Clark doubled over, gasping as if in sudden pain, his whole body feeling for a horrible second like it was screaming.

            Chloe rushed over to him, Pete already holding his side, and they managed between them to help him sit down. He was clutching his head, his face scrunched up in a mix of agony and horror, his teeth bared and clenched, his eyes shut—

            Then he began to come out of it, though the horrible feelings did not abate at all. He heard Chloe suggest that maybe he should head to the nurse, but it was only background data, little more than meaningless noise. It was very literally all he could do to stay calm, to not scream or cry or otherwise let his emotions fully loose.

            He managed to open his eyes, rubbing at them a bit to clear his vision, and look up at the clock. It reached 7:47 as he did, time marching on as if nothing had happened. But he knew that wasn’t the case, though he couldn’t quite figure why. He just knew, somehow, that something horrible had happened somewhere twenty seconds ago. A famous movie quote sprang to mind – it was as if many voices had suddenly cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced.

            But no…that wasn’t all that had happened. Something was still happening…something that should never, ever happen. But what?

            And suddenly, a clear, rational thought broke through the turmoil in his head – maybe there was a way to find out what. “Chloe,” he said, clearing his throat and keeping his voice soft, “turn on the TV. Please.”

            She blinked at him, her eyebrows furrowing – but then she went to do as he’d asked. She always kept it on a news station – today, it was CNN. Nothing jumped out at them, though – not a hint of especially horrible events. She glanced back at him, then shared a look with Pete. She decided to leave it on until they had to leave for class. Maybe whatever had come over him would be soothed away by the regular routine of the news.

            No such luck. The horrible certainty did not leave Clark, even as he managed to get back to his feet and resume helping his friends. He glanced back at the clock as it reached 7:48, then sighed and carried on. He knew that something was desperately wrong, but he didn’t have the foggiest idea what it was or where it was.

            Pete and Chloe probably thought he was crazy. Heck, he’d probably looked crazy. Alas, he only wished that were the case – anything but whatever terrible event had occurred, was still occurring somewhere in the world. He shook himself, but it didn’t help. That sickly feeling remained, more like a leaden dread by now, as he waited for some clue of what had happened.

            The clock reached 7:49. Only eleven minutes before they had to be in class. Clark kept working, trying to keep himself occupied, but he knew it was no use. As a commercial came on – one for Ditech, it seemed – he found himself wondering if he really was going nuts, if he—

            “This just in. You are looking at obviously a very disturbing live shot there. That is the World Trade Center, and we have unconfirmed reports this morning that a plane has crashed into one of the towers of the World Trade Center…”

            He whirled to the screen the instant that the voice of news anchor Carol Lin started speaking, his heart stopping dead as his horror finally became clearly defined. Below the “BREAKING NEWS” title next to the CNN logo lay the words “World Trade Center Disaster” – and above them was a scene straight out of nightmares. It was a helicopter shot of the south end of Manhattan, and the famous Twin Towers of the World Trade Center stood against the skyline. It was the North Tower that had been hit – a huge cloud of gray smoke billowed from a massive hole in its side, near the top, and curled around the 360-foot-tall antenna on the roof.

            The three teenagers stared in paralyzed horror at the screen, all thought of work or class completely forgotten. Then a sudden realization made Clark jolt – Lana. Where was Lana? Did she know?

            He spun towards the door – and there she stood, her mouth open and her eyes wide in utter shock, disbelief, and horror. He snapped out of his stupor and headed over to her, blocking her view of the screen – wishing that he could shield her from the terrible sight forever. She blinked moist eyes and looked up at him, then gave a soft sound and moved forward, abruptly clinging to him. He held her close, rocking her slightly.

            “How could this happen?” Her voice came out very small and soft, as if she had forgotten how to speak and was just now remembering. She looked up at him, tears starting to trickle from her eyes. “How?”

            He knew how badly this must be hitting her, given the events she had lived through at a mere three years old. He looked at her sadly and shook his head very slightly, his own voice coming out gentle: “I don’t know.”

            She sniffed and let her head fall against his chest again as he led her fully into the room. Chloe happened to turn from the screen and notice them – but she didn’t feel anything other than sympathy and empathy. She gave Clark a commiserating look, then turned to their other friend. “Pete, hold down the fort here,” she said quietly. “I need to get the word out.” She inhaled deeply. “People need to see this.”

            Pete nodded silently, and she briefly touched his arm as she walked briskly out of the Torch. Clark barely noticed her leaving – half his attention was on soothing Lana, the other half on the events unfolding a little more than a thousand miles away and being broadcast worldwide. A very strong part of him wished he weren’t just sitting down and watching – he ought to be out there, helping the victims of this. Alas, he knew that was all but impossible – even with his speed, he likely wouldn’t get there in time to be of any help.

            Time…it seemed to have ceased to exist. All he knew was the unending moment – the image of the Tower burning, the sound of people trying to make sense of it, the sense of horror and shock that filled the very air. And over and over, Lana’s question echoed in his mind: “How could this happen?”

            How could this have happened? A plane crashing into the World Trade Center – it had to be a big one to make a hole like that…like a passenger airliner. He shuddered inwardly at the realization of how many people would already be dead. Could it have been an accident?

            No. Somehow, in his gut, he knew that wasn’t the case. This was no accident…it was deliberate.

            He didn’t know how he was so sure – it was the same cold, seemingly baseless certainty he’d felt just before they’d found out about this disaster. This was an attack, plain and simple – but he had no idea how he could know. He forced the thought down, trying to tell himself that he couldn’t know, that it could have been a tragic accident…but he didn’t truly believe it.

            The clock reached 8 AM, and the bell for first period rang on the dot. But none of the three moved an inch. Attending class was the furthest thing from their minds right now. A moment later, Chloe reappeared and walked over to them. “I told Principal Kwan,” she said very quietly. “They’ve turned on all the TVs in the school. Everybody’s watching.” She shivered as she looked at the screen, rubbing her arms as if she was cold. “Everybody,” she murmured, barely audible at all. Her eyes seemed moist.

            Pete slipped an arm around her, and she leaned against him, grateful for the gesture. Clark kept holding Lana close to him as they sat and watched in silence, words beyond them. Even now, he tried to tell himself that it might be an accident, that it might be an isolated thing—

            And then, three minutes past the hour, they saw it. The distant form of the second plane hurtled across the screen, a dark missile, and careened into the South Tower at an angle, sending out a burst of orange flame and slag. Lana gave a sharp gasp, as if she were trying to scream…but none came out. Instead, she emitted a trembling, heartrending whimper: “Oh, God…”

            Clark pulled her closer to him, letting her start sobbing into his chest. Once again, his whole body had screamed with agony and terror, as if the people on the plane and in the building had screamed through him as they’d died. His attempt to reassure himself had died with them, never to resurface. This was an attack for certain – a deliberate, vicious, unjustifiable attack, an act of mass-murder and terror that showed absolutely no regard for life. If anything, it sneered at life, mocked it, cast it away as worthless.

            It was evil. There was simply no other word that fit. Evil. Period.

            And at that realization, his stomach churned as a new and horrible feeling took over…rage. Rage that anyone could possibly be so callous and murderous as to commit this crime against humanity itself – rage that they could ever think that murdering countless people, and no doubt taking themselves out in the process, was somehow right – rage that life itself meant nothing, or even less than nothing, to them.

            It was a potent and throbbing rage…but it was futile, as things stood. There was nothing he could do about it, no way that he could help those in New York who had to deal with the situation. He hated that realization, and he hated himself for being so powerless to interfere, to change this. He hated that he could do nothing to find out who was behind this and apprehend them.

            All he could do was wait and watch, like everyone else in Smallville. And so they waited and watched. More students wandered into the Torch to join the four already there, while others watched from elsewhere in the building. Not all of them seemed to realize that this had been an attack…but every single one of them agreed that this was simply horrible.

            It only became worse when they learned, close to 9 AM, that the Pentagon had been hit as well. Clark had sensed that crash too, at 8:37:46, and when he had heard the first reports of a fire at the Pentagon, he had felt painfully certain that he knew where it had happened. He wished badly that he didn’t know – if he could do anything, this strange knowledge might be of some help. But he couldn’t, and it wasn’t.

            And then, just one minute shy of the hour, he saw the most horrible sight of all – the South Tower collapsing in a torrent of noise and debris, enormous gray clouds erupting from the site. Not everyone realized it as he did – some thought that a new explosion had completely obscured the skyscraper. But Lana was not among them – she half-wailed in his embrace, knowing beyond any doubt what had happened. All those people still trapped inside, all the brave policemen and firefighters who had tried to get them out…it would be a miracle if any of them survived. He held her close, noting vaguely that Chloe was clinging to Pete, unable to hold her tears back any longer.

            Even after it became clear that the tower had fallen, people continued to think that it had been dealt a death blow by a new explosion. It hadn’t. When Flight 175 of American Airlines had plowed into the building between the 78th and 85th floors at a speed of 540 miles per hour, it had pulverized supporting columns within and destroyed two of the main stairwells, the latter enclosed in gypsum rather than the standard reinforced concrete. Some below the crash later filed up the intact stairwell towards the roof, waiting for rescue…but rescue had never been able to come from there.

            The North Tower lasted longer than its twin – Flight 11 had struck it head-on at a speed of 440 miles per hour, severing all three stairwells as well as damaging the building’s core, but it had done so between the 93rd and 99th floors. The lightly-constructed building redistributed the weight of the upper floors as it was supposed to, holding it up for nearly two hours. Unfortunately, it didn’t hold forever – the fires ignited within each tower by the explosion of jet fuel eventually weakened the steel too much, and the walls buckled. The North Tower collapsed at 10:28 AM Eastern Standard Time – 9:28 AM for the residents of Smallville. Again, Clark and Lana and their classmates reeled at the death and destruction, several letting out cries of horror.

            Forty-two minutes later, the side of the Pentagon that Flight 77 had struck suffered a collapse – five whole stories went down. Ultimately, the death toll of the attacks by al-Qaeda terrorists reached nearly three thousand, including all nineteen of the murderous bastards who had hijacked the planes. As it later turned out, though, a fourth plane had failed to reach any sort of target – some of its passengers and crew had fought the terrorists for control, and it ended up crashing into a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. They gave their lives to stop the monsters from causing even more death and destruction…just as a number of those who aided the evacuation in New York gave their lives trying to save friends and strangers alike.

            Even through the devastation, Clark saw this…and as horrible as he felt for being so powerless, he couldn’t help but feel immensely proud of those heroes he’d never met, those people who put their lives on the line just about every day for the sake of others. Unfortunately, throughout the rest of the day, the images and sounds of destruction were most prominent in his mind’s eye.

            Needless to say, classes at Smallville High were effectively canceled – no-one, neither teachers nor students, could get the terrible events out of their minds enough to concentrate on schoolwork. Lunch was a subdued, quiet affair, the cafeteria unusually muted. The only conversations were held in whispers, and Clark and his friends were in no mood for any kind – nor did they really have any appetite, and they found themselves picking at their food without eating it.

            After the students were let out for the day, Clark walked home alone. Though he and Lana hadn’t wanted to leave each other’s side, her aunt had shown up looking very upset – and despite the recent strain on their relationship, Lana couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her surrogate mother alone any longer. Clark had understood this without a word being uttered, and he’d let her go. His parents knew that he was coming home on his own – he’d called ahead and informed them that there was no need to pick him up. Even if he hadn’t had super-speed, he would’ve done the same.

            He wanted time to think, hopefully to work through his feelings. What he’d seen on the TV today was no tragedy, despite what some were saying. It was nothing short of an atrocity – and he hadn’t been able to do a damn thing about it.

            Alas, he was no closer to coming to terms with that by the time he reached the yellow farmhouse on Hickory Lane. His parents were on the front porch, waiting for him, and he gave them a very small, weak smile as he came close. Their own expressions showed pure concern.

            “Son,” said his father, Jonathan, softly, his rich and steady voice and deep blue eyes worried. “How are you holding up?”

            Clark shrugged, not really trying to hide the pain on his face. His mother, Martha, picked up on it right away. “Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered, walking over to him. He readily accepted her embrace, shutting his eyes tight in an effort to hold back tears. It was doomed from the start, though – especially when his father put his arms around them both. He sniffed audibly, unable to hold it in.

            After a moment, they quietly led him inside and towards the couch, where he sat down heavily and wiped at his wet eyes. He managed to clear his choked-up throat enough to speak, though his voice came out small: “There wasn’t anything I could do.”

            Martha and Jonathan shared a worried look – of course that would the first thing on his mind. “We know, Clark,” she said, rubbing her son’s back. “Even you can’t do everything.”

            He sniffed again, a tear trickling down his cheek. “I should have,” he murmured, voice still small. “There should have been something…” He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and shakily. “But I was too far away…too slow.” He looked up at them for a moment. “And I felt them.”

            Jonathan blinked. “Felt them?”

            Clark nodded sadly, shutting his eyes again. “I felt them die…when the planes hit…when the towers fell…I heard them screaming.” He shuddered all over, his parents looking at each other in no small amount of horror at what he’d gone through. “And I couldn’t do anything about it. All those people…murdered in cold blood…the ones who died trying to help them…” He rubbed at his eyes, trying to keep himself from breaking down completely, then sighed. “All these things I can do…all these powers…and I couldn’t save any of them.”

            Knock-knock-knock.

            The Kents looked up in surprise – they hadn’t expected anyone to come by. Outside the screen door stood Lex, his expression sad and solemn. “Is this a bad time?” he asked gently.

            For once, Jonathan didn’t have it in him to be spiteful towards anyone, even a Luthor. He shook his head a bit as he rose. “Come on in, Lex,” he said simply.

            Martha glanced at him, knowing how significant this was but not commenting on it – after all, this was a time of grief, and even a man as stubborn as her husband could make exceptions. Lex looked grateful as he walked inside. “I figured you’d be home around now, Clark,” he said quietly. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

            Clark, having wiped discreetly at his eyes, gave his older friend a tiny but genuine smile. “Thanks, Lex,” he said, his voice steady. “That means a lot.”

            Lex nodded slightly, relieved that Clark was still holding on but sensing that he needed some real comfort. “Do you…want to talk about anything?” he asked, feeling awkward.

            Clark considered for a moment…and truth be told, he realized, that might be exactly what he needed. He nodded and silently invited Lex to sit with him; Jonathan and Martha left them alone in the living room. “I don’t know if it’s sunk in completely yet,” Clark admitted without prompting. “This whole thing…what they did…”

            Lex knew whom he was talking about. “The hijackers,” he said softly.

            Clark inhaled deeply, looking away from him. “How could anyone do this?” he whispered. “How could anyone have so little regard for life? How could they be so…evil?”

            Lex grimaced. “Well,” he said, choosing his words carefully lest he upset Clark further, “unfortunately, not everyone respects life. There are some people who don’t want anyone else to make their own lives…to be free. And given that we’ve done exactly that for over two hundred years…” He sighed sadly. “It wasn’t just buildings and people that were attacked today, Clark. It was our way of life.”

            Clark looked at him with moist eyes, a hint of the rage he’d felt earlier burning in them. “That’s sick,” he whispered. “That anyone could think attacking people just for living their own lives, in their own homes, doing their own jobs, not hurting anyone else…” He trailed off, forcing the anger down – it wouldn’t do to get upset at someone just trying to help him. “That they could think attacking anyone for that was right…” He shook his head. “I just can’t believe such people exist.”

            “I know,” Lex said softly. “Sadly, such people – if they can even be called people – exist. They think that destroying the lives of others will make them mighty – and if they die in the process, so much the better.” He glanced away, shaking his head. “It’s definitely a sickness…and there’s no real cure.”

            For a long minute, neither of them spoke – Clark wiped at his eyes, trying to calm himself. Then he sighed. “A lot of people died today,” he whispered. “Not just the victims…people who tried to save them. They gave their lives for the sake of friends and strangers.” He felt both saddened and awed. “They were heroes, Lex.”

            “Yes,” Lex agreed, offering a small smile. “You’ve already showed me that heroes can come in the humblest packaging, Clark. Those people lived and died by the example that people like you set. And they won’t be the last to live by it.” He gently touched Clark’s arm. “The terrorists thought they could weaken us. Their surviving fellows are going to learn the hard way how wrong they are.”

            Clark’s face became thoughtful. “Like with Pearl Harbor,” he murmured. “When the Japanese attacked, they caused a lot of damage. But it came back to hurt them.”

            “Exactly,” said Lex, nodding. “As the man who engineered that attack said, ‘I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve.’”

            At that, Clark felt his jaw set. “He was right then,” he said quietly, feeling much steadier. “And he’s right now.”

            He might not have been able to interfere today, and likely not even tomorrow…but there were people who would take up the battle, fight for the sake of others. And one day, he vowed, he would do all that he could to help them.

            * * * * *

            Riiiip!

            The crowd cheered as the king of the jocks and his subjects tore through the large square banner that read “SMALLVILLE HIGH: Home of the Crows 2001” and ran out into the field, all wearing jerseys and letterman jackets. As Whitney and his cohorts ran over to the small stage that had been set up for the pep rally, the applause continued…though at least one member of the crowd wasn’t feeling it.

            It was Friday the 14th, and somehow life was going on despite the events of Tuesday – or so Clark surmised. He wasn’t really convinced, though. He’d done his best to move on, but he doubted that enough time had passed. Those horrible images, sounds, and feelings haunted him, especially when his eyes were closed. He’d had a nightmare in the early hours of Wednesday, a bizarre and terrifying amalgamation of the Towers falling and the infamous meteor shower that he’d arrived during. Lana had been there, of course, and he’d tried desperately to save her.

            He’d woken up screaming just before he’d failed. Even now, in the midst of the noisy and upbeat rally, he shuddered at the memory. Nobody noticed, of course – they were too busy cheering on their royalty.

            Whitney reached the stage and climbed onto it, the other jocks – Pete among them – staying behind. He raised a megaphone and shouted, “Are we going to state this year?”

            “YEAH!” the crowd yelled, keeping up their cheering. Clark didn’t join in.

            “I can’t hear ya!” Whitney called. Clark had to admit that the guy knew how to play to a crowd. “Who’s gonna be the state champions?”

            “CROWS!” the crowd roared.

            He was probably right, the still-silent Clark thought – if they could win the next few games, the big one in October would put them in the state championship. There was a good chance of rain tonight, so they’d likely have to plow through that. He only hoped that Pete didn’t catch pneumonia or anything.

            “I need a brave freshman to step up,” Whitney said, walking down the stairs of the stage. He reached the ground and started scanning the crowd. “All right, which one of you studs thinks you’re a better quarterback than me?”

            With what it takes to be a quarterback around here, who’d want to be? Clark sighed, looking away – if only more guys on the team were like Pete. But there was only one of his buddy to go around, despite his growing popularity with the girls—

            “Kent!” Whitney declared, an eager undertone to his no-longer-amplified voice. “How about it?”

            Clark tried not to jolt in surprise, though he couldn’t hide a fidget of discomfort as the golden boy of Smallville approached him. “Uh…no, I don’t think so,” he said, already hating himself for showing any sign of weakness before this jerk.

            Whitney smirked as he walked. “If you’re too busy milking cows to try out for the team, the least you can do is show some school spirit,” he said in a mock-friendly tone. Clark didn’t miss the cold look in those blue eyes – nor did he miss the football that Whitney tossed his way; he caught it easily, refusing to let himself seem any more awkward.

            “Am I right?” Whitney called to everyone through the megaphone, and the crowd yelled their agreement. Clark winced inwardly. He was starting to wonder why he’d even come here.

            “C’mon, Kent,” Whitney said, still speaking through the megaphone – and Clark heard the dark undertone to his words. “You wanna take a shot at the hottest freshman in Smallville High?”

            Oh, right. That was why. Duh, Clark chided himself, unable to hide a smile as he looked across the field to the dunk tank that had been set up. On the platform sat Lana, clad in a red T-shirt with a yellow Crows logo in the center. She grinned at him. “Come on, Clark!” she called. “You can do it!”

            At that, he felt a jolt of confidence surge through him. He gripped the football tightly, sighting on the target he would have to hit. X marks the spot, he thought dryly. He swallowed a bit and glanced up at her.

            “Come on,” she said in a lower tone, smiling reassuringly. “Show everyone who’s really got what it takes.”

            He nodded, returning her smile, and planted his feet firmly on the ground. Everything around him simply faded away – even the noise seemed to vanish. All that existed was him, the girl he loved and desired more than anything, and the target that would send her underwater.

            Without a word, he brought his arm back, focusing on getting just the right angle and power – and then he flung the ball forward, sending it spinning through the air. For an instant, his heart stopped—

            Thunk!

            Lana yelped gleefully as the platform tilted and gravity took over, sending her plunging into the tank with a loud SPLASH! Clark broke out in a huge grin, simply incapable of holding down his own glee, while the crowd went wild and cheered for him – but he hardly noticed them. He didn’t even notice Whitney trying to mask a scowl – and even if he had, he wouldn’t have cared.

            A thoroughly soaked Lana rose from the tank, splashing around a bit and laughing playfully, and Clark found himself beginning to laugh too…that is, until she fully emerged. The T-shirt clung to her body tightly, outlining her lines and curves…and he realized that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Aside from some thin shorts and the shirt, she had nothing on.

            His mouth fell open, his eyes wide in awe as he stared at her. His arms hung limply at his sides, his body starting to feel hot. She noticed his staring, and she bit her lip even as she smiled warmly at him, fluttering her lovely eyes. Her long dark brown hair hung wetly around her face, beads of water dripping down her skin and into the shirt; the yellow logo lay right over her heart, between her small but ample breasts…

            Suddenly, he groaned and brought a hand up to his eyes, rubbing at them – they felt very hot, even painfully hot. He became cognizant of sounds around him again, and he could swear that he heard people laughing at him. He felt his cheeks heat up and moved his hand away from his eyes, refusing to look at the mocking crowd but not daring to look at Lana again—

            “Caw caw!” a crow suddenly called – except that it wasn’t a real bird. It was somebody dressed as the mascot, running onto the field and jumping around as she cheered. “Support the team! Go Crows! Whoo!”

            The crowd forgot Clark’s plight in an instant, cheering the mascot on. He let out a breath of relief and chanced a quick glance at Lana, who was looking at him in obvious concern. He flashed her a reassuring smile and turned back to watch the mascot jumping around.

            “Hey, it’s the Crow!” Whitney called through the megaphone, walking towards her. “Who’s the lucky freshman this year?” He patted her black-clad side as she kept cheering.

            “Probably the biggest loser like every year,” said another jock coldly, approaching her – Brett Anderson, the guy who’d been right behind Whitney ripping through the banner. He was pretty much the football captain’s second-in-command, and he’d been one of the guys to help give Clark the Scarecrow treatment. “C’mon, take it off,” he said, gesturing to the mascot’s mask; the not-so-lucky freshman looked at him through it, fidgeting uncomfortably. “Take it off – let me see your face—”

            “Leave her alone.”

            Brett jolted and turned to stare at Clark, who was glaring at him with an expression that actually gave him pause. The mascot tried to take advantage of the distraction and slip away, but another jock grabbed her arm. “Guys,” she protested, “please don’t do this. Just leave me alone, alright?”

            No such luck – a third jock joined his buddy, keeping her from moving. Brett regained his false bravado and gave Clark a nonchalant look. “What? We always torture the mascot. It’s a tradition.”

            Clark took an angry step forward. “Oh, like stringing some guy up in a field?” he began in a challenging tone, taking another—

            Whitney stepped between them, openly glaring at this upstart. “Back off, farm boy,” he said, his voice low and menacing. Clark stopped for only a moment, glaring at him – but that moment was long enough for Brett to grab the mask and pull it off, ignoring the girl’s protests.

            Clark recognized her right away – unfortunately, so did everyone else. Abby Fine was cursed with an abnormal case of acne, and her thick black-rimmed spectacles and messy brownish-blonde hair didn’t help matters at all. Much of the crowd gasped at the sight, and Clark felt a surge of pure sympathy and anger on her behalf.

            “Scabby Abby,” said Brett, his tone one of mock-pleasant surprise. “Hey, it’s Scabby Abby!”

            Whitney looked back at the unfortunate girl, beginning to grin nastily, and she looked down, her expression utterly miserable – especially when Brett raised the mask over his head and started waving it, chanting tauntingly, “Scabby Abby! Scabby Abby!” The majority of the crowd joined in, and Whitney, chuckling at the display, turned back around—

            —and yelped in surprise and protest as Clark pushed him aside with no effort and stormed forward, his face murderous. He grabbed the large black mask and shoved it onto Brett’s head, blinding the jock. “You’re the scab,” Clark growled into Brett’s face, his voice much deeper and darker – then he all but threw the jackass away, sending him sprawling.

            The crowd gasped in disbelief, their chant forgotten – then they visibly backed away as Clark whirled to face them, his eyes all but blazing. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” he thundered, his furious voice carrying across the field without any need for a megaphone. “HOW WOULD YOU LIKE IT IF YOU WERE IN HER SHOES, HUH?! WOULD YOU LIKE BEING TORMENTED AND TREATED LIKE CRAP?! YOU OUGHT TO BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELVES!”

            The field was dead silent as the echoes of his voice faded away. Nobody moved, nobody spoke – nobody even dared to breathe audibly. None of them had ever seen anyone speak out against torturing the mascot, let alone so loudly and passionately. Some of them actually looked awkwardly at their feet, feeling suddenly guilty.

            Whitney was not one of those, however. “Hey, chill out, Kent!” he snapped through the megaphone, advancing on Clark, who rounded on him with that outraged expression. “It’s just a pranking tradition! Besides, the nickname fits.” He gestured to Abby, who’d been looking at her savior in amazement. “I mean, just look at her! She’s like a porcupine with no quills.”

            Abby looked toward the ground, her lip trembling – but Clark was not intimidated. He closed the distance between himself and Whitney, pushing the megaphone aside, and stared into those cold blue eyes without blinking. “Better a porcupine with no quills than a skunk with no heart or brain,” he said, his voice very quiet but no less furious or dangerous.

            Whitney’s eyes widened – and before he could come up with a retort, Clark turned away and walked over to Abby, slipping a strong arm around her, his expression now showing nothing but compassion. She sniffed and let him lead her off the field, glad to be out of there.

            They weren’t the only ones who left. Pete walked past his fellow jocks, giving them disgusted looks, and even elbowed Brett in the side, knocking the jerk back down before he could fully rise. Lana had already climbed out of the tank, and she picked up the football Clark had used to dunk her. “Thanks a lot for defending her, Whitney,” she said sharply, and threw the ball right at his head. It bounced off, nearly knocking him over and eliciting a yelp that was more surprised than pained, and she scowled at him, shaking her head, as she walked off the field.

            One guy in particular shared their sentiments – in fact, he hadn’t joined the taunting at all. His brown eyes peered out of his chiseled, handsome face after his departing fellow freshmen, and after a moment, he moved to follow them—

            “Billy,” chided a high-pitched voice that could charitably be called similar to nails on a chalkboard. “Where do you think you’re going?”

            The young man, Billy Durden, grimaced, noting as he turned that others had visibly recoiled – some were even rubbing their ears in pain. He didn’t blame them – God only knew how many times he’d wanted to do the same after hearing that voice. Unfortunately, its owner was his self-appointed girlfriend – Dawn Stiles, the leader of a growing and vicious rumor mill that stood in stark opposition to anyone speaking their own mind. Needless to say, that made her pretty much the mortal enemy of Chloe Sullivan and the other members of the Torch – and given her skill at spreading slander and smears, it was a miracle that Chloe wasn’t afraid of her like everyone else.

            Right now, Billy was in no mood to back down – seeing Clark’s display of righteous wrath, not to mention Lana’s topping-off, had emboldened him. “They’re right, Dawn,” he said firmly, meeting her cold dark eyes without fear. “Everyone here ought to be ashamed.”

            The ditzy blond, whose supposedly bombshell face could in truth make even deformed babies look beautiful, gave a shrill and mocking laugh. “Yeah right! Who the hell defends Scabby Abby anyway?”

            Billy scowled, already sick of hearing her talk. “Didn’t you watch?” he retorted. “Clark Kent just did – and I wish more people had his guts. Maybe then this school would be a nice place.” With that, he walked right past her.

            “Billy!” she snapped, her fake nails trying to dig at his flesh – but he avoided her easily and followed the others off the field. “Billy! Don’t you dare walk away!”

            But he did more than dare – he flat-out ignored her. She fumed, then ground her teeth. “Fine!” she yelled after him. “Go ahead, loser! You’re so yesterday’s mystery meat!” She waved perkily after him. “Laterz!”

            Hallelujah, thought Billy, heaving a sigh of relief, and sped up a bit to catch up with Clark, Abby, Lana and Pete. He didn’t notice Dawn walking over to Whitney, who’d been staring after the group, and smirking a bit. “So, Whitney,” she began, arching an eyebrow, “I don’t suppose you have any juice you’d like to spill?”

            For a moment, the king of the jocks was silent…than a smile that no-one could call handsome spread over his features. “Actually, Dawn,” he said, “I think I just might.”

            But any such fallout was the furthest thing in the world from Clark’s mind as he walked Abby to her car – nor did Lana, who’d already caught up with them, give a damn about it. They soon reached the vehicle, and the secret couple gently stroked Abby’s arms. “Are you okay now?” Clark asked her gently.

            The girl sniffed, her face wet with tears, but then nodded, smiling a little. “I’m getting there,” she said softly. She glanced between them, then at Pete and the approaching Billy. “You guys…I can’t find the words.” She shook her head in wonder.

            “You don’t need to thank us, Abby,” Lana assured her, smiling kindly. “We’re all in this together.”

            “Besides,” Clark added, “I know firsthand what it’s like to be the butt of someone’s sick joke.” He patted her arm softly. “We’re here for you.”

            Abby looked between them…then she smiled more widely, her perfect white teeth showing – thankfully, they didn’t have any problems to worry about. “That means so much to me,” she said softly, shaking her head again.

            “Any time, Abby,” Pete assured her. “And I know Chloe will back us up.”

            “So will I,” said Billy, coming up to them. He smiled kindly at Abby, who grinned and seemed to blush a little, then turned to the instigator of this little rebellion. “Clark, that was a heck of a thing you just did,” he continued, genuinely awed. “I wish I had your guts.”

            Clark smiled humbly, modest as ever. “Thanks, Billy,” he said simply. “I couldn’t just let them torment someone who’d done nothing to deserve it.”

            “I noticed,” Billy said wryly. “You know they’re not going to let this slide, though. Believe me, Dawn’s going to make a scandal out of this.”

            “Let her try,” said Clark, smirking a bit. “We have the truth and the head of the Torch on our side. I’d like to see her smears hold up to the facts.”

            “Yeah, good luck to her with that,” Pete snorted.

            Billy shrugged. “Here’s hoping they die out quickly. As for Whitney and Brett…” He shook his head, smiling a bit. “Well, I think the team could use a regime change. If we had more guys like you and Pete, it’d be a lot better.”

            Clark arched his eyebrows at that, surprised. “You think so?”

            “Heck yeah,” Billy said, nodding emphatically. “You’d be great, Clark – not only do you obviously have the strength for it, you have a much better attitude than all the other guys combined.”

            “He’s right about that,” Lana agreed, smiling fondly up at Clark. “Maybe you should think about it.”

            “Definitely,” Abby said, beaming at her savior. “I’d feel a lot better with you on the team.”

            Clark looked among them, taking in their hopeful expressions…and, to his surprise, he actually felt a measure of their confidence. Maybe he could do some good as part of the football team. “Alright,” he said, nodding a little. “I’ll think about it.” And he found himself smiling with them.

            It might not have been on the level of stopping a terrorist attack or natural disaster…but hey. Even the greatest hero of all time had to start with one small step.
            Last edited by superman_lives_on; 08-07-2010, 04:42 PM.

            Comment


            • #7
              Excellent second chapter, Matt! Wow, you really tugged on the heart strings with your recounting of that terrible day. I'm intrigued at how Clark could sense the masses of people suffering and dying, and of course I caught your Star Wars reference in comparison to how Obi-wan felt the destruction of Alderaan. I was glad to see Clark and Lana able to support each other like that, and I'll look forward to the day when their relationship can safely go public. I was also happy to see Lex offer his own support and analysis of the situation. And of course, Clark's vow has already put himself on the path to becoming Superman. In contrast, I thought it was very refreshing to see the levity you introduced with your new take on the flashback at the beginning of "Façade", especially with Clark's heat vision making an early appearance. Lord knows what will happen during the events of "Nicodemus" now! And I was happy to see Clark sticking up for Abby against Whitney, Dawn and their cronies, and I think I can already see a future relationship forming between Billy and Abby. I look forward to more, my friend!

              Comment


              • #8
                Interesting mix of real life w/Smallville. Clark is able to see the need for someone to help guide the world in the right direction & help protect the world. I like that Clark can learn these life lessons early in his life, it will help him be better prepared for his transformation into Superman. I liked the discussion with Clark & Lex as well. I personally remember reading about the tragedy online during a class during my sophomore year of college. Very crazy & sad day, my feelings were very much like the people you wrote in this chapter.

                I liked the addition of the "Facade" story-line of Abby & Clark standing up for her & all of them making her feel better.

                Nice change of pace with your story, I like that its not just a complete re-hash of s1 with slight alterations, you are adding some new elements from all the show that create a nice read.

                GOOD LUCK CONTINUING THE STORY

                Comment


                • #9
                  That was an amazing update

                  Comment


                  • #10
                    The Chronicles of Smallville: Hothead

                    THREE
                    Hothead

                    “Football: Sport or Abuse?”

                    “So what do you think?” Chloe asked Clark, who’d just read her latest Torch headline in a rather dry tone as they and Pete walked up the front steps to the courtyard behind Smallville High.

                    Hmm, how best to put it… “I think you need to seriously decrease your cappuccino dependency.”

                    Pete snickered at that summary; Chloe took it in stride and with a smile. “Pete thinks I’m being too hard on Coach Walt.”

                    Pete sighed a bit. “I mean – the man coached my dad, all my brothers. He used to come over and watch the Super Bowl.”

                    “Now, while I’m touched by that Hallmark moment,” Chloe said, her tone suggesting that she wasn’t really, “you don’t get points for subtlety in journalism.” She grinned at Clark. “I’ve already started getting hate mail.”

                    Clark felt nonplussed. “You seem very happy about that. Why?”

                    “Because it means I’m hitting a nerve,” she explained. “Besides, between the abysmal sentence structure and generous use of obscenities…got a pretty good idea of who’s been sending it.”

                    Pete glanced toward some jocks and cheerleaders as the three walked through the courtyard. “If you think my teammates are reading the Torch, you’re giving them way too much credit,” he assured Chloe, rubbing the back of her head fondly.

                    “I wish I could say the same about mine,” came a familiar voice from behind them. “Bet you anything they’re the ones sending it, on their precious boyfriends’ behalves.”

                    They turned around in surprise, Chloe looking particularly caught off guard. “Lana,” Clark said, instantly concerned about the upset look on her face. “Are you okay?”

                    She gave him a half-smile, a white jacket with a single red stripe over her red (albeit with yellow and black stripes) cheerleader’s outfit. “I only wish,” she sighed. “This really hurts me, Clark. It just goes to show that these guys will do anything for their own glory, even cheat.” She shrugged. “Makes me wonder why I ever made myself cheer for them.”

                    He grimaced, knowing what she was referring to – seven jocks had been caught cheating on their math midterm, which made them ineligible for the big game coming that Friday. He found himself recalling what Billy had said last month after that disastrous pep rally…and it made him wish that he’d made a better case – or at least a more stubborn one – for joining the team. They definitely needed new players.

                    But no – his father wouldn’t hear of it. Clark had managed to get him to listen to the argument – well, to let him explain it, anyway. But Jonathan hadn’t conceded an inch – he refused to let his son take the chance.

                    He shook off the remembrance, including the frustration and hurt he’d felt, and focused on Lana’s own hurt – that was what mattered right now. “I’m sorry,” he said gently.

                    She looked at him, her eyes soft, and gave a slight nod of gratitude. Then she glanced toward the jocks, the hurt not yet leaving her. “I confronted Whitney about it,” she said, her eyes glancing at the tall blond who was looking pointedly away from her. “He just completely blew me off, acted like it wasn’t a big deal. And he was so cold about it…” She shuddered. “God, I was so blind,” she murmured, speaking more to herself.

                    Clark touched her shoulder without even thinking about it, his expression pure sympathy. She gazed back at him, feeling warmer inside already. Then he abruptly recalled where they were and shot a nervous glance towards Chloe and Pete.

                    To his amazement, they didn’t seem to have even noticed – and a moment later, he saw why. The cheating jocks had emerged from the school building and gathered around their coach, who was speaking to them, and Chloe was taking the opportunity to snap a picture or two. Clark and Lana walked over to them. “Any idea how they got that midterm?” he asked his blonde friend.

                    She shook her head a little as she positioned the digital camera Pete had handed her. “Still a mystery, but I’m working on it.”

                    “Here’s hoping you solve it,” said Lana firmly, looking at the disgraced jocks with disgust. “People need to know the whole truth – and those guys need to suffer.”

                    Chloe blinked at her, then nodded and turned back to snapping a picture, not speaking. Given her dismissive attitude towards cheerleaders in general and Lana Lang in particular, she didn’t trust herself to verbally accept Lana’s praise without making an ass of herself.

                    Unfortunately, one of the jocks noticed her, and he acted without any consideration whatsoever – he sent a football hurtling towards her face. Before she could even begin to dodge the oncoming missile, a hand shot out and caught it. She turned to stare at Clark – who, of course, had stopped the ball without effort – in amazement.

                    “Ooh!” Pete crowed, patting Clark on the back and grinning. “Nice catch!” Lana just looked at him with a very pleased expression, less surprised than Chloe but no less impressed.

                    Chloe didn’t take Pete’s quip well. “One of your teammates attempts to assassinate me, and all you can say is ‘Nice catch’?”

                    She turned to walk away, and Pete followed her, his voice still merry: “I thought you wanted to hit a nerve!”

                    Clark glared at the jock who’d wanted to hit her head, and without even stopping to think, he hurled the ball right into the guy’s stomach, making him double over as the breath rushed out of him. “Good shot,” Lana said, unable to stop herself from feeling a little vindictive satisfaction.

                    He gave her a small, modest smile, and they walked after Chloe and Pete as the school bell rang. Neither of them noticed the coach staring after Clark, looking intent and thoughtful.

                    Chloe had already departed for the Torch, still peeved at Pete, and Clark and Lana fell into step with him as he headed for a vending machine. “She’ll be fine,” he assured them, not worried at all. “Especially once she susses out how they got that test.”

                    “He’s right,” Clark murmured to Lana. “She’s never happier than when she’s landed an important story.”

                    “I bet,” Lana murmured in reply, nodding. “I really hope she does – this shouldn’t just be allowed to blow over.”

                    “She won’t let it,” Clark said, knowing from experience that there was no chance of it just blowing over. Then he heard Pete hiss in frustration – apparently, the vending machine was acting up and refusing to fully release the snack he’d chosen. He reached over and gave the stubborn machine a casual smack with one hand. It jolted a bit, the vibrations easily shaking the snack loose and letting it fall.

                    Pete collected it and grinned his thanks at Clark, who was giving the machine a look that clearly said So there. Lana grinned as well, her nose crinkling in that fashion Clark found utterly adorable. “Looks like you have quite the magic touch, Clark,” she remarked.

                    “Not to mention a magic arm,” said a rather rough male voice. They turned to see Coach Walt Arnold standing there in his red uniform. He was a middle-aged man, his hair still dark and his body still heavy with muscle despite the passage of time. “Saw your power out there, Kent,” he said, looking very pleased. “Your technique’s lousy, but you got what it takes.”

                    “Thanks,” Clark said, smiling modestly as always.

                    “So why aren’t you on our team?” the coach inquired.

                    Clark tried not to wince as memories resurfaced. “I want to be,” he couldn’t help but admit. “My dad needs me on the farm, though.”

                    “Well, your school needs you out on the field,” Walt insisted. “We got a big game Friday night and we’re short players. Look,” and he held up a pacifying hand, “I know your dad would understand.”

                    Don’t I wish, Clark thought, fidgeting a bit. “He’s kind of stubborn.”

                    That’s kind of an understatement, Lana thought, watching and listening intently. Clark had shared his frustrations with her about his dad refusing to let him try out for the team, though the reasons he gave were a bit vague. She knew enough about it to know that the senior Kent was adamant that Clark not play, period – and she didn’t think that was any more fair or right than the possibility of the cheating jocks getting off scot-free.

                    “Yeah, I remember,” Walt said, glancing down as he recalled fonder memories. “Comes with the territory, I guess. Jonathan Kent was one of the best athletes I ever coached. A lot of God-given talent. I wouldn’t be surprised if it rubbed off on you.”

                    Clark supposed he couldn’t be surprised either – God knew that his dad had passed on his love of the sport. “I hope so,” he said solemnly.

                    Walt saw his longing, and he seized on it. “Kent, I’m giving you a chance to be part of something special, a part of history,” he said, passion evident in his voice. “I’ve seen you stare at your father’s picture in that trophy case.” Clark glanced across the hall at it, knowing he couldn’t argue the point. “I know you want to be part of this. So why not seize the opportunity, huh?”

                    Why not indeed? Clark wondered. Frankly, he was tired of his dad’s reasons – for they weren’t really reasons, at least not to his ears. They came off as nothing more than excuses.

                    Walt could tell that the kid was listening. “Heck, look at Ross here,” he said, gesturing to Pete – who, like Lana, was watching and listening in silence. “He may not have much natural talent to speak of, but he’s got a truckload of heart, and he puts it all into what he does. That can make all the difference in the world.”

                    Pete shifted, muttering an uncertain thanks for the dubious praise. The words, however, had touched on something within Clark. It was true – putting all of one’s heart into what one did could make all the difference in the world. He’d seen it before, last month…and why couldn’t he follow that example? What was there to stop him from making a difference?

                    Lana watched the expression on his face, suspecting what wheels must be turning in his head. The more he thought about it, the more hollow and pointless Jonathan’s excuses sounded. Why not join the team? Why not make a positive impact? Why not take that risk?

                    “Fordman!” the coach called. “Get over here.”

                    Uh-oh, Clark and Lana almost said aloud, sharing a worried look that Pete echoed. They’d done their best to stay out of Whitney’s way ever since that disastrous pep rally – after all, if Dawn was indeed going to make a scandal out of it, he’d be the source of the worst rumors. Remarkably, nothing had come of it – yet. They didn’t trust that he’d live and let live.

                    Whitney appeared in his blue-and-white “Property of Smallville Athletics Dept.” T-shirt, his expression mild. “What’s up, Coach?”

                    “Fordman, you’re the team captain,” Walt said. “How do you think Kent here would do on the field? You know, considering our current predicament?”

                    Whitney looked Clark over, trying to seem casual – but neither Clark nor Lana missed the cold look in his eyes. “Eh, he might do alright,” he said, tone half-dismissive.

                    “Hmm,” Walt said, noticing how uncomfortable Clark looked. “He seems afraid, though.”

                    Whitney barely managed to hide a nasty smirk. “Yeah,” he agreed.

                    “No,” said Lana firmly, giving him a sharp look. “That’s not the reason at all.”

                    Whitney glanced at her, then looked back to Clark, giving the impression that he was dismissing her from reality. “You seem awfully sure of that, young lady,” Walt remarked, idly curious – after all, it was no secret that she’d been the football captain’s girlfriend less than ten weeks ago before dumping him.

                    “I am,” she said, meeting his gaze without blinking or flinching. “Clark is many things, but he’s not a coward. The team would be beyond lucky to have him.”

                    It was all Whitney could do not to scowl – but then a light bulb clicked on over his head. If Kent did try out for the team, he’d have to endure some grueling practice…and who was to say that he’d be up to it? If he got roughed up in the process, it would only be expected. He smiled a little, now the picture of gracious agreement. “Sure, why not?”

                    Clark, who’d been wondering if he even deserved such praise from Lana, looked at him a little sharply, then tried to bury a sudden nervous feeling. “Um – well, my dad—”

                    “Kent,” Walt interrupted – he wasn’t having any more of that. He approached Clark, going for the kill. “There comes a time when you gotta step out of your father’s shadow and be your own man.” He met Clark’s eyes and urged him, “Now what do you say? You ready to be your own man?”

                    Am I ready? Clark’s mind echoed. Heck, he’d been ready ever since the end of August. He was sick of putting up with his father’s excuses, sick of sitting out on the sidelines and just watching everyone else’s lives go by. He ached to be out there, to be making his own choices, to be forming his own life…to be his own man.

                    He gave Lana a single quick glance, and saw in her eyes nothing but support for whatever decision he made. That did it. The nervousness vanished in a sudden rush, and he found himself grinning as he turned back to the coach. “Count me in.”

                    “Good,” said Walt, satisfied. “I will see you at practice tomorrow – three o’clock. Don’t be late.”

                    He wouldn’t be – nothing, not even his own tendencies toward tardiness, would stop him from being there on time. He nodded after the coach as the man walked off. Whitney smiled at him, though his blue eyes didn’t look any warmer – if anything, they looked colder still. “See you around,” he said, glancing at all three of them, and headed off himself.

                    Clark felt the nervousness start to gnaw at him again – but there was nothing for it. Besides, there was no meteor rock necklace around this time. He seriously doubted that anything the jocks threw at him would make a dent.

                    “Hey, Clark,” Pete said, getting his attention. “Um…” He pointed toward his ear. “Remind me what your dad said last time you asked him if you could play.”

                    Clark shrugged, trying not to look worried, but the smile had faded from his face. “He said no.”

                    “He said no,” Pete echoed blandly. “That’s what I thought. Call me when the hurting’s done, okay?” He clapped his bigger friend’s shoulder and walked away – and, as if on cue, the next bell rang.

                    Lana stayed by Clark as he walked off his own way. “Don’t let them get to you,” she said, touching his arm. “Nobody has the right to determine your life for you, not even your dad.”

                    “I know,” he said, grateful for her support. “I’m sick of being tied down like that, Lana. And I know Dad won’t like it, but I’m not going to just stand there and take it any longer.” He looked down a bit. “I just wish he could give a little – is it really so big of me to ask?”

                    “I don’t think it is, Clark,” she said firmly. “It’s not right for him to stifle your dreams – he of all people should be the one to help you make them come true.” She looked rather sad but resolved. “Still, I think you have a better chance at that help than I do.”

                    He grimaced in sympathy. “Things aren’t going well with your aunt?”

                    “No,” she admitted. “I still can’t get over her reaction to that pep rally.” She shook her head, remembering her own frustration. “She didn’t seem to believe me about Whitney not doing anything to defend Abby – and once she heard that you were the one to stand up for her, she just completely refused to consider it. I can’t understand why she insists on keeping her mind so closed. Isn’t it better to question things first?”

                    “I’d say it is,” Clark assured her. “God only knows how many times I’ve questioned my dad’s reasons for not letting me even try out, let alone play. Actually,” he amended, “I don’t think they are reasons – just excuses. And I don’t think I can put up with them anymore.”

                    Lana nodded and looked at him warmly. “Well, hopefully he’ll come around and realize he’s not being fair,” she said, smiling softly. “In the meantime, I know you’ll be making the most of this chance.”

                    “You bet,” Clark agreed, smiling back. “Do you think anyone will be cheering me on?”

                    She grinned, giggling a little. “I might know of someone who will,” she said wryly. She squeezed his arm, just barely stopping herself from kissing him on the cheek, and whispered, “Good luck.”

                    He nodded, knowing she didn’t only mean on the field, and off they went. The day was still young, and hope still flowered.

                    * * * * *

                    “Wait a minute – what do you mean, you had to say yes?”

                    Jonathan straightened up from his work on some equipment in the barn and looked at Clark, who couldn’t hide his rather proud grin. “Well, for starters, Coach Walt didn’t give me much choice.”

                    “Uh-huh,” Jonathan said, wearing a bemused smile. “Let me guess – did he give you the ‘be your own man’ speech?”

                    Clark’s grin faded. “He gave you that one too, huh?” he said, not really asking.

                    “Yup – me and every other athlete,” Jonathan confirmed, chuckling. “Walt’s been giving that speech for twenty-five years – never changes.” He walked past Clark, heading for a toolbox. “Look, you just gotta go there tomorrow and tell him you can’t play. Simple as that.”

                    Clark felt stung – not surprised, but stung. “I can’t do that, Dad,” he said, not taking his eyes off Jonathan. “And even if I could, I wouldn’t.”

                    His father looked at him rather sharply. “What?” he said, snorting a bit. “Son, we’ve already had this conversation.”

                    What conversation?” Clark retorted. “There’s never been a conversation. You just keep refusing to let me even try, and I’m tired of it. I can do this safely, but you don’t trust me.”

                    Jonathan did not need this – how many times had he already made it clear? “Of course I trust you,” he said firmly, “but—”

                    “No,” Clark cut him off, irate, “you don’t. You think that I’m guaranteed to hurt somebody if I go out on that field. You think that I can’t manage my abilities responsibly. And you never even listen when I try to get a word in edgewise. You won’t let me make my own decisions or take my own chances, even though this is when I need to start. And I don’t understand why you won’t.”

                    Now Jonathan was getting irate himself – but he tried to keep his voice even as he walked past Clark again, tried to focus on work. “There’s a million things that can happen out on that field,” he said, “and all of them can affect your judgment. I mean, if you get angry – even just for a second – or try to impress some girl with a fancy move, somebody could get seriously hurt.”

                    That was exactly the wrong thing to say, though – Clark just got even more ticked off. He’d heard this stupid, tired litany of excuses before, and he couldn’t stand it. “Could, can, maybe,” he snapped, his eyes flashing. “Those aren’t certainties – they’re not even reasons. They’re just excuses, Dad, and I’m sick of them. You’re treating me like some kind of hulking time bomb just because I have abilities nobody else does. Don’t you think that I know how to control them by now?”

                    Jonathan felt angry as well, but Clark didn’t let him speak – he wasn’t having any more of this. “And for the record, those other guys have done much worse than accidentally hurt people – they’ve deliberately hurt people. You should know by now that I’m not like that – it’s one of the reasons I want to join the team. I know that I can set a better example – I know it. And yes, there’s a chance I could hurt someone – but when isn’t there a chance I could hurt someone? The only way to avoid that is to never be around anyone.” He shook his head, the anger leaving him. “I can’t do that, Dad. I can’t keep sitting on the sidelines. I can’t keep ‘hanging in there’. I need to be out there making a difference.”

                    His father stared at him for a long moment – stubborn or no, he wasn’t completely deaf to those words. “And you will be,” he said, clapping Clark’s shoulder. “Believe me, son, you’re going to make a big difference one way or the other. But winning football games isn’t the way to do it.”

                    “Who says I have to win any games?” Clark said, a little irritated in spite of himself. “Didn’t you once tell me that you learn something about yourself even when you lose?”

                    “That’s not the point,” Jonathan interrupted him, in no mood to continue this.

                    “No,” Clark agreed, “it isn’t. The point is that you won’t let me even try. And that doesn’t make any sense.” He shook his head, frowning deeply. “It’s like I’m being punished for having these gifts. And it hurts, Dad. Don’t you realize that? It hurts that you refuse to trust my judgment.”

                    Jonathan didn’t let himself look away, didn’t let a pang of guilt stop him. “I’m sorry, son,” he said, sounding very old for a moment, “but I’m not giving you any permission to do this.” He turned away then, thinking that the subject was closed.

                    “You don’t need to,” Clark said, shaking his head again. “I’m doing this whether you like it or not. It’s my choice, not yours.”

                    His father looked at him, expression unreadable…but Clark didn’t break his gaze, didn’t even flinch or swallow nervously. He held it even as he turned and started to walk away, only breaking it so that he could watch where he was going. Jonathan just watched his son go, his mind tumultuous…and some part of him could only hope that he was wrong.

                    * * * * *

                    That part of Jonathan was gnawing at him the next day as he sat in the stands at Smallville High’s football field, watching as the cheerleaders practiced their routine in red shirts and black shorts and the jocks began to emerge in red and yellow practice jerseys. Among them was Clark, his own red jersey marked with a big white number 89 – and he grinned as, among the cheerleaders, he spotted Lana. She flashed him a grin and put a little more passion into her cheering, which seemed to surprise the girl next to her.

                    Clark got a surprise of his own when he saw Jonathan sitting there – but he chose to hope that it was a good surprise. “Dad,” he said as he walked up with a smile. “I’m glad you’re here, disagreement or no. It really means a lot.”

                    Jonathan wanted to tell his son that he was rooting for him, that he was hoping for his fears to be disproved, that he was sorry for being so hard on him earlier. But his mouth started moving before he could find the right words, and exactly the wrong thing came out: “I still don’t support your decision, Clark. I’m here to see that no-one gets hurt.”

                    He instantly regretted it – Clark’s smile completely vanished, his expression showing that he was crushed. Unfortunately, Jonathan wasn’t able to apologize just then – the players were being called out, and his son turned and walked away sadly. He chided himself – where was Martha to give him a verbal smack upside the head when he needed it?

                    Clark tried to put his disappointment out of his mind as Coach Walt directed him to take up the tailback position. He needed to focus on proving himself here – that was the best way to settle the argument. He reached the correct position on the field and squatted a bit, ready for action.

                    Unluckily for him, Whitney and his cronies were ready too. The captain and his lieutenants had no desire to let this stupid hick farm boy think he could get away with ruining their pranking traditions and pep rallies and then show up to join their ranks. No – they were going to kick his ass all the way back to the pigsties.

                    “Blue 32!” Whitney yelled. “Hut! Hut-hut!” The center obediently snapped the ball to him, and as the players broke out into movement, he sent the ball to Clark, who caught it easily—

                    —and several jocks in yellow, Brett Anderson among them, immediately lunged at the tailback. Clark bit into his mouthpiece in irritation as he was tackled to the ground, glad that he couldn’t feel any physical pain. The jocks snickered cruelly as they moved away, leaving him half-stunned on the ground. Good thing there were no meteor fragments around – he didn’t need to feel sick on top of embarrassed. He glanced over at the stands, where Jonathan seemed concerned—

                    “Kent!” Coach Walt bellowed, rushing over and grabbing him by the face-guard. “Quit lookin’ in the stands!” He hauled Clark to his feet, yelling in his face. “Your dad’s not coachin’ this team, I am! Now I didn’t bring you out here to be a tackling dummy! Get angry!” He released the face-guard and pounded Clark’s chest. “Kick some butt!”

                    Clark nodded silently, determinedly not looking toward the stands. However, nobody had said anything about the cheerleaders, and he risked a glance towards Lana. Her face showed only support and encouragement. You can do it, Clark, she thought, hoping he could sense her thoughts. Don’t let them push you around.

                    He vowed to himself that he wouldn’t as he took position again, his green eyes scanning the players. Whitney’s cold blue eyes briefly met the gazes of his lieutenants among the defense. “Alright, guys, same play,” he muttered.

                    “Oh, yeah, we got him,” drawled one such jock, his eyes locked on their real target.

                    “Blue 32!” Whitney yelled. “Blue 32! Hut! Hut!”

                    Once again, the center snapped the ball to the quarterback, who threw it to the tailback – but this time, Clark charged forward, face set firmly. The defense tried to tackle him again – and grunted in surprise as he bowled right through them, scattering them over the grass. He knocked a linebacker right over as he hurtled forward, keeping himself from breaking into super-speed – but a group of players was dead ahead.

                    He didn’t think – he just acted, jumping right over them with ease and landing still at a run. Another linebacker tried to stop him, only to share his fellows’ fate. He kept on running, unchallenged now – a third player in yellow tried to catch up, to tackle him, only for his face-guard to meet the ground with a thump.

                    Lana burst out in a whooping cheer as her knight in shining armor reached the endzone and spiked the ball. “Yay Clark!” she yelled. “Whoohoo!” Her friend Megan immediately took up the cheer, and the other cheerleaders quickly followed suit. The defeated defensive players got to their feet, unhurt but utterly stunned – how the hell had this upstart gotten so lucky?

                    “Alright! Way to go, Kent!” Coach Walt called, feeling pumped himself. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

                    Clark grinned over his mouthpiece, feeling vindicated, and glanced to the stands – only to see Jonathan walking out. He felt crushed again, and looked away. He might win a game in the near future, but it seemed he just couldn’t win this one.

                    Some time later, night had fallen and practice was over. Clark was feeling better by now, especially since Coach Walt had just officially made him a member of the team. He would be the starting tailback for the big game on Friday the 5th, just two days away.

                    “Congratulations, Clark!” Lana enthused as she caught up with him, giving him a big hug. “I knew you could do it!”

                    He grinned, returning the hug without hesitation – they were inside and out of anyone’s sight, and he was already feeling great. “Thanks, Lana,” he murmured. “I hope I can do it again on Friday.”

                    “You will,” she assured him, grinning up at him. “And hopefully, I’ll be there to cheer you on.”

                    He grinned back. “So it’s a go on that front?”

                    “Looks like it,” she confirmed. “I’ll be over there right after a quick dinner.”

                    He nodded. “Great. I’ll make sure that Pete, Chloe and I head on over after my own dinner.” He couldn’t help a chuckle. “Is it wrong to say that I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces?”

                    Lana laughed merrily, and to his delight, her nose crinkled yet again. “Not unless it’s wrong of me to say it,” she said.

                    Clark nodded again, beaming, then remarked, “Did you know that your nose crinkles when you smile really wide?”

                    She blinked, then grinned again. “Really?”

                    “Yeah – there it is again,” he said, grinning back. “It’s really cute.”

                    She arched her eyebrows rather elegantly, her eyes gleaming – then she leaned up and planted a searing kiss on his lips. He was surprised for only a nanosecond – then he wrapped his arms more firmly around her and returned it, his eyes closing. What seemed an eternity later, she pulled away and grinned saucily at him. “See you later tonight,” she said, winking one eye at him.

                    He cleared his throat, needing a moment to recover, then nodded and grinned back. “I’ll count the seconds,” he vowed, and planted a brief kiss on her smooth forehead before letting her go. He headed for the locker room to change from the red jersey to his familiar blue-and-white plaid flannel, then met up with Pete and walked to the parking lot with him – his friend had offered to give him a ride home, and though it wasn’t necessary, Clark was in too good of a mood to turn him down.

                    “Out of curiosity, how come your dad can’t drive you home?” Pete asked as they left the building.

                    “He, um,” Clark said, trying not let the mood falter, “kind of had to get back to the farm.” But before he could keep it up, he and Pete heard muffled screaming and looked towards the source – and the mood vanished like dust in the wind. Someone’s car was on fire, and the driver was trapped inside!

                    “Go get help!” Clark ordered Pete, who immediately ran back into the school. He dropped his backpack and dashed towards the car, breaking into super-speed without conscious thought so that he reached the driver’s side door in a heartbeat. He glanced behind himself, saw nobody around, then smashed the window and ripped the door off its hinges, tossing it onto the asphalt nearby.

                    The driver was none other than Principal Kwan, and he’d passed out just before Clark had reached him. As quickly yet gently as he could, the farm boy pulled him out and turned to run, not daring to risk super-speed—

                    BLAMMO! The car detonated in a large fireball, the force of the explosion throwing Clark almost completely off his balance. He managed to soften the impact of landing for Kwan, shielding the unconscious man from the blast; several bits of burning debris hit the asphalt around them, but not one managed to touch Kwan.

                    Clark turned to look at the flaming wreckage of the car, grimacing at the sight. This was the third time he’d had to save someone from a wrecked vehicle, though only the second time said vehicle had gone up in flames. He could only hope that such an event wouldn’t happen too often…and wonder what had caused it this time.

                    * * * * *

                    “Okay, thanks,” Martha said into the phone. “Bye-bye.” She hung up and walked from the living room to the kitchen, where her husband and son, the latter now in a red shirt and blue sweater thanks to the explosion, were finishing up their dinner. “Principal Kwan’s going to be in the hospital until over the weekend,” she reported.

                    “Is he going to be alright?” Clark asked immediately.

                    She nodded reassuringly. “He’s got some burns and suffered smoke inhalation, but thankfully he will be.”

                    Clark heaved an audible sigh of relief. Jonathan kept his eyes on his plate as he said in an almost exasperated tone, “Anybody see you, son?”

                    At that, Clark looked frustrated and a little hurt. “Dad, I already said nobody saw me,” he insisted. “I told the paramedics that I wrapped my hands in my jacket when I pulled him out.”

                    Jonathan nodded, backing down on this point. “He’s lucky you were there,” Martha said, nothing but relief in her own voice.

                    Clark shrugged a little. “I’m just glad he’s okay,” he said softly. “I kind of missed my ride home.”

                    Jonathan looked at him in annoyance, then scoffed. “Look – I saw you play, alright?” He got up from the table with his plate, Clark’s eyes not leaving him. “Now, you could’ve easily hurt any one of those boys.”

                    “But I didn’t,” Clark insisted, getting up and following him into the kitchen, his own plate held firmly in one hand. “Why do you keep on worrying about something that isn’t certain to happen? Look, I’m not saying it can’t happen – and if it does, I’ll take full responsibility.”

                    Jonathan made a soft scoffing sound again, and Clark had to fight hard to keep his upset in check. “I will!” he said, hurt. “But it hasn’t happened yet, Dad, and I honestly don’t think it will. So why do you keep acting like I’m some kind of walking disaster area?”

                    His father didn’t answer aloud – his expression didn’t give Clark any clues either. He looked to his mother in exasperation. “What’s it going to take for him to believe in me?” he wondered, not really caring at that moment if he was whining – he was just so sick of never being given a good reason. She couldn’t really answer either, but her expression showed only sympathy for him. He sighed and put his plate near the sink. “Dad, I’m not doing this to spite you or upset you,” he said, desperate to end this pointless argument. “If it weren’t for you, I probably wouldn’t care about football in any way. If anything, I have a chance to keep your legacy alive.”

                    At that, Jonathan looked at him, seeming taken aback. Clark smiled hopefully, deciding now was as apt a time as any to reveal the good news. “Coach gave me your old position,” he said. “I’m the new starting tailback for Friday’s game. I’m following in your footsteps, Dad, and I’m more than happy to do it.”

                    For a long moment, it seemed that his father might finally let his resistance crumble, might finally show some pride in what his son had achieved…but no. He just walked past Clark without a word, and the youngest Kent felt his hopes collapse like a deflating balloon. “Don’t everyone congratulate me at once,” he said sadly, and turned to go.

                    Martha gently laid a hand on his arm, giving him pause. She smiled at him, her blue eyes gentle, and mouthed simply, “Congratulations.” At that, he felt his spirits lift – and they took the corners of his mouth with them. He nodded his thanks and walked towards the front door – he had an appointment to keep.

                    “How did he get to be so stubborn?” he heard his father say behind him. He had to roll his eyes at that – how did the man think it had happened?

                    “Gee, I don’t know,” said his mother dryly – and he barely stifled a chuckle, quickening his pace out of there. Looked like he had an active ally in this after all.

                    Soon enough, he and Pete and Chloe were walking down the street towards Smallville’s coffee-shop-slash-small-restaurant, the Beanery. “You guys, it doesn’t make sense,” Chloe said, her longish brown coat swaying as she walked. “Cars don’t just spontaneously combust, even around here.”

                    Clark shrugged, thumbs hooked into his pockets. “The cops said it was faulty wiring,” he said, though he had to admit that explanation wasn’t terribly convincing.

                    Chloe scoffed, clearly not believing it either. “I’ve already got my headline,” she said, gesturing dramatically in the air. “Jockstrap Saves Principal From Burning Car!”

                    “Will you lay off the ‘jockstraps’ thing?” Pete complained, wearing his red and yellow varsity jacket, as they reached the front door of the Beanery.

                    Chloe didn’t lose her stride – there wasn’t much that could make her do that. “I still can’t believe Clark’s been blinded by the Friday night lights,” she remarked as they walked inside.

                    “I joined the football team, not a cult,” Clark pointed out – and then, looking over both Chloe and Pete, he saw something that made him inwardly grin and start counting down. Five, four…

                    “Yeah,” Chloe snorted, grinning sarcastically, “next thing you know, I’m gonna be joining the pompom brigade.”

                    “You never know, there might be a spot open soon.”

                    Once again, Chloe was startled by the sound of Lana’s voice – and she was even more startled to see the girl in question wearing a white shirt, black skirt, and green waitress’s apron. Pete was rather dumbfounded himself, but Clark merely feigned surprise. “Lana!” he said, not hiding his delight. “What are you doing here?”

                    “Taking your order, I hope,” she said, picking up a tray with two mugs of coffee.

                    “Uh-wha-buh—” Truth be told, to say that Chloe was startled would be to do an injustice to the English language. She was completely flabbergasted, and her mouth seemed unable to stop mimicking the mouth of a fish. “Wha-wha-what is this?” she managed to say after a second, the trio following Lana to a table. “Some sort of, like a cheerleading charity, like ‘be a waitress for a night’ sort of thing?”

                    Lana had to fight not to laugh – it was a close thing, but she managed not to, thankfully for the precariously-balanced tray. “Actually, no,” she said, reaching the table and putting the tray down. “It’s for real, and hopefully for more than one night. And tips are always appreciated, of course.”

                    She picked up a mug and carried it to a customer sitting at a nearby table, while Chloe pulled her brown coat off her black shirt with its blue tie-dye-ish pattern and gave Clark an utterly nonplussed look. He stifled his own laughter, though inside he was rolling on the floor and clutching his gut. “So you’re really a waitress now?” he asked Lana. Like I don’t know, he thought, but he was genuinely pleased for her success. She’d discussed with him how she’d wanted to get a part-time job, earn some extra money in hopes of going traveling in the summer – and hopefully get even more of herself out from under Nell’s materialistic thumb.

                    She nodded, gesturing to the front of her green apron. “Even got the perky name tag to prove it,” she confirmed, and turned back to the tray.

                    “First day?” Pete asked, noting her somewhat hurried manner.

                    “Ever,” she said wryly, picking up another mug. Chloe watched her with folded arms, still trying to process the bizarre sight. So much for the Wall of Weird – this was in its own category, or so she thought.

                    Clark let Lana put the mug down before he gave her a cheery smile. “You look very…waitress-like,” he said.

                    “Thanks,” she said, almost laughing. “Now if only I could tell the difference between a half-caf decaf and a nonfat latté,” she added, gesturing in the air as she made to head back towards the counter.

                    “In that case, I’ll have a regular coffee,” Chloe said, finally recovering.

                    “Hey, times three,” Pete added, and Lana nodded as she walked off.

                    Chloe sat at the table, then looked almost accusingly at Clark as something occurred to her. “Did you know about this?” she demanded.

                    “What?” he said, raising his eyebrows as he tried to sound innocent. “Chloe, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He struggled to hide a smile – and won abruptly as he saw that Lana had left the tray at the table where Chloe now sat. “Uh-oh,” he muttered, grabbing it and hurrying after Lana.

                    “I can see your pants on fire, you know!” Chloe called after him – but he ignored her, and thankfully nobody seemed to notice the quip.

                    “Lana,” he called, catching up with her. “You forgot this.”

                    She looked self-deprecating. “Thanks,” she sighed as he brought the tray to the counter. “That’s been happening a lot tonight.”

                    He gave her a sympathetic smile, taking a seat at the counter. “First days are always rough,” he said.

                    She smiled back more wryly. “Not so much for you,” she noted. “You didn’t give those guys an inch after that first attack.”

                    He shrugged modestly, trying not to blush. “Well, I didn’t want to be embarrassed again,” he said. “Besides, they were just being bullies. I don’t like bullies, period.”

                    “I hear that,” she agreed. “But I guess they come with the territory, no matter what you do. The trick is knowing how to handle obstacles like that. Granted,” she admitted, gesturing to the tray, “there are some things you can’t really see coming.”

                    He gave her another sympathetic smile. “I know the feeling,” he said. “I still can’t figure out why Dad doesn’t want me on the team. I mean, he says he wants me to make my own choices, but when I do, he freaks out and tries to shut me down.”

                    “Unfortunately, I know that feeling all too well,” she admitted. “But Nell’s less open to even talking about me making my own choices. At least your dad will probably concede the point in time.”

                    “I hope so,” he said solemnly, looking distant. “It’s not like I’m skipping school or shirking chores or doing anything illegal. Heck, I’m doing something that he did, and did well. Shouldn’t he be happy about that?”

                    She touched his shoulder gently. “Hey…don’t give up hope,” she said softly. “He’s never struck me as hopelessly unreasonable. I’m sure he’ll realize that he’s being unfair.”

                    He smiled at her, sincerely hoping that she was right…in fact, her quiet certainty was beginning to rub off on—

                    “Lana,” the head waitress interrupted them, a streak of purple in her bobbed dark hair. “Table Three’s been waiting on their drinks for five minutes. If they go cold, it’s coming out of your tips.”

                    “Right,” said Lana sheepishly. “Sorry.”

                    “Don’t be sorry,” said the woman sharply, “just be faster.” She flashed them both an irritated look and moved off.

                    Clark winced in sympathy for Lana. “I’ll let you get back to it,” he said, patting her shoulder. “Good luck.”

                    “You too,” she said softly. He smiled at her, hoping that her certainty about his dad coming around would translate into some strength for her, and headed back to the table.

                    Imagine his surprise when Chloe rushed past him, carrying her coat and bag. “Chloe?” he said, puzzled and a little annoyed.

                    “Uh, relax,” she said in response to his query. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” She hurried on, barely avoiding Lana as the rookie waitress came back through with another tray. Unfortunately, Lana didn’t avoid colliding with a customer walking past after getting off the phone – and the tray of drinks promptly demonstrated an object lesson in loss of balance and the law of gravity with a tinkling, humiliating Crash!

                    More humiliating, though, was the round of applause that broke out from the other customers as Lana wiped at her arms. Clark gave her a “What can you do?” kind of grin and shrugged. She returned it rather nervously, rolling her eyes at her clumsiness.

                    She fervently hoped that he fared better at his first real test of skill than she had.
                    Last edited by superman_lives_on; 09-08-2010, 07:30 PM.

                    Comment


                    • #11
                      The Chronicles of Smallville: Hothead

                      * * * * *

                      The very next night, Clark stood before the mirror in his loft, wearing a proper football jersey – a red one with the white number 32. It wasn’t for the game, not yet – there was a pep rally tonight, and hopefully it would go better than the last one he’d been to. After that would come the game, his first game – the big one that would determine the Crows’ potential status as state champions and, if that happened, be Coach Walt’s 200th win.

                      No pressure or anything, then.

                      “Heading out to the pep rally?” Martha said more than asked as she walked up into the loft, wearing a big smile.

                      Clark smiled back and adjusted the uniform a bit. “How do I look?” he asked, striking a bit of a pose.

                      She glanced him over and nodded a little. “As handsome as your father,” she said.

                      His smile lessened a bit. “I take that as the highest compliment in the world,” he said sincerely. “I just wish that he would, too.”

                      Martha sighed a little, sympathetic. “I know, sweetheart,” she said. “I don’t quite understand why he’s being so unreasonable either. My best guess is that he’s letting old fears blind him to how much he’s been repressing you.”

                      Clark winced. “I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” he hedged. “I mean, I know I’ve been upset with him – but I don’t want to make him out to be the bad guy.”

                      “I know that too,” she assured him, “and I’m not trying to do that either. But I’ve seen how badly you want to do this – and to be honest, I can’t think of any good reason you shouldn’t. You’re doing something that you love, you’re not hurting anyone if you can help it, and you’re willing to live with any mistakes you make.” She shook her head, touching his chest. “I just wish that we could’ve let you try something sooner.”

                      He blinked at her. “Sooner? But you had good reason back then – I hadn’t gotten the hang of controlling all my powers all the time.”

                      “I’m not so sure that’s true,” she admitted, looking rather sad. “We kept you from doing anything your whole life, all out of fear that you couldn’t handle yourself. But I think you’ve proved that you can…and I feel guilty for not trusting you sooner.”

                      Clark couldn’t bear to hear that. “Don’t say that, Mom,” he said, gently grasping her arms. “If I could do it all again, I wouldn’t have you and Dad do anything different – not one bit. I needed time to learn how to handle myself.” He smiled a little. “If there’s ever a right time for me to show that I’m responsible, this is it.”

                      She nodded, giving him a somewhat watery smile. “Yeah,” she agreed softly. “Your dad will see that and come to his senses…just give him a chance.”

                      Clark nodded his agreement. “I will, tomorrow at the big game,” he vowed. And Martha knew that he would keep that promise.

                      A short time later, he was at the pep rally, watching in the light of a big bonfire as the cheerleaders gestured and chanted (“Come on, Crows, let’s go!”) and the mascot – Abby, showing notable courage and defiance towards her former tormentors simply by being present and in good spirits – ran around cawing. He noticed Pete walking up to him, wearing a jersey and a big grin just as Clark was. “Hey, have you seen Chloe?” the young black athlete asked.

                      Clark hadn’t seen her, actually, and he said so. Pete made a “Hmm” sound, looking around – then he headed a ways over. “Hey, Abby!” he called, and the mascot paused in her movements. “Have you seen Chloe around?”

                      The big crow’s head shook in the negative, and Clark started walking past them, trying to see if he could spot her—

                      —and, with a lurch of horror, he did. “PETE!” he yelled, startling his friend – but then Pete’s face nearly went white with the same horror. Chloe was hanging out of the window to the Torch office, gesturing wildly to them – and the office was on fire!

                      Clark shoved past several other students and sprinted towards the school building as Pete rushed to get help. The instant he was inside and out of sight, he switched on his super-speed and blurred through the halls, rushing toward the stairs – then up the stairs – then through the second-floor halls, nearing the Torch. “Chloe!” he called as he came near, going back to normal speed. He ran into the office, spotting her – thankfully, she’d managed to get past the flames somehow.

                      “Clark!” she gasped, rushing to him; he readily pulled her close, trying to calm her, and looked around the room. The flames had died down already, but the place was a charred mess. Thank God that Chloe wasn’t among the ashes.

                      By the time Pete arrived with help, it was pretty much unneeded – the damage had already been done, and Chloe was alright. With the fire out and no trace of smoke left, Clark picked up a half-ruined newspaper from the charred desk. “The Torch torched,” he quipped. “How’s that for dramatic irony?” Chloe, standing next to him, gave him a glare that would probably be lethal to any mere mortal – but they were the only two people in there, so he couldn’t be certain. He put the paper back down, sheepish. “Just…trying to get you to smile,” he said, feeling lame.

                      “This is more than arson, Clark,” Chloe insisted, gesturing expansively around the room. “It’s like the fire knew what I was doing.”

                      “And you think that Coach Walt was somehow controlling it,” he said. Earlier that day, she’d showed him a picture she’d snapped the previous night, where the coach had gathered the seven cheating jocks on the field and the sprinklers had somehow turned fiery – unfortunately for her investigation, it had been destroyed in tonight’s blaze.

                      “Look at the facts!” Chloe exclaimed. “Principal Kwan launches an investigation into the cheating scandal, and he almost gets fried in his own car. Then one of Coach Walt’s players comes forward, and they somehow get threatened with pyrotechnic sprinklers while he was right there. I’m about to print that picture, and the Torch goes up in flames. What more proof do you need?”

                      “Wait a minute,” he said, “so now you think he’s behind the cheating scandal? Come on, Chloe.” He shook his head, moving away.

                      “Why not?!” she exclaimed, gesturing widely again as she walked after him. “Coach obsessed with his 200th win helps bonehead players pass the test so he can secure his position in the pantheon of high school sports! Don’t tell me it doesn’t add up.”

                      He couldn’t – he had to admit, it would explain the whole thing. Still, he had to wonder how Coach Walt had developed pyrokinetic abilities. Granted, there was only one general means he could think of – but there were specific details missing. And speaking of which… “Do you have another copy of the picture?”

                      She gestured to the charred room. “No, it’s kind of hard to recover the files.”

                      “Then we don’t have any proof,” he said reluctantly.

                      “We might,” she offered. “Trevor Chapell.”

                      “What about him?” Clark wondered.

                      “I’m sure he’s the one who talked to Kwan about the cheating,” Chloe said, her voice quiet but earnest and deadly certain. “He wants to talk, I know it – but he’s too scared to talk to me, but I think he might open up to you.”

                      Clark looked thoughtful. That might well be true. The problem was – where was Trevor?

                      * * * * *

                      He certainly wasn’t at the pep rally, so Clark decided to try the Beanery next. As he walked through the crowd and looked around Trevor, still wearing his jersey, a wonderfully familiar breathy voice met his ears: “Well, if it isn’t Smallville’s latest football star.”

                      He grinned shyly at Lana as he reached her, noting that she wore a light purple shirt under her green apron this time. “Let’s see how I do tomorrow night,” he remarked. “Have you seen Trevor tonight?”

                      “No, he hasn’t been in,” she reported. He sighed in disappointment, and she noticed something else in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asked gently.

                      He looked at her more fully, then inhaled a bit. “You know how Principal Kwan’s car caught on fire last night, while he was in it?” She nodded. “Well, tonight there was a fire at the Torch – and Chloe got caught in the middle.”

                      “What?!” Lana exclaimed, her eyes wide. “Oh my God, is she okay?!”

                      “Yes, she’s fine,” Clark assured her. “I got to her in time, and the fire didn’t reach her. But the Torch needs a serious rebuild.” He shook his head, grimacing. “Anyway, she’s convinced that Coach Walt is behind the fires and the cheating scandal.”

                      “Really,” said Lana flatly, her face darkening at the thought.

                      Clark shuddered – a face that beautiful should never have to show such anger, even if it looked sexy. “Yeah. Trevor won’t talk to her, but she thinks he might talk to me – and if he does…”

                      “…then you could get the proof you need to expose the Coach,” Lana finished, nodding. “Well, I wish I could help – but I haven’t seen him at all tonight. Maybe he already went home.”

                      Clark nodded – that would make sense. “If I can’t find him at school tomorrow, I’ll check at his house first chance I get,” he decided. He glanced around and asked, “How are things going here?”

                      She sighed. “Not quite as crazy as things are going for you – but not far off, either. I now hold the record for most dishes broken in a single day.”

                      “Ouch,” he said, smiling in sympathy. “I was kind of hoping that your second day would be easier than the first.”

                      “Yeah, me too,” she said, rolling her eyes a bit. “No such luck. Sometimes, I just want to scream.”

                      He nodded again, knowing how she felt. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s cool you got this job.”

                      “Thanks,” she said softly. “I’m just sorry that I won’t get to see you play tomorrow after all.” She shrugged. “New girl gets the worst shifts.”

                      “Figures,” he sighed. “It’s not your fault. We’ll just have to wait until after the game.”

                      She nodded. “Can I get you anything right now?”

                      He smiled. “Now that you mention it, a regular coffee would really hit the spot.”

                      “Coming right up,” she said, and patted his arm as she walked towards the counter. He moved past her towards a table – and only then did he realize that there was someone he recognized there, someone who hadn’t been able to help overhearing the conversation.

                      “Rumor has it Clark Kent joined the football team,” Lex quipped, a bunch of papers and blue folders on the table before him.

                      Clark shrugged a bit as he sat down across from Lex. “Rumor’s true.”

                      “Congratulations,” grinned the billionaire, wearing a gray jacket over his dressy black shirt and pants. “Your dad must be thrilled.”

                      “I only wish,” Clark said, wincing. “He freaked out at the idea, told me I couldn’t play. But I’ve heard his excuses way too many times already.” He shook his head. “I just don’t get it. If he wants me to make my own life, why does he keep shutting me down whenever I try? I hate to call him a hypocrite, but that’s exactly what he’s being.”

                      “I see,” Lex nodded. “So you stay out late, waiting for him to go to bed so you can avoid the uncomfortable silence that awaits you at home.”

                      Clark blinked in surprise. “How’d you know?”

                      “Painful firsthand experience. We Luthors wrote the book on uncomfortable silences.” He smiled sympathetically. “Look on the bright side – you have someone to help you get through it.” He nodded after Lana, who was catching up with other customers and looking fearful of getting yelled at.

                      Clark looked at her in sympathy, wishing that she could catch a break, then turned back toward Lex. “Have I thanked you yet for telling her what really happened with the necklace?”

                      At that, Lex couldn’t hide a chuckle. “Only about every other time I’ve seen you since that day.”

                      “Then you’re overdue,” Clark said, grinning. “Thank you.”

                      De nada,” Lex assured him. “Least I could do for the kid who pulled my ass out of the river and gave me a chance to turn my life around.” He nodded towards Lana again. “So how’s that going?”

                      Clark glanced around, then leaned in a bit, keeping his voice low. “It’s going great, actually – but we’re still trying to keep it secret. We don’t want to give the rumor mill anything to work with.”

                      “Can’t say I blame you,” Lex agreed, keeping his own voice low. “I just hope you can go public soon. Who knows – maybe a victory tomorrow will help with that.”

                      Clark shrugged. “Maybe. Right now, I’m wondering just how far people might go to win that game.”

                      “I assume by ‘people’, you mean your coach,” Lex remarked. He looked apologetic. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”

                      “It’s okay,” Clark assured him. “Chloe’s certain that Coach Walt controlled those fires – and to be honest, it would explain quite a bit. Not to mention the cheating scandal.”

                      Lex nodded, then leaned back and sighed. “Jeremy Creek, Greg Arkin, Walt Arnold…looks like Smallville’s forming a regular rogues gallery. I hope you can stop him.”

                      “So do I,” said Clark quietly. Then he shook himself and smiled a little – and that was when he properly registered the papers, a couple of which Lex was actually holding. “What are you working on?”

                      “Oh,” Lex groaned, leaning forward again, “trying to figure out which poor bastard should get the ax. My father wants me to cut twenty perfect of my workforce.”

                      Clark grimaced. “Any way around it?”

                      “I doubt it,” Lex sighed. “Once my father’s made his mind up, he’s all but impossible to turn around.”

                      “If it makes you guys feel any better,” Lana said, appearing with their drinks, “you should’ve seen the look on Nell’s face when I took this job. Not that I was eavesdropping or anything,” she added, smiling sheepishly as she perched next to Clark.

                      “I guess we’re all in the same boat, huh?” Clark murmured.

                      “No, not at all,” Lex said, sounding impressed. “You both stood your ground and are doing what you want, and I caved.” He grinned as they looked at him fully, and he picked up the large mug Lana had given him. “You two have inspired me.”

                      “Oh, yeah,” said Clark dryly, rolling his eyes. “Joining the football team and pouring some coffee. We’re a couple of real rebels.”

                      Lana all but laughed. “Long live the revolution.”

                      “I’ll drink to that,” Lex chuckled, and did so. Some whipped cream escaped onto his face, clinging on for dear life.

                      “How is it?” Lana asked as she rose, clearly expecting the worst.

                      He wiped his mouth and nodded reassuringly. “It’s perfect.”

                      She breathed a sigh of relief and headed off. Clark watched her go, then turned to Lex suspiciously. “Is that what you ordered?”

                      Lex looked over the mug, smiling. “Not even close,” he said dryly.

                      Clark raised his eyebrows, nodding a little. Somehow, he doubted that other customers would be so gracious.

                      * * * * *

                      The Chapell house was a beautiful place with walls of red brick and triangular roofs of rich dark wood. Inside was more comfortable and homey, though a couple of places looked cluttered. Clark opened a white door and found the most cluttered place of all – an entire room packed with stuff. “Trevor?” he called, looking around as he walked through cautiously. The kid hadn’t been in school at all today. “It’s Clark Kent. I’m here to talk.”

                      “Just leave or he’ll come back!”

                      There was Trevor, sitting on the floor next to a dryer and surrounded by pressurized tanks. Clark carefully removed his backpack and walked slowly towards him, noticing the white gauze on the blond jock’s arm. “Coach Walt?” he clarified.

                      “Once he gets angry, he’s…” Trevor trailed off.

                      “What did he do to you?” Clark wondered, getting onto his knees beside the tanks. He was starting to feel angry himself, but he didn’t let it show yet. What had that man done?

                      Trevor glanced at him, inhaling. “Coach rides me pretty hard, you know? Me and some of the others. Thinks he’s our father or somethin’. That’s how he justifies it, anyway.” He met Clark’s eyes again for a moment, then looked away. “Once when I dropped a pass, he drove me home, punched me in the gut, told me not to do it again.”

                      Clark’s own gut recoiled at the idea. He was disliking this whole thing more and more. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” he asked gently.

                      “Coach said he’d throw me off the team!” Trevor exclaimed, looking at him fully. “Wouldn’t help me pass my classes.”

                      Aha. Clark came out with it: “Did he give you that math midterm?”

                      Trevor looked away, nodding miserably. Clark bit his lip for a moment, his feelings rather tumultuous. First things first. “Trevor, I can help.”

                      “That’s what Principal Kwan said!” Trevor exclaimed, looking fearfully at him. “Look what Coach did to him!”

                      Clark inhaled silently, knowing that the kid had a point. But what had the Coach done to him? “What happened to your arm?” he asked, though he feared that he already knew.

                      Trevor looked at it, trying to dismiss it. “It’s nothing, just a carburetor burn.” Skeptical, Clark reached for it – but Trevor jerked it away. “It’s nothing!”

                      It wasn’t nothing – Clark was certain of that. His green eyes held Trevor’s blue, his voice firm but gentle: “Let me see it, Trevor.”

                      Trevor looked at him for a long moment, then silently held out his arm. Clark carefully unwrapped the gauze, revealing bits of burnt red skin, and soon removed it. His stomach clenched in a sick mixture of horror and anger – the burn was in the shape of a human hand, and a large and meaty one at that.

                      “I don’t know how Coach did it,” Trevor said, his expression utterly frightened, “but if I talk, he’s gonna fry me.”

                      Clark looked up at him seriously, his jaw setting firmly. “No,” he said, his voice very soft. “I won’t let him – not for a moment.”

                      Trevor was surprised. Somehow, that voice sounded bedrock certain, and those gentle green eyes seemed more blue for a brief instant – though that was probably a trick of the light. But those words were no trick, no joke, no lie – he could tell. He swallowed a bit and nodded slightly, sincerely hoping that Clark was right.

                      Some time later, shortly before the game, Clark was walking into Coach Walt’s office. The room was filled with sports memorabilia, ranging from newspaper articles to pictures to trophies. He made a beeline for a wooden door with a sign that read simply “SAUNA”. The golden plaque next to it was more elaborate:

                      WALT’S
                      PRIVATE SWEAT BOX
                      From the Alumni Association
                      In Recognition of
                      Twenty Years
                      of Dedicated Service
                      More like dedicated cruelty and a vicious temper, Clark thought darkly. And it ends today. With that, he pushed the door open, not bothering to knock.

                      “Kent?” grunted Walt, sitting on a bench inside the large wooden box and wearing only a yellow towel around his waist, another draped over his shoulders. “Why aren’t you in the locker room suiting up?” He rubbed at his chin with the upper towel.

                      “I’m not walking out on that field,” said Clark firmly. “And neither are you.”

                      Walt let his hand drop, his expression dark. “Look, I don’t know what the hell your problem is,” he said, his gravelly voice menacing, “but you do not want to p*ss me off right now.” He pointed sharply at the upstart—

                      —and suddenly, a horribly familiar feeling came over Clark. He gasped and leaned against the wall, trying to keep his feet, and looked at his hand. The blood inside had turned green and was boiling – a hideous sight that, unfortunately, he recognized. Not to mention the fact that the smoke had turned green, and he saw a distinct glow from the heater, and he could swear that an eerie tinkling sound had begun at the very edge of his hearing…

                      Oh, no. So this was how the meteor rocks had given Coach Walt the power to start and control fires. Clark tried to move, to back away and give himself a chance to recover, but his feet refused to cooperate – it was all they could do to hold him in place. He looked up at the coach, trying to keep his voice steady: “I saw what you did to Trevor’s arm.”

                      “Trevor,” Walt spat as he got off the bench and up into Clark’s face, “should’ve kept his damn mouth shut! He’s too stupid to know what’s good for him!”

                      Clark started to lose his balance, feeling weaker and weaker…he had to get out of here, but he couldn’t move right…

                      “What’s the matter, Kent?” Walt asked, deceptively calm. “A little too hot for you? Huh?”

                      POW! His meaty fist slammed into Clark’s stomach, making him double over. “Nobody!” the madman snapped, grabbing hold of him. “Is gonna ruin!” He threw Clark into the heater, sending them both crashing to the floor. “MY legacy!”

                      Clark had no breath to scream as he landed – nor as he lay there, now surrounded by poisonous rocks. Walt loomed over him, standing halfway out the door. “If you’ll excuse me now,” he said, his temper abated in favor of smooth arrogance, “I got a game to win.”

                      He backed out and closed the door, and Clark tried desperately to get up, to stop him – but it was no use. His head hit the unforgiving wooden floor, illuminated by the eerie green glow of death, and it was all he could do to stay conscious. He heard a key turning in the outer lock, and he managed to lift his head. Walt smirked at him through the square glass window in the door, then moved away, vanishing from sight.

                      No…he couldn’t let that madman get away with this…he had to get out, to stop him, to do something… He tried again to rise, to push himself up – and his muscles screamed with agony. He landed hard again, gasping for breath.

                      It was all he could do to keep himself from passing out. If he let the stomach-churning agony of the meteor rocks and the searing heat of the sauna itself get to him, he’d never get out. This death trap would prove chillingly effective…and God only knew what that fire-starting madman would get away with.

                      He tried once more to get up, but he might as well have been trying to push a mountain of meteor rock – he collapsed again, groaning. He was getting nowhere fast. If he was going to escape, he had to think his way out, find some means of damaging this trap.

                      He lifted his sweating head enough to see the single window. Then he let it roll so he could see the rocks lying on his right side. Maybe…

                      He pushed himself up – but on the side this time, rolling himself over enough to grab one of the rocks. The extra pain in his hand threatened to ruin his concentration, but he fought it down – somehow – and rolled onto his back again, focusing on his target. He drew his arm back and then shot it forward, throwing the rock – only for it to clunk against the wood beside the window and drop to the floor, as if taunting him.

                      Dammit. His head hit wood again. He’d almost hit it, but he wasn’t sure if he could manage another try. So damn hot in here…no strength left…

                      No…he couldn’t think like that. He had to get out. He had to. He pushed himself up again and grabbed another rock, testing its weight before he aimed and threw. It missed too, hitting the other side of the window’s border. He groaned as his head hit the floor again.

                      This wasn’t working so well either…actually, it wasn’t working at all. He was never going to get out of here. The meteor rocks kept draining his energy, kept emitting that faint and eerie sound, kept taunting him… He would never get out, never escape, never see another day…

                      …never see Lana again…

                      NO. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed hold of another rock, aiming it as carefully as he could. He was not letting this stupid box or these stupid meteor fragments kept him from her. With a hiss of angry determination, he sent it hurtling forward—

                      Crash! It struck the window, shattering it but not completely breaking it. That was enough to send a jolt of hope through him, though. He reached back, took another rock, and pitched it forward. Smash! It went right through the window, leaving a hole that the green smoke began to drift through.

                      His head hit the floor again, his strength almost completely gone…but not his hope. Maybe, just maybe, someone had already heard the sound and would come to investigate. Please, God, let that happen…

                      “Clark?”

                      His heart leaped in his chest. He could’ve sworn he’d just heard his dad’s voice outside, in the locker room.

                      “Clark?”

                      Yes! It was him! Clark tried to clear his throat, to speak, to call out…but all he could do was groan. He rolled himself over, trying desperately to get enough leverage to push himself up. Dad…over here…hurry…

                      The door thumped. “Clark!” His dad was right outside – he could hear him. “Clark?! Clark!”

                      There was another thump, then a second – and then a wooden Smash! The door swung open as Jonathan kicked it in, and he rushed inside, grabbing his son and helping him sit up a bit. “Can you hear me? Are you alright?”

                      Not quite, Clark thought, his mind hazy. “It’s the meteor rocks,” he groaned.

                      Jonathan grimaced as he looked around, seeing the innocuous chunks of rock with their glowing green fragments. Good Lord. “Come on,” he muttered, pulling Clark up as best he could and starting to drag him out. “Come on.” Clark helped as best he could, his legs scraping against the floor as he attempted to walk—

                      “RRAH!” Walt smashed a fire extinguisher into Jonathan’s upper back, having sneaked up on him from behind. The farmer cried out in pain and dropped to the floor, as did his son—

                      —but now that Clark was out of the sauna, his blood ceased boiling – the meteor rocks were unable to affect him. He rolled onto his back, his hands up, and blocked the madman’s next swing, the metal clanging as it struck him. Walt recoiled, then brought it smashing down again – but Clark caught him with one foot and shoved hard, sending him hurtling away.

                      CRAAASH! The large window in the wall separating the office from the locker room shattered as the madman flew back through it, pieces of glass hurtling along with him. He crashed into a bench in the locker room and collapsed onto the hard floor.

                      Clark thought for a moment that Walt’s back had been broken – but the man looked up, then managed to push himself to his feet. “Coach,” Clark said, advancing on him, “you need help.”

                      “What I need is to win this game!” Walt insisted, backing away, his eyes wide with anger and fear.

                      “It’s too late for that,” said Clark solemnly. Even if the players managed it, their coach would never gain the glory he had sought.

                      “The hell it is,” the madman growled, and shut his eyes, concentrating hard. No way was he letting this backstabbing idiot destroy his legacy.

                      Clark realized what he must be doing – and an instant later, flames erupted behind him, cutting him off from the office and his half-unconscious father. He looked towards the coach, scowling, as more flames appeared before him, seemingly trapping him.

                      Walt opened his eyes and looked at the farm boy, certain that he was done for. He began to smirk—

                      “Hey, Coach!” a voice suddenly called from behind. “Chill out!”

                      He whirled around – and a spray of water shot into his eyes, eliciting a howl of pain. The newcomer released the handle of her own fire extinguisher and hoisted the heavy tool up, swinging it into the madman. He toppled over, rolling out of her way, and she promptly aimed it at the flames trapping Clark.

                      He raised his eyebrows, impressed, and waited until she had cleared away enough of the fire for him to walk through. “Got sick of spilling coffee?” he asked, grinning.

                      Lana returned the grin, her eyes flashing. “Me and the Beanery both,” she quipped. “Guess I’m not waitress material after all.”

                      He chuckled, and for a moment, he wanted nothing more than to give her a big hug and kiss – but Coach Walt ruined the moment with a vicious growl as he rose to his feet, murder in his reddened eyes. Clark scowled at him and caught his stumbling charge easily, shoving him away and sending him crashing to the floor of the showers. “Give it up, Coach!” he yelled. “It’s over! You lost!”

                      The madman glared at them both as he rose to his feet again, his eyes blazing with rage and frustration. No! This couldn’t be how it ended! THIS COULDN’T BE! “NOOOOOOOOO!!!” he howled, his temper raging out of control—

                      —and the fire raged with him, surging out of the showers just as it had out of the sprinklers and rising from the floor, engulfing him completely. Clark held Lana against his chest, shielding her from the horrible sight, as the conflagration consumed the madman – and Clark saw the now-faint figure drop to the floor, destroyed by his own inner demons.

                      He looked away from the conflagration – and his gaze fell upon the smaller wall of fire that cut them off from the office. “Oh, no,” he muttered. “Dad!”

                      Lana looked at him, then rushed over and aimed the extinguisher, spraying at the flames until they died down enough to let them through. They rushed to the office, Clark grabbing hold of the stunned Jonathan and hoisting him to his feet, and then hurried out as best they could, Lana only letting go of the extinguisher when she was certain they were clear.

                      “Guys!” Chloe came running towards them, the noise of the confrontation and fire drawing her from the school where she’d been searching for Clark. “What happened?!” she exclaimed.

                      “Coach Walt’s dead,” Clark said, his face grim. “And the locker room’s on fire. We need to call 911.”

                      * * * * *

                      They did so, and by the time the fire had been fully put out, night had fallen. Clark had missed the game, though it hadn’t really made a difference in the end – Smallville had won after all. He walked out of the school with his father, some paramedics having judged them both unhurt – remarkably, the blow from the fire extinguisher had stunned Jonathan more than anything.

                      “Sorry you didn’t get to play,” he said softly, showing not even a hint of sarcasm.

                      Clark looked at him, keeping his voice even: “You’re not going to say ‘I told you so’?”

                      Jonathan sighed, knowing that he somewhat deserved that. “No,” he said firmly. “Never.”

                      Clark looked away, seeming guilty – but Jonathan wasn’t having that. “You know, I’ve always said that anyone who doesn’t tell it like it is, is a liar,” he said solemnly. “Well, I lied to you, son.”

                      What? Clark stopped walking and looked at him in surprise.

                      “I didn’t come to that practice to make sure nobody else got hurt,” his dad continued. “And that’s not why I came tonight, either. I came to make sure you were okay.”

                      “What?” Clark said aloud, blinking.

                      Jonathan nodded. “I just told myself that I was worried about you losing control,” he said. “But after all this, I’ve realized that was never what this was about. I do trust you, Clark, and I’m sorry that I acted like I didn’t. I just…” He shook his head, looking very contrite. “I guess that I was just afraid you’d get hurt somehow. Not physically, but maybe you’d be found out – and even if that didn’t happen, you might be disappointed.”

                      Clark shrugged – he had to admit, he wasn’t feeling very upbeat about the whole thing by now. “I still had to take that chance, Dad,” he said softly. “And it was my choice to make.”

                      “Yes, it was,” Jonathan said, resting a hand on Clark’s shoulder. “And I was wrong to keep you from making that choice, son. You’re not a kid anymore – you can make your own choices.” He sighed. “I guess that some part of me will always be afraid of you getting hurt.”

                      At that, Clark smiled a little. “It’s weird, but I actually take that as a good thing,” he said. “It’s kind of your job to worry about me, isn’t it?”

                      “Pretty much,” Jonathan nodded, chuckling. “But from now on, I’m not going to just reject your arguments outright. You’re more level-headed than I gave you credit for, Clark. It’s time I started listening instead of just telling.”

                      Clark felt much better at that. Lana had been right – his dad had come around, and in more than one way. “Thanks,” he said softly, smiling.

                      His dad smiled back, and they began walking again. Some time later, Clark was still walking – out onto the field, as it happened. He looked around wistfully, his plaid shirt unbuttoned and his white undershirt stained from smoke. The place was deserted except for him.

                      “It’s peaceful, isn’t it?” And for Lana, who walked up to join him in her blue jacket and khaki pants. “Quite a contrast to how it was earlier.”

                      “Yeah,” he said softly. He idly noticed a couple of janitors walking by in the dirt off the grass. “Didn’t really get to see it, so I’ll trust your judgment.”

                      She looked at him in concern, gently touching his arm. “Are you okay?” she whispered.

                      He shrugged a little. “Outside, I’m fine,” he said. “But inside…” He glanced around the field, then shook his head. “I don’t know, Lana. I’m starting to wonder if it was even worth it.”

                      Her face seemed sad. “You don’t think you should play anymore?”

                      He smiled very weakly. “I was recommended by a hotheaded lunatic, I never got to play my first game, and I was on the outs with my dad the whole time.” He shrugged. “Not sure I made any real difference.”

                      “I wouldn’t say that,” she said softly. “You did stop that lunatic from hurting anyone else.”

                      We stopped him,” he corrected her, smiling more warmly. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

                      She blushed and giggled, conceding the point. “Well, I’m just glad I could help. At any rate, Coach Walt really destroyed himself. You stood against what he represented – people who’ll do anything for their own glory.”

                      “True,” Clark admitted. “And I do still want to stand against that. But I don’t know if being on the football team is the best way to do it. Besides,” he shrugged, smiling a bit, “my dad played, my granddad played…I think it’s time to break the vicious cycle.”

                      She giggled again, nodding. “I know what you mean,” she said. “My mom was a cheerleader, and so was my aunt. And now that you’re no longer on the team, I don’t see any reason to stay on the squad.” She looked away, her face falling. “I never wanted it anyway, just like I never wanted to be Whitney’s arm-trophy…just like I never wanted that necklace.”

                      Clark looked at her sadly, then pulled her into a hug. She readily accepted it, leaning against his chest. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out for either of us,” he said softly.

                      She nodded and looked up at him. “Will you be okay?”

                      “Not sure,” he admitted, shrugging as he released her. “Sometimes, I just want to scream.”

                      She got a mischievous look on her face and glanced around, not seeing anyone else. “Why don’t we?”

                      He stared at her, puzzled. “Why don’t we what?”

                      “Scream,” she said, grinning. “I’m game if you are.”

                      He looked around, not seeing anyone else either. “Are you serious?” he asked, not sure how she could be.

                      She chuckled, her white teeth gleaming along with her hazel eyes. “Why not?”

                      Why not indeed? some part of him remarked…and his confusion faded. “On three?” he said, keeping his eyes on her as they slowly turned to face the far end of the field. “One…two…three.”

                      And their screams pierced the still air, arms spread as they looked to the dark sky. They kept it up until they ran out of breath, and they began panting. Then their eyes widened – they distinctly heard squawks of protest as birds fled nearby trees, a distinctly canine howl or two, and what sounded like the whooping of a car alarm.

                      They stared at each other for a stunned moment – then they collapsed onto the grassy field, breaking down in laughter. They let themselves do it – the past couple of days, especially this one, had just been too crazy, and the laughter felt too good to not indulge in.

                      It was a good couple of minutes before they calmed down, and Lana found herself lying beside Clark, her arm running over his side. She tugged his plaid shirt up and glanced at his arm, stroking it. “Wow,” she murmured. “You have arm hair.”

                      “Yeah,” he murmured back. “Weird, huh?”

                      She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. For a moment, it felt like they were little kids again, just having fun together. She reached up and stroked his cheek, marveling at how much had changed since then…and yet, in some ways, nothing had changed at all.

                      He smiled at her, then whispered, “Have I thanked you yet for coming to the rescue?”

                      She grinned, her eyes gleaming. “I don’t think so,” she replied.

                      “Then I’ll thank you right now,” he said – and he did, just as she had thanked him that fateful day in the barn. She moaned and closed her eyes as he kissed her ever so gently, his lips soft and yielding yet firm and almost demanding. Her arms slipped around him, dwarfed by his own slipping around her, and they held each other close, enjoying the simple and chaste pleasure of making out.

                      Overhead and unnoticed, a single shooting star streaked across the night sky, vanishing almost before it appeared.

                      * * * * *

                      There were plenty of stars visible tonight as Clark walked into his loft – but he felt no need or desire to admire them, either with his eyes alone or with the aid of his telescope. He’d already admired the most beautiful sight in all of creation – Lana’s smiling face.

                      He felt much better after their little rendezvous out on the field. In fact, he no longer felt so bad about the whole football thing. Sure, it hadn’t worked out, but it hadn’t been a complete waste either. He’d learned some things about himself – he could handle himself in an aggressive situation, he cared far more about the integrity of the sport than winning a game, and he had no love for bullies and tyrants of any stripe.

                      He ran his hand over a football lying on his desk, sighing a little. He had to admit, it wouldn’t all be easy to say goodbye to that dream of becoming a football star…but he already had what – or rather, who – he really wanted. Why chase after something that didn’t suit him?

                      He turned away and found himself looking at the top-left drawer. He opened it – and inside lay something that brought a smile to his face. He reached in and took it out, feeling its texture as he looked it over. Most of it was smooth, but specific curving lines on it were rough – and rougher still was an area that had been exposed by the sheer force of a wooden bat’s impact. It was the first baseball he’d ever hit, back before he’d learned how to fully control his strength. He’d knocked it clear across Smallville, and his dad had spent hours searching the fields, finally finding it on the other side of town.

                      As he held the ball, fondly recalling the memory, a thought occurred to him. As he’d told Lana, he didn’t know if being on the football team was the best way to stand against dishonesty and injustice. But maybe…just maybe…there might be another way. Maybe he didn’t have to fully give up his dreams in order to do the right thing.

                      Smiling to himself, he put the ball back in the drawer and closed it, then turned and walked out of the loft. That was for the future to decide – here in the present, he needed some sleep.

                      Once again, he dreamed of Lana…of her being with him in full…of no barriers left between them. And even if he broke the bed when he woke up, he would pay that price gladly – it was worth it to dream of what he someday hoped to have for real.
                      Last edited by superman_lives_on; 12-24-2010, 12:46 PM.

                      Comment


                      • #12
                        Wow! What an excellent rewrite of "Hothead"! Ah, I liked how you spliced Lana into the Clark/Pete/Chloe conversation, having her voice her distaste for the players cheating and her admiration of Clark's quick relfexes. I also enjoyed how she supported Clark during the Coach Walt/Whitney doubleteaming, and also in his decision to stand up for himself against Jonathan's stubbornness. I noticed the additional and altered dialogue between Clark and Jonathan that showed a bit more maturity on Clark's part, and I found the insight into Jonathan's mind to be very revealing. Heh, somehow, I wasn't surprised to see that Lex was in on the secret of Clark and Lana's relationship, and I, too, look forward to when they can go public. I was also glad to see that you figured out a way to get Lana involved with the locker room showdown against Coach Walt. And of course, I still just love that final scene from the episode where the two of them scream out to the heavens. Hmmmm, that last scene you added was very interesting...perhaps Clark may yet have a way to express himself through a different sort of athletics. I can't wait for more, Matt!

                        Comment


                        • #13
                          Just got caught up great update PPMS

                          Comment


                          • #14
                            The Chronicles of Smallville: X-Ray

                            FOUR
                            X-Ray

                            She was so beautiful.

                            It wasn’t an opinion or a theory or anything of that sort. It was, plainly and simply, a truth. A fact. A wonderful fact.

                            He loved her. That, too, was a wonderful fact, one that he had cherished ever since he was five years old.

                            They lay together, content in their closeness…and their lack of clothes. That, he thought with a grin, was an especially wonderful fact.

                            He gently ran his fingers over her naked back, and she stirred slightly, moaning very lowly and softly. He loved that sound, and so he did it again. She stirred a little more, moaning…almost murmuring, as if she were speaking in her sleep. He smiled fondly and stroked her once more, and she shifted a little on top of him…

                            And then he heard her let out a thoroughly adorable yawn, stirring even more as she began to awake. Rather than withdraw, he kept stroking her back, moving his fingers in little circles, and she emitted a lovely purring sound as her head slowly tilted. Her hazel eyes found him, and she smiled, looking rested and yet still somewhat sleepy. “Mmmm…that’s a really nice way to wake up,” she whispered, her voice raspier than usual.

                            He grinned at her, clearing his throat. “I’m glad you like it,” he replied, his own voice deeper and raspier. “That means I have to do it every chance I get.”

                            She chuckled in reply, obviously liking that idea, and moved forward, stretching over him and groaning as her back let out little popping sounds. Then she let herself rest atop him as she moved her face up to his, claiming his lips in a warm kiss. He moaned and kept stroking her back as he returned it, closing his eyes.

                            After a long moment, he felt her shift over him again, sitting up…and he realized what she was about to do. “Clark,” she whispered, and he opened his eyes to look into hers. “Make love to me.”

                            He smiled very warmly, feeling his whole body voice its approval of that idea. “As you wish, Lana,” he replied, and leaned up to give her another kiss as he helped her move over him—

                            SKREEEEEE!!!


                            The piercing scream of the alarm startled Clark out of his daydream, and he felt a spike of irritation as he looked up towards the noise. It vanished as he took in the bizarre sight that came with it – Lex was running down the street towards him, a red-and-black backpack slung over one shoulder and a silvery gun clutched in his other hand, and he was pushing right through passers-by.

                            What the heck?! Clark thought. He managed to catch his friend and stop him in his tracks. “Lex, what’s going on?” he asked, completely confused.

                            Lex got a vicious expression on his face and answered with a growled “Get out of the way!” and a heavy shove against Clark’s chest – and to his utter shock, he found himself hurtling through the air, crashing through the window of “Speck’s Optical”, a shop that sold glasses. He landed hard on the floor, more stunned than hurt, and looked up at Lex, blinking in confusion—

                            —and for a moment, his vision went crazy. It flashed and turned all varying shades of blue, objects becoming thin white outlines – and Lex himself became a skeleton, his clothes a vague dark shape underneath. But the skeleton was weird, covered in patches of eerie green – just like the glow that the meteor rocks gave off when he got too close to them—

                            —and then, as “Lex” ran away, his vision flashed again, returning to normal. Clark stared out the window for a stunned moment, his head aching, then pushed himself to his feet. He noted with a wince that several white stands carrying glasses had been knocked right over, and the window was in countless tiny pieces on the floor. He climbed outside and stared down the street – but “Lex” was already gone.

                            No way could that have been him, Clark thought. But who had it been? And what the heck had happened to his eyes for that second or two?

                            * * * * *

                            “This is incredible – why would Lex Luthor need to rob a bank?” Martha wondered, her eyebrows furrowed as she sat at the table reading the Smallville Ledger the next morning.

                            “I’ve seen some pretty strange things in my day, but this definitely takes the cake,” Jonathan agreed, walking past her to fetch the coffee pot. “Well, almost,” he amended, glancing at Clark, who was fetching milk from the fridge.

                            “He got away with a hundred thousand dollars,” Martha reported as both of her boys came over to the table.

                            “It couldn’t have been Lex,” Clark insisted. “I know him. He’s no thief.”

                            Jonathan scoffed slightly. “Clark, I know he’s a friend of yours, but c’mon. You saw it with your own eyes.”

                            Clark shook his head firmly. “I don’t know what I saw,” he said. “My vision went nuts for a moment after I got thrown into that shop – I must’ve been hallucinating or something.”

                            His dad looked at him in puzzlement. “How do you mean?”

                            Clark closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the details. “Everything went into shades of blue, and all I could see of the wall around the window was an outline. And I could see the robber’s skeleton – but it looked weird. It had all these green spots.” He shrugged, opening his eyes again. “I don’t know where all that came from. But I know it wasn’t Lex. Like you said, Mom, why would he need to rob a bank? Why would he even want to?”

                            “That’s true,” she agreed. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for all of this. At least, I hope there is.”

                            “Me too,” said a voice from the screen door, and they all turned to look in surprise. It was Lex. “I’d hate to think I have an evil twin.”

                            “Lex,” Martha greeted him. “We didn’t hear you pull up.”

                            “May I come in?” he asked, opening the door. “I promise I’m not packing heat.” He held up his hands in submission.

                            Luckily, Jonathan made no objection. “Lex, how come you’re not in jail?” Clark asked. “Not that I want you to be—”

                            “I know that,” Lex assured him. “And I’m not because I was hosting a reception for two hundred fertilizer distributors in Metropolis at the time of the robbery.”

                            Now Jonathan felt baffled. This was definitely turning out to be one of the strangest things he’d ever seen. “The police have any leads?”

                            “None, I’m afraid,” Lex said. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you, Clark. Your name was on the witness list. Did you actually see this person?”

                            “Yeah,” Clark nodded, “he looked just like you.”

                            Lex scoffed a bit. “Except his fingerprints and signature didn’t match mine, and he was right-handed – I’m left-handed. You sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you?”

                            Clark shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure.” And he wasn’t – that bizarre flash couldn’t possibly be a sign of good vision.

                            Lex nodded, sighing a bit. “I don’t know – maybe he was a career thief who underwent heavy plastic surgery. Seems a bit far-fetched, though.”

                            “Not around here, it doesn’t,” Clark murmured. He cleared his throat and wondered aloud, “What’s going to happen now?”

                            “Well, hopefully the money will turn up,” Lex said. “In the meantime, the Metropolis tabloids will have a field day – and I’m sure that certain people’s opinions of me will be cemented in stone.”

                            He looked toward Jonathan with those last words, and none of the three Kents missed the meaning. “I gotta get to work,” Jonathan said, getting up from the table and heading outside. Martha kept silent, though her eyes followed her husband’s departure.

                            “I’m sorry you got thrown through that window,” Lex told Clark as the door swung shut behind Jonathan. “I promise, I’m not a criminal mastermind.”

                            “I know,” Clark said, folding his arms and not looking directly at Lex. “A criminal mastermind would’ve worn a mask.” His eyes rolled toward Lex, and he couldn’t hide a smile.

                            Lex made a soft sound of amusement, glad his friend wasn’t sore. “At the very least,” he concurred. “Better yet, he would’ve sent a flunky or two to rob the bank for him. Whoever this robber is, he didn’t plan it out that well – he should’ve tried to mimic my signature better.”

                            Clark nodded agreement, pondering who could be behind this. Lex noticed that Martha had moved away, giving the two a little privacy, and lowered his voice a bit. “I don’t want to keep you from school,” he said, “but I’d like to know – what does Lana make of this?”

                            “Don’t worry,” Clark replied. “On this point, she and her aunt completely agree – there’s no way you did this.”

                            Lex nodded, relieved that the only other real friend he had in Smallville believed he was innocent. “Good,” he said simply. Then he glanced at the clock and said, “Can I offer you a ride to school? So long as it’s okay with you, Mrs. Kent.”

                            “Of course,” Martha assured him. Clark just smiled and nodded – why not?

                            * * * * *

                            Gym class had never been much of a challenge for Clark, though he’d worked to make it seem otherwise for the sake of blending in. He hadn’t done a very good job – but then, it wasn’t like he could turn his sweat glands on at will. They seemed to constantly stay off, and while that certainly helped him avoid smelling bad, it didn’t do much for his “normal” act.

                            Right now, that act wasn’t being put to the test – but it soon would be. The boys were all wearing yellow Smallville High T-shirts, red gym pants or shorts, and variously-colored sneakers, and most of them stood in a loose circle around two ropes hanging from the ceiling – each had a guy climbing it. The gym teacher/coach was egging them on in his rough voice – though, Clark thought, they were lucky he wasn’t a clone of the late Walt Arnold.

                            He glanced to one side at the sound of shoes squeaking on the hard wooden floor and saw a group of girls walking through the gym, having no doubt finished some heavy running. Lana was among them, wearing a red shirt and yellow shirts like her classmates. She ran a finger over her skin and hair, which was tied into a bun, then happened to look in his direction. She flashed him a warm smile, which he readily returned.

                            Pete elbowed him in the chest, ruining the moment. “Keep your eyes in your head, man,” he muttered.

                            Suddenly, as if those words had been its cue, a hideous migraine struck Clark. He squeezed his eyes shut, touching his aching head – it felt just like it had yesterday when his vision had gone nuts—

                            “Kent!” the coach snapped, his pale blue eyes piercing. “Are we boring you?”

                            Clark managed to open his eyes and look apologetically at the man. “No, I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s…my head hurts.”

                            “That’s because you need to get some blood pumping!” the coach declared, clapping his hands together. “C’mon! You and Ross are next. Come on down, boys.”

                            Clark and Pete shared a look, but they knew there was nothing for it. A minute later, they were clambering up the ropes, the coach egging Clark on. “Come on, put a little muscle into it! If Ross beats you, it’s ten laps. Come on, Clark, let’s go! Move it, move it!”

                            Clark did move, but Pete had gotten a head start and kept it, and he beat his bigger friend to the top by a foot. “Looks like someone’s doing laps,” he quipped as Clark caught up to him.

                            Clark tried to smile, but he felt oddly exhausted. His headache hadn’t really abated – in fact, it suddenly spiked. His vision flashed white – and he stared in shock at Pete. All the muscles in his body were suddenly visible, along with the veins and arteries that kept blood flowing among them.

                            Pete’s grin faded. “Clark, man, what’s wrong?” he asked. But Clark couldn’t answer – it was just too eerie, seeing the muscles in his friend’s face move as he spoke. “Clark, man, what’s wrong?” Pete asked again, but Clark was still too stunned – his headache was only getting worse—

                            —then his vision flashed and returned to normal, but as it did, the migraine surged violently, and he lost his grip on the rope. “Clark!” Pete yelled, watching helplessly as Clark plummeted to the floor.

                            Wham! Clark hit hard, and if it weren’t for his invulnerability, he would have broken more than one bone in his back. “Whoa! Kent, are you alright?” the coach asked. “What happened up there?”

                            Clark rolled onto his side, looking at the wall as he made to get up—

                            —and his vision flashed again. The wall went dark as inner details became visible, then just peeled away – and beyond it, he saw the girls’ locker room, and the girls were walking around in their underwear. He shook his head in shock, but it didn’t abate – he definitely wasn’t hallucinating. He looked on, unable to help himself for a moment…

                            …and his bizarrely-altered vision seemed to focus, like the lenses in his telescope, and he saw past the rows of lockers to the showers…

                            …and his mind went utterly blank. She was there, standing under the water, running her hands through her hair and over her bare skin, her eyes closed and her face showing simple pleasure, her entire body soaked and seeming to gleam…

                            Oh, God. She was even more beautiful than he’d imagined. He could see her – all of her. She turned around in a small circle, as if she were showing herself to him willingly, and his eyes drank in every lovely detail, every bit of her smooth and tanned skin, every curve and contour of her body…up and down he looked, smiling in awe and delight as this most sacred sight was revealed to him…

                            …and his eyes flooded with heat. He shut them, almost crying out in pain, but they didn’t stop burning – the image of Lana, utterly naked and wet, was now a delicious torment, and the fire raging within him was horribly potent—

                            “Kent!” The coach’s voice broke through his sudden pain, cold water dousing the fire within. He blinked his eyes open cautiously, feeling the heat recede…and he felt his head, realizing that the migraine had left him. The coach loomed over him, and despite his buzz-cut blond hair and gruff nature, his genuine concern was clear. “Do you need to see the nurse?”

                            Clark shook his head and accepted a hand up. “No, I’m fine,” he said. “But thanks.”

                            But he knew he was far from fine. Oh, he wasn’t physically hurt – and what he had just seen would only make his dreams all the more vivid and real. The thought almost made him smile – in that sense, he’d never been better. Unfortunately, there was also the matter of these weird flashes and the headaches that came with them – and on that point, he was feeling more than a little freaked out.

                            What the heck was happening to him?

                            * * * * *

                            “So when you have these flashes, you can see through anything?” Martha asked. “People, objects?”

                            Clark had made it through the rest of the day without any more of said flashes, and now he sat on the rocking chair in his living room, wearing a red long-sleeved shirt over his black T-shirt and faded jeans. “Sometimes I can see through things, other times it’s like an x-ray,” he clarified.

                            “And there’s no warning?” Jonathan asked. “This just happens?”

                            “Well, I get a headache, and then it hits me,” Clark said, getting up and walking over to plop his hands onto the frame of another chair. “This must be what happened yesterday, when I thought I was hallucinating.”

                            Martha nodded and tried to reassure him: “Clark, I’m sure there’s some way to control this.”

                            “Control this?” he echoed, feeling exasperated with the whole thing. “How am I supposed to control seeing through things?”

                            “You gotta practice, Clark,” she insisted. “Your eyes have muscles, just like your legs.”

                            “Your mom is right, son,” Jonathan said seriously, getting up from the table and walking over to him. “Look – all you have to do is a figure out a way to condition these flashes, so they won’t show up randomly.”

                            Clark felt bad for getting annoyed – his parents’ words made sense. “Sounds great in theory,” he agreed. “But how should I practice?”

                            “Maybe you could try focusing it,” Martha suggested, “like your telescope.”

                            That made him think of how his see-through – or x-ray? – vision had focused through the girls’ locker room – no. Now was not the time to think of that. He fought down a surge of embarrassment. Luckily, his parents didn’t notice – Jonathan was rifling into his left-side jeans pocket. “You could start…with something small,” he said, withdrawing his hand and holding it up as a clenched fist, obviously hiding something in it. “Try to tell me what I have in my hand right now.”

                            Clark looked at it for a moment. “Your pocketknife,” he said.

                            Jonathan opened his hand and held up the little knife. “You could see through my hand?” he asked seriously.

                            “No, you always carry your knife in that pocket,” Clark said. He stared at his dad’s serious face for a moment, then grinned sheepishly. Jonathan grinned back, chuckling. “Sorry to disappoint you, Dad. But I think you guys are on the right track.” He nodded thoughtfully, then glanced outside. “Maybe there’s some stuff in the barn I can practice with…”

                            * * * * *

                            “Lana, you have a visitor.”

                            Lana looked up from what she was doing in the garage, which stood away from the blue-painted house she and her aunt lived in. During her time as a cheerleader, she’d made it a point to get ahead on her homework – and ever since she’d quit the squad, a little over a week ago, that had left her with quite a bit more free time than usual. Rather than allow her to use it to, for example, search for more possible part-time jobs or spend time with the few real friends she had or especially visit the Kent Farm, Nell had insisted on her help with various chores that she herself had never bothered to do before. Lana was just sure it was a coincidence – as sure as she was that water was dry.

                            But the visitor in this case was someone she was genuinely glad to see – one of her long-time friends, Tina Greer. Though on the short side, she was still taller than Lana by a few inches, and her long brown hair flowed around her friendly features and over the dark purple jacket and white shirt she wore. “Tina,” Lana greeted her with a smile, “I didn’t see you at school today. Is everything alright?”

                            “Yeah, everything’s fine,” Tina assured her, her voice low and smooth. “My mom wasn’t feeling well – but she’s better now.” She smiled, then watched with arched eyebrows as Lana moved a green backpack into a blue plastic box. “So…you quit cheerleading, and Nell banishes you to the garage.”

                            Lana let out a dry laugh. “She’s got clutter issues that I’m trying to help her resolve.”

                            Tina smiled in sympathy. “Has she forgiven you for quitting the squad?”

                            “Not yet,” Lana admitted. “And that was Saturday before last. At this rate, she probably never will.”

                            “Well,” Tina shrugged, “at least now you have some more time for your unpopular friends.”

                            Lana looked at her, puzzled. “Tina, you’re not unpopular,” she said; Tina just glanced away and scoffed a little, clearly not convinced. “Besides, what happened to the girl who didn’t care what people thought about her?”

                            “She went to high school,” said Tina dryly.

                            Lana smiled, knowing exactly what her friend meant. “At least your mom doesn’t try to run your life.” She walked deeper into the garage to move some more things.

                            “Not anymore,” Tina agreed softly. Then she followed Lana, speaking normally: “You know, you’re lucky that Nell cares about you. I mean, if something were to happen to my mom, I don’t know anybody that would take me in. I’d probably be shipped off to a foster home or something.”

                            Lana gave her a dubious smile. “Thanks for that burst of cheer.”

                            “Well, what do you want me to say?” Tina asked. “You have the perfect life.”

                            Lana rolled her eyes a bit. “It’s Nell’s life, not mine. If you want it, you’re welcome to it.”

                            Tina glanced her over, taking in the blue jeans, purple shirt and pink jacket that she wore so well. “I’ll settle for the outfit,” she quipped, making Lana smile. Her own smile faded, though, as she watched the shorter girl set a dark blue box down. “Wouldn’t it be cool if we were sisters?” she said.

                            At that, Lana looked fully toward her, forgetting the box for the moment. Seeing that she had her friend’s attention completely, Tina went for it: “If anything happened to my mom, do you think that Nell would adopt me?”

                            Where the heck had that come from? “Tina, nothing’s going to happen to your mom,” Lana said, unnerved but trying to be reassuring.

                            Tina held her gaze for a long moment…then she smiled a little. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m sure nothing will. Just wondering.”

                            Lana nodded, smiling back…but something about Tina’s manner didn’t seem right. Her question had been so out of the blue, as if she were suddenly worried about losing her home…but why would she be? The antique shop that her mother, Rose Greer, ran was doing well enough if not spectacularly well, and Tina had said that her mother was doing better after that illness…

                            Nonetheless, even after Tina headed off, Lana couldn’t help but wonder. Trying to distract herself, she turned to a big cardboard box, its lid covered with dust. She carefully blew the dust off and opened it, revealing pompoms in the red and yellow of Smallville High. She reached past them, having spotted a gleam, and found a snow globe containing what looked like an angel holding a Christmas wreath. She turned it over and let the little “snowflakes” flutter around, smiling as she watched, then set it aside and dug through the box, firmly putting the pompoms aside. She smiled as she found a white boot and shirt, setting them aside as well…

                            …and then she found the book with the simple yet elegant reddish cover and the little lock. She popped the lock and opened the book…and sure enough, it was a diary.

                            Her mother’s diary.

                            She began reading it, utterly enraptured…and the more she read, the harder she found it to control her surging emotions.

                            A short time later, Nell Potter paused the work she was doing on the cake she’d baked, having heard the front door open and slam shut– and she saw that her niece looked upset. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

                            Lana took several angry steps forward, plunked the diary against the counter and said without preamble, “You lied to me about my mother.” Then she turned and stormed out of the house, taking the book with her, and Nell was left staring after her in bewilderment.

                            * * * * *

                            Clark was staring at his piggy bank – well, actually, pigskin bank, since it was made to look like a football. So far, he’d had no luck seeing through things on command – there hadn’t even been another random flash. He was starting to wonder if this was just some kind of weird alien disease that would pass in a few days – some part of him hoped that might be the case.

                            “Whatcha doing, Clark?”

                            He looked up in surprise from his seat on the stairs to the loft, not having expected to see Lana. He gritted his teeth for a moment, trying to fight down the remembrance of the incident in the gym, then smiled at her as he stood up. “Just trying to figure out how much change I have.”

                            She nodded as she walked forward, her expression seemingly casual – but he could see something else in it, something that spoke of hurt and upset. “You could always take it out and count it,” she remarked.

                            “Well, yeah,” he admitted, smiling sheepishly, “but where’s the fun in that?” He set the pigskin bank aside and looked at her gently. “What’s wrong, Lana?”

                            She sighed, giving up her futile effort to hide her pain – besides, she’d come here for help in dealing with it, not to test her skill at masking it. “I just found out how low my aunt will sink to mold me into something I’m not,” she said rather bitterly. “She’s lied to me about my own mother.”

                            Clark touched her shoulder in concern, then gently guided her to sit on the steps with him. “I was cleaning out the garage today, and I found some of my mom’s old things in a cardboard box,” she began. “Her diary was in there – from her time at Smallville High.”

                            He blinked, raising his eyebrows. “Wow,” he whispered. “Isn’t that good news?”

                            “It is,” she said, “but it’s also scary. Once I started reading it, I couldn’t put it down until I’d finished…and the more I read those words, the more it felt like I’d written them. Some of the things I’ve felt and gone through lately – she felt them too, and she wrote it all down.” She shook her head. “She hated cheerleading, just like I did, but she was afraid to quit – but Nell said that she loved it. She felt suffocated here in Smallville and wanted to leave, to go see the world – but Nell claimed that she wanted to stay here forever. She hated seeing people get pushed around, and she wanted to speak out – but Nell pretended that she was happy with her fellow students.”

                            Lana shook her head again, her face showing a mix of disgust, anger, regret, sorrow, and wonder. Clark looked at her sympathetically, taking it all in. “Wow,” he whispered again. “I see what you mean about it being scary.” He gently took her hand, running his thumb over it.

                            She nodded, smiling wistfully at him. “It was so eerie, how much like me she sounded,” she whispered, “almost like she could see right through me. You ever feel like that?”

                            He half-smiled, half-grimaced. “More than you know.”

                            She glanced down, then at the open barn door and towards the sky. “It was like she was talking to me,” she went on. “Not just what I’d imagine her saying in the graveyard, but things she’d actually say.” She sighed and shook her head a little. “But when I reached the end, she went silent again.”

                            He looked down himself, then at her again. “Well…at least you have that, Lana,” he said softly. “That’s a lot more than I have.”

                            “Yeah,” she murmured, looking sad nonetheless. Then she looked at him curiously. “Have you ever wondered about your parents? I mean your biological parents,” she amended, wincing.

                            He shrugged a little. “Sometimes, yeah. But I try not to – I figure they’re a million miles away from my life by now.”

                            She nodded slightly. “If you could ask them something, what would you ask?”

                            He didn’t even have to think about the answer – or question, rather. “What happened? Why did they let me go? How do I make sense of all the weirdness in my life?”

                            She looked out the door again, smiling sadly. “I guess neither of us will ever get a straight answer, huh?”

                            He shrugged again and smiled reassuringly. “You still might – or at least the next best thing. Don’t give up, Lana. You should keep looking.”

                            She nodded more firmly than before, a hint of determination in her eyes. Then she tilted her head a little and asked, “Is something wrong on your end, Clark? I mean – you looked at me a bit strangely when I came in.”

                            He pressed his lips together, looking away from her for a long moment. How could he possibly explain that? How could he even begin?

                            But it was only a moment. He knew that he couldn’t hide it from her, even if he wanted to – and he didn’t. Best to start at the beginning, then. He squared his shoulders, swallowing a bit, then took a deep breath as he turned his head to face her again. “Lana, something really strange happened yesterday,” he began, seeing that he had her full attention. “During that bank robbery – and I don’t mean the fact that the thief looked like Lex. I—”

                            “Clark?”

                            Both teenagers jolted as if they’d been stung by electrical shocks and looked towards the barn door. Martha stood there in her silvery-gray coat, and she looked instantly apologetic for startling them. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Hello, Lana,” she said, smiling kindly.

                            “Hi, Mrs. Kent,” Lana said softly, smiling in return.

                            Clark tried not to feel annoyed that his mother had interrupted them, especially during an important talk. “What is it, Mom?” he asked, keeping his voice even.

                            Martha didn’t notice the hint of irritation – or if she did, she simply didn’t show it. “I need to go into town to run a couple of errands,” she said. “I could use a little help, but your father has some chores to do before the evening. Do you mind?”

                            Truth be told, Clark did mind – but he immediately felt bad for thinking that. Torn, he turned back towards Lana – and she forestalled him with a little smile and a gentle pat on the arm. “It’s okay,” she said very softly. “It can wait until later. Come find me when you’re ready.”

                            He smiled a little back, nodded once, then rose to his feet and walked her to the door before heading off with his mother. He wasn’t going to forget this appointment.

                            * * * * *

                            A while later, he was walking down the street, passing a largely unused building with deep pink walls – an old movie theater called the Talon – that shared space with the flower shop run by Lana’s aunt. His mother needed to pop into the antique shop nearby, run by the mother of one of Lana’s oldest friends, and he intended to meet her there.

                            Suddenly, a blistering headache struck him, and he stopped in his tracks as he tried to recover. Oh, no – not again.

                            Sure enough, his vision flashed and turned blue, showing the outlines of objects and the skeletons of walking people. He wanted to groan in frustration. Why couldn’t this happen when he wanted it to?

                            A woman nodded to him as she walked past, and he nodded back, watching her for a moment – then he looked towards the antique shop—

                            And there it was. The skeleton with pulsing patches of meteor-rock green walked up to the door of the shop, unlocking it – and just then, his vision flashed back to normal. It was Tina Greer, the very friend of Lana’s whose mother ran the shop.

                            He stared after her in shock as she vanished inside – and then his mother’s voice said, “Clark?” He turned to look at her, seeing the concern on her face. “Did it happen again?” she asked. He nodded, and she looked even more worried. “Let’s go home.”

                            “No, Mom, I’m okay,” he said gently. And then something occurred to him – something so fortuitous that he couldn’t be sure it was simple coincidence. “Didn’t you need to go to the antique store?”

                            She nodded, not looking convinced that he was okay, and they headed over. Clark could hardly believe his luck – maybe this way, he could perform a bit of discreet investigation while his mother kept the Greers occupied with ordinary business. Coincidence? Or Providence giving him a bit of help?

                            He decided to put the philosophical question aside for now – he had work to do. He followed Martha into the shop as she called out, “Hello?”

                            For a long moment, there was no answer – then Rose Greer appeared from around a corner. “Mrs. Kent,” she said, sounding surprised, as she walked behind the counter. “I-I mean Martha. How are you?”

                            “Good,” Martha said amiably. “How’s business?”

                            “Couldn’t be better,” Rose said, seeming vaguely nervous. “I’m doing so many estate sales in Metropolis, I’m thinking of selling the place.”

                            “That would be a shame,” said Martha, surprised. “I thought you loved the store.”

                            “Not really,” said Rose flatly. “I never wanted this life – it just kind of happened.”

                            Clark wasn’t convinced of that – unfortunately, he couldn’t tell for sure with his eyes alone. The mysterious x-ray vision was refusing to return on command, despite his concentration. “Is Tina around?” he asked casually. “I thought I saw her come in.”

                            “Uh, she’s at Lana’s,” Rose said, and he thought she had flinched for a moment – then again, maybe not. “They’re inseparable these days.”

                            “Really?” he said, grinning. “I could’ve sworn that—”

                            “You must be seeing things,” Rose said, smiling back.

                            Well, that wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. He glanced away, trying once more to summon the x-ray – no dice. Frankly, he was getting a migraine just from banging his head against the problem. “I need some air,” he said to his mother. “I’m gonna go for a walk.”

                            She nodded and patted his shoulder, and as he walked over to the door and headed out, he heard her asking Rose about the lamp she’d been restoring for his dad. He sighed, feeling a little embarrassed, and began walking up the street. Could he have been so determined to solve the mystery behind that robbery that he’d imagined seeing the culprit?

                            A couple of minutes later, he decided to head back towards the shop and meet up with his mother – but as it came into sight, he heard the sudden roar of an engine. His heart leaped into his throat in shock – their blue GMC truck was roaring along the sidewalk, and it had just almost run his mother over! He ran towards her, seeing the truck swerve back out into traffic and around a corner, clipping a car and nearly smashing a second in the process. “Mom!” he exclaimed, reaching her side and helping her up. “Are you alright?!”

                            “Clark,” she whispered, stunned and frightened, and pulled herself into his embrace. He held her gently against him, staring after the stolen truck – he had a very nasty feeling that he knew what had happened.

                            So much for him imagining things.

                            * * * * *

                            The shadows were getting long as twilight approached, and Clark and his mom had returned home. “Police found the truck,” his dad reported, walking to the table to join them. “Abandoned out by the Stewart farm.”

                            “Did anybody else see the driver?” Clark asked, voice crisp but calm.

                            “No,” Jonathan said regretfully, sitting down opposite his son.

                            “I could’ve sworn it was you, Clark,” Martha said, half-apologetic and half-bewildered.

                            He gave her a sympathetic smile. “Guess I’m not the only one whose vision is acting up.” It was a lame pun, though – not so deep down, he knew that faulty vision was the least of their problems.

                            “Look, I don’t understand,” Jonathan said seriously. “Whoever it was, how did they get your keys?”

                            “I have no idea,” Martha said, clearly frustrated. “I only went into the antique—”

                            She stopped, as if something had dawned on her. “What is it, Mom?” Clark pressed her gently.

                            “Nothing,” she said, but she couldn’t quite believe it. “It’s just that Rose Greer was acting very strange. I found five thousand dollars in cash under a dresser. It had a Smallville Savings and Loan band on it.” She gestured demonstratively with her fingers. “She said a customer paid her, but—”

                            “You think it’s from the bank robbery?” he only half-asked.

                            “It crossed my mind,” she agreed.

                            I knew it, he thought grimly. It was Tina. All the pieces were fitting into place.

                            “So wait a minute,” Jonathan said skeptically. “Rose took your keys, turned into Clark, and then tried to run you down?”

                            “You’re right,” said Martha, sounding ashamed. “It’s crazy.”

                            “No, it’s not,” said Clark quietly. “It all makes sense now.”

                            “What do you mean, son?” Jonathan asked, confused.

                            Clark stood up and walked over to a wooden cabinet. “I got another random flash when I was walking down the street,” he said. “I saw Tina Greer’s skeleton. It was the same one from the bank robbery – all weird and green. It didn’t look human – you know, like the ones you see in anatomy books.”

                            Martha wasn’t terribly surprised to hear that. “That’s probably because Tina was born with a soft-bone disease,” she explained. “They had that poor girl on all these experimental drugs. Doctors didn’t believe she’d live to see first grade.”

                            “She did get better,” Jonathan pointed out, “right around her third birthday.”

                            A look of comprehension came over him as Clark pointed a little. “And that was right after the meteor shower, wasn’t it?”

                            “Yeah,” Jonathan confirmed, nodding.

                            “It figures,” Clark muttered. He cleared his throat and spoke normally: “The meteors must’ve mutated Tina like those other people – they healed her bones, but also gave her the ability to shift them and her skin, to change her appearance. That’s how she impersonated Lex and her mom and me.” Something else occurred to him. “And you know, no ordinary human should’ve been able to throw me through a shop window. Her muscles must be supercharged or something.”

                            His parents traded a shocked look – they couldn’t deny that it all added up. “What can we tell the police?” Martha wondered.

                            “Nothing yet,” Clark said grimly. “I still haven’t gotten this x-ray thing under control. If I could do that, we could find some definite proof – something good enough to get Tina arrested and completely clear Lex’s name. But until then, she can become whoever she wants – and I’m the only one who stands a chance of telling the difference right away.”

                            At that, Jonathan hopped up from the table. “Then let’s not dawdle,” he said. “Come on, son – let’s head back to the barn and see if we can crack this open.”

                            * * * * *

                            Night had fallen, and despite her own reluctance, Lana was walking up the path to her home. She had wandered a bit aimlessly around, wishing that she hadn’t had to leave the Kent Farm – she would’ve felt much more comfortable there, in the presence of people she trusted, than here, in the presence of someone who had damaged her trust.

                            “Lana,” that very person said as she walked up the steps of the porch, “I didn’t lie to you. I told you your mother would’ve been proud of you, and she would’ve. She loved you.”

                            Lana was in no mood to let Nell get off easy, though. “You did lie to me,” she said firmly but quietly. “You told me a fairy tale about a young woman who led the perfect life. Nothing about that life was real for her. She didn’t want to be a cheerleader or to stay in Smallville, and she didn’t get along with most people – she hid in a book when she saw others being mistreated. She wanted to escape her life and see the world.”

                            “What should I have told you?” Nell asked flatly. “That your mother was unhappy?”

                            “That would’ve been better than pretending she was okay with everything,” Lana insisted.

                            “I told you what I thought you could handle,” said her aunt – and despite her gentle tone, the words only seemed condescending. “Your mother was like any other teenager. She had her ups and her downs.”

                            “She had a lot more than that,” said Lana, shaking her head. “She had so many worries and hopes and fears, and she kept them all hidden – the diary was the only place she let them out. But you would’ve seen some of them, wouldn’t you?” Nell flinched a bit; it only confirmed Lana’s suspicion. “You knew that she wasn’t happy – but you pretended that she had been.”

                            “That diary belonged to a seventeen-year-old girl,” Nell said, trying to exonerate herself. “It’s just one time in her life, just a snapshot—”

                            “It’s a time that I relate to more than I ever thought I would,” Lana cut her off. “When I read her words, it’s like I wrote them myself. She went through a lot of the things I’m going through.” She stared hard into her aunt’s dark blue eyes. “Did you really think that all I could handle was a bunch of lies? Do you even realize how much that hurts me, Nell? I’ve spent all this time trying to live up to a Laura Lang who never existed. None of those things you told me fit her – they fit you. You’ve rewritten her history to suit what you thought was a story of a good life.” She shook her head, trying not to let her eyes get moist. “Please, don’t do that anymore. I want the truth. No more lies.”

                            Nell sighed, unable to argue. “Alright,” she said softly, getting to her feet. “The truth is, your mother was the brightest, most beautiful girl in her class. Did the diary mention that she was picked to give the graduation speech?”

                            Lana shook her head. “No. I guess it didn’t go far enough. What happened?”

                            “Oh, you should’ve heard the speech she gave,” Nell said, sounding rather awed even now. “She let out everything that had been bubbling up inside her. She said that she felt suffocated in Smallville.”

                            That definitely sounded more like the woman who’d written the diary. “Do you have a copy?” Lana asked softly.

                            “No,” Nell admitted regretfully, “but I’ll never forget that first line: ‘I never made a difference here, but maybe my children can.’”

                            * * * * *

                            The next day at school, Clark was struggling to make a difference. Despite all the attempts he and his dad had made yesterday before dinner, the x-ray vision stayed tauntingly out of his control. Frankly, he was getting frustrated. What was it going to take?

                            Right now, he was focusing on Tina Greer as she leaned against a wall, wearing the same outfit Lana had worn yesterday. So far, she didn’t seem to have noticed his attention – unfortunately, his vision wouldn’t cooperate. Come on, he thought, irritated. Give me a break here.

                            It didn’t. He sighed and looked down, giving up for the moment.

                            “Clark?” came Pete’s voice. “Everything okay, man?”

                            He looked up to see Pete and Chloe looking at him in concern. “I’m fine,” he said softly. Then he glanced aside and asked, “Have you guys ever noticed anything strange about Tina Greer?”

                            They looked at Tina in puzzlement – she didn’t notice them either. “Nothing except the amount of time she spends idolizing Lana,” Pete said.

                            “Yeah, she’s practically her clone,” Chloe chuckled.

                            Clark looked down, feeling a little embarrassed for asking. Chloe and Pete left him to go to lunch while he tried not to start literally banging his head against the wall. It wouldn’t do any good – if anything, he’d be committing vandalism. He just wished that the wall in his head could be as breakable.

                            He didn’t even notice Whitney Fordman walking by, giving him a dark look. But he did notice when Lana came up to him in a light grayish-blue outfit, showing even more concern than Pete and Chloe combined. “What’s wrong, Clark?”

                            He looked at her and sighed a bit, feeling relieved to have a truly sympathetic ear. “Oh, I’m just frustrated,” he admitted. “It’s a really personal problem that I just can’t seem to solve.”

                            “Ouch,” she murmured. “I know the feeling all too well.”

                            He nodded in understanding – she’d met him outside the school today and told him what Nell had told her about her mother and the graduation address of 1977. “You haven’t found anything yet?”

                            “No,” she said. “I was hoping to talk to Chloe and see if the Torch has the speech in its archives.”

                            He shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, you just missed Chloe – she and Pete went on ahead to lunch.”

                            “Nuts,” Lana sighed. “At this rate, I might never—”

                            “Lana!” Tina called, sounding delighted. Apparently, she’d just now noticed their conversation. Clark winced at yet another interruption as she walked up to them. “How do you like the sweater?”

                            “It’s great,” Lana said, trying to be upbeat. “I have one just like it.”

                            “I know,” Tina grinned. “I got it at the same store. I’ve been going on this shopping spree. Hey, look.” She pulled at a chain around her neck, revealing the pendant hanging from it. “I even found this emerald necklace in the antique store.”

                            Clark tried not to wince again, but he might as well have tried not to react to the presence of a meteor rock. That emerald reminded him far too strongly of the stone that had once hung around Lana’s neck, preventing him from coming anywhere near her without falling over and feeling sick to his stomach.

                            Lana didn’t react any better to it, but she did a better job of hiding her discomfort. “That’s cool, Tina,” she said, trying to figure a way out of the conversation.

                            Tina, however, was just getting started. “Are you okay?” she asked, sounding genuinely concerned. “I stopped by your house earlier, but Nell said you weren’t in the best mood, so…”

                            I bet she did, Lana thought grimly. She still hadn’t forgiven her aunt for deceiving her about her mother. “I’m fine,” she said, wearing a fake smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

                            “Good,” Tina said, “because I need a favor.” She seemed to have forgotten that Clark was even present – she was too intent on her conversation with Lana. “My mom is moving to Metropolis full-time – but she doesn’t want to pull me out of school. So I was thinking I could stay with you and Nell.”

                            To say that Clark and Lana were taken aback would be to say that the sun was awfully warm. “For how long?” Lana asked, stunned.

                            “I don’t know,” Tina murmured, as if she hadn’t considered that. “A couple of months. I mean, my mom would pay you guys. Trust me, money is not a problem.”

                            I’m sure it isn’t, Clark thought darkly.

                            “Just name your price,” Tina went on enthusiastically. “I could even get a horse, and we could go riding together. I mean, wouldn’t that be cool?”

                            It was too much too soon for Lana, but she tried to be diplomatic. “Yeah, just give me some time to think about it,” she said. “Are you sure your mom’s okay with this?”

                            “Is she okay with it?” Tina almost laughed. “It was her idea. She knows that we’re best friends.”

                            “Well, just let me run it by Nell first,” Lana tried to stall. “She’s kind of particular.”

                            That’s kind of an understatement, Clark thought wryly, hiding an amused smile.

                            “Nell loves me,” Tina said. She looked confused and hurt. “Look, I don’t understand. I thought that you’d be happy. I can’t count how many people have said that we look alike, that we could be sisters.”

                            There was just one problem with that scenario, Clark thought – he couldn’t imagine Lana having a bank-robbing sister. Even without knowing about that part, Lana didn’t seem any more convinced. “I’m just not sure it’s such a good idea,” she said gently.

                            “Oh,” said Tina flatly. She scoffed a bit. “Okay, I see, so it was all a lie? I mean, you were just pretending to like me, and then when I come to you in my hour of need, you’re just gonna blow me off?”

                            Clark winced, and Lana felt upset herself. “Tina, calm down—”

                            “No, you should’ve said yes, Lana!” Tina snapped. “It would have been perfect.” She all but spat the word in Lana’s face and stomped to her locker, yanked it open and threw her binder and the emerald necklace into it. Clark grimaced as she slammed it shut, locked it, and stormed off. These were not the actions of a particularly rational person.

                            Lana looked between him and the departed Tina in hurt and confusion. “What did I do wrong?” she asked. “I don’t understand what’s gotten into her.”

                            Clark sighed, wishing he could take all her pain away. “I think I do,” he said softly. “Why don’t you go on to lunch? I’ll catch up in a minute – I have a hunch, and I want to see if I can prove it.”

                            Lana nodded, wondering what hunch that could be, and walked off, though not without a puzzled look. Clark walked over to Tina’s locker, glancing around to make sure the girl was gone. Then he turned to stare at it, focusing.

                            Nothing happened. He scowled, feeling thoroughly irritated. He didn’t have time for this – he had to see in, right now.

                            Still nothing. He clenched his fists in frustration. For God’s sake, Tina was almost certainly the bank robber! She’d caused a lot of damage already – she’d smeared Lex’s good name, she’d almost killed his mom, and now she’d upset Lana, the absolute last person who deserved—

                            His vision flashed white, not even a trace of a headache coming with it, and the locker door simply faded away.

                            He blinked in surprise, then grinned. Yes! It was about time! He focused on what he could see – right now, it was a red and black backpack, almost definitely the same one that the robber had been carrying. He looked at it intently, trying to see inside it – and the fabric helpfully opened up, revealing the bundles of money inside, each held with the band of the Smallville Savings and Loan.

                            Gotcha, he thought, unable to help a surge of triumph—

                            “Clark!”

                            He ripped his gaze away from the locker, surprised. “What’s your glitch, huh?” demanded Tina. “Why do you keep staring at me?”

                            He tried not to wince. Damn it – she had noticed. “Uh, I don’t know,” he said mildly, well aware of how lame that sounded. “Sorry.”

                            He turned and walked away, feeling her eyes on him until he got out of her sight. All thought of going to lunch had fled – suddenly, he had no appetite. He couldn’t wait until school was over to do something about this. He had to let his parents know, and then he had to let the police know.

                            He fetched his backpack and super-sped home, finding his parents in the barn. They turned at the sound of the door opening. “Clark, what are you doing home so early?” Martha asked, concerned.

                            “More vision problems?” Jonathan guessed.

                            If only, Clark thought, walking up to them. “No – I controlled it. Once – I concentrated, and it worked.”

                            “That’s great!” Martha exclaimed.

                            “What’d you concentrate on?” Jonathan asked almost eagerly.

                            “Tina Greer’s locker,” he said grimly.

                            They got a sinking feeling. “What did you see?” Martha asked softly.

                            “The money from the bank robbery,” he said.

                            Jonathan grimaced and shared a look with Martha. “Well, how do we tell the police?”

                            Clark had already thought of that. “I’ll call them with an anonymous tip,” he said. “Then I’ll speed back to school and keep an eye out, make sure they find the money. I don’t want Tina to get away.”
                            Last edited by superman_lives_on; 07-10-2010, 04:59 PM.

                            Comment


                            • #15
                              The Chronicles of Smallville: X-Ray

                              * * * * *

                              Fortunately, the police did indeed find the money – unfortunately, they didn’t find Tina. To be fair, they weren’t automatically convinced that she was the culprit. They simply wanted to bring her in for questioning, and they went by the antique store to inform her mother. Nonetheless, the news traveled quickly around town – Chloe was quick to seize on the story for the Torch.

                              By the time night fell, there was still no sign of Tina, and Clark was getting worried. He had the nasty feeling that she knew he had exposed her, and he feared what she might do in retaliation. However, he’d seen not a trace of her since she’d confronted him at the lockers. He was pondering these thoughts in the loft when he heard footsteps. He looked up – and immediately rose to his feet, feeling pleased. “Lana.”

                              She smiled at him, wearing a yellow hooded jacket over a dark green shirt now, as she walked up to him. “Hey. I saw the light on and figured you were up here.”

                              He nodded, grinning. “Guilty as charged.”

                              She nodded back, then got right to it: “Did you hear about Tina? They found the money from the robbery in her locker.”

                              Who hadn’t heard by now? “Yeah, I did,” he said softly. “Remember that hunch I mentioned to you? That was it. I’m the one who told the police it was there.”

                              Lana nodded again, looking disturbed. “Can you believe she actually cornered me like that?” she said, sounding like she still hadn’t taken it all in. “Wanting to live with me and Nell, making up that story about her mom moving to Metropolis?”

                              “I know,” he said, smiling dryly. “Just what you need: a bank-robbing roommate.”

                              “Tell me about it,” she moaned. “I’ve got enough problems with Nell without adding this to the mix.”

                              He grimaced, feeling bad for her. “You two are still fighting, huh?”

                              “Yeah,” she sighed. “She wants me to be something I’m not, something I can’t be.” She shook her head a bit. “It’s like having a dual identity. There’s the person that everybody sees…and the person that you want to be.”

                              At that, he found himself smiling in sympathy. “I know what that’s like,” he said softly.

                              “That’s why I came here,” she said, looking at him intently. “I think you’re the only person who sees me for who I truly am. I want to thank you for that.”

                              Her eyes became incredibly intense, and he realized what kind of thanks she meant a moment before she gave it – she slipped her hands onto his neck and leaned up to kiss him. He didn’t hesitate to kiss her back, slipping his arms around her – that was his way of saying, “You’re welcome.”

                              After a very passionate moment, she pulled back, smiling with wet lips. “Be honest with me, Clark,” she whispered, her voice very quiet and husky. “Are you in love with me?”

                              He let out a raspy breath, his heart nearly stopping. Even after that searing first kiss just downstairs, over a month ago, he hadn’t seriously though this question would come so soon. “Oh, God, yes,” he vowed. “More than you know, Lana.”

                              She smiled even wider, her eyes shining in the dim light. “Good,” she whispered. “Because, as it happens…I’m in love with you.”

                              With that, she resumed kissing him eagerly, hungrily, rather wetly, and he resumed giving as good as he got—

                              But wait a minute. Something wasn’t right. Her lips didn’t feel quite right – they were too wet, too fumbling, too sloppy. On that sudden hunch, he pulled back from her, opening his eyes—

                              —and he saw her face stretch and shift, changing into one not quite as smooth or lovely, her eyes losing the brown and becoming a dark, hard, cold shade of green. His heart and stomach lurched in sudden horror.

                              “I don’t know how you found out about that money,” Tina said quietly, and gripped his black-and-blue sweater, pulling him closer to her. “But you should’ve stayed out of my life, Clark!” she snapped, and shoved him away hard.

                              CRASH! The wooden wall of the barn splintered into several large pieces as he flew right through it, plummeting onto the blue truck beneath and smashing the windshield as he landed. Tina gazed after him coldly, then turned and walked away, certain that he was dead.

                              He lay there for a moment, dazed and stunned. The blow hadn’t exactly hurt, but it had surprised him. He groaned and rubbed at his head, more annoyed with himself than anything else, and began to climb out. For crying out loud, why hadn’t he been more careful? He should’ve figured that Tina would come after him – and how better to do that than in the shape of Lana?

                              His parents came running outside, having heard the noise of the crash. “What happened?” Martha exclaimed, looking between the damaged truck and barn wall in shock. “Are you alright?”

                              “I’m fine, Mom,” Clark assured her. “But Tina was here a minute ago. She came after me disguised as Lana, caught me off guard.”

                              “Good grief,” Jonathan muttered, and hurried into the barn to get a flashlight.

                              “I don’t think she’s around anymore,” Clark said, feeling his gut churning. “I’m worried about who else she might attack. She got really upset at Lana today, just before I found the money in her locker.” He glanced between his mom and his returning dad. “I need to find Lana, make sure she’s okay.”

                              Without stopping to hear their input, he turned and sped away, blurring through the night. He reached the Potter house very quickly, and he stood a safe distance outside, not wanting to risk arousing Nell Potter’s ire – he was well aware that she didn’t approve of Lana befriending him.

                              He focused on the house, his heart pounding – and the x-ray vision kicked right in, though it was more the see-through variety currently. He scanned the house and found Nell easily enough – but she was alone. There was no sign of Lana or Tina at all.

                              He looked away, letting it flash off, and considered – where might Lana be at this hour? The answer came to him instantly, and he sped over to the cemetery. Sure enough, there she knelt at her parents’ gravestone. He scanned her briefly, his vision truly becoming an x-ray – not a bit of green inside her. She was still wearing the blue jacket and shirt from earlier, and he felt even dumber for not seeing through Tina’s disguise on his own.

                              Lana looked up, her face showing surprise and concern. “Clark?” she asked, rising to her feet.

                              He walked hurriedly over to her, immensely relieved that she was okay, and pulled her into a hug. “I was worried about you,” he murmured. “I didn’t see you at home.”

                              She hugged him back, though he could feel her confusion. “I’m fine,” she assured him gently. Then a thought struck her. “Is this about Tina?”

                              “Yes,” he said, letting her move back so he could meet her eyes. “I was right in my hunch, Lana. I’m the one who found out that she was the bank robber and alerted the police. She found out somehow and came after me.”

                              “What?” Lana gasped. “Oh my God – did she—”

                              “No, she didn’t manage to hurt me,” he assured her. “But it was a close thing. I’m just lucky she didn’t have any meteor rock handy.”

                              “I’ll say!” she exclaimed. “How’d she manage to sneak up on you?”

                              He grimaced. “She didn’t really sneak up – she was hiding in plain sight.” He cleared his throat a bit. “Remember how everyone thought the robber was Lex?” She nodded. “That’s because Tina was infected by the meteors – she can shift to look and sound like anyone. When she came after me, she was disguised as you.”

                              “Oh, no,” Lana groaned. “Then she could be anyone right now!”

                              “Exactly,” said Clark, wiping at his head a bit. “She was awfully convincing – or maybe I just wasn’t paying enough attention. I honestly thought she was you. And she impersonated me yesterday to try to kill my mom.”

                              Lana covered her mouth, her eyes wide – she was clearly horrified. “How could she do such things?” she whispered, stunned; her eyes seemed moist at this betrayal of trust by one of her best friends. “How could she…” She shook her head, getting very upset. “God, Clark – this is horrible!”

                              “I know,” he said softly, and pulled her into another hug. “I’m sorry.”

                              She shook in his arms, starting to audibly cry – and for a while, he just held her while she let it out. He kept watchful eyes out, but there was no sign of anyone else – thankfully no Tina. His jaw tightened – nobody had the right to upset Lana like this. Nobody.

                              Eventually, she calmed down, though she was clearly still hurting over Tina’s crimes – and he knew, with a deep pang, that this would haunt her for a while. She sniffed, her face streaked with silvery tears, and he gave her a gentle look as he wiped the trails away. “I hate seeing you upset, Lana,” he whispered. “I’d do anything for you to not have to be.”

                              “I know, Clark,” she whispered, her expression earnest and tender. “And I’m so grateful for that. I’m so glad you’re still here.”

                              He nodded slightly, then cupped her face and leaned in close, giving her a reassuring kiss. She whimpered slightly and wrapped her arms around him, clearly not wanting to let go of him – as if she feared he might disappear. He wrapped his arms around her in turn, making it plain without any words that he would never disappear on her – ever.

                              After a long minute, they parted, and he stroked her cheek as they looked into each other’s eyes. For another minute, neither of them spoke…then he took a deep breath, knowing that she deserved a fuller explanation even if she would never ask for one. Besides, he had an appointment to keep. He gently guided her to sit down with him, holding her hands. “Remember yesterday, in the barn, when I said that something strange happened during the bank robbery?”

                              She nodded. “Yeah. You didn’t get to tell me – your mom interrupted us.”

                              “Right,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Well, as I was saying, before we were interrupted” – she giggled a bit, and he smiled, relieved that she was already in slightly better spirits – “I don’t mean the fact that the thief looked like Lex. Of course, now I know why she did – but anyway…after ‘he’ threw me through that shop window and I was lying on the floor, my vision went crazy for a second.”

                              “Crazy?” Lana echoed.

                              He nodded. “It flashed and turned all different shades of blue – and I could see things in outline only, and I saw the thief’s skeleton. But it was all wrong, all pulsing with green. It only lasted for a second – I thought for a while that I was hallucinating. But it happened again just yesterday, several times – and today, I figured out how to control it.” He swallowed a bit. “I can see through things, Lana. Sometimes it’s like an x-ray, sometimes it’s actually seeing through things that are otherwise solid.”

                              “Wow,” she whispered, her eyes wide. “So that’s how you figured out the truth about Tina – because you could see the lasting effects the meteors had on her.”

                              “Exactly,” he said. “And that’s how I knew the money was in her locker – I saw right through the door and her backpack.” He looked away for a moment, feeling dumb. “When ‘you’ came into the loft tonight, I should’ve checked to make sure it was you. I thought she might realize that I’d ratted her out – but it didn’t occur to me that she’d come directly after me.” He looked at Lana again. “I thought she’d go after other people – the ones I care for most.”

                              She wasn’t terribly surprised to hear that, but she was touched – she knew he meant her and his parents. “That’s because you’re so selfless, Clark,” she said softly, stroking his cheek. “I’ve seen how upset you get when someone else is being mistreated, or when they’re suffering in some other way that you can’t help. I’ve never known any other guy who cares so deeply for other people, even those he doesn’t know at all.”

                              He smiled at that, touched in return. “Well,” he said softly, “I guess we’re lucky that Tina doesn’t know me like you do. If she did, I don’t think she’d hesitate to use you or my parents or my friends against me.”

                              “Let’s hope she never gets a clue, then,” said Lana solemnly.

                              Clark nodded just as solemnly, and he took a moment to admire her in the moonlight. She was incredible, truly…so beautiful inside and out, so very special… And then he felt his cheeks heat up – he remembered, without meaning to, how he had seen her only yesterday, during that incident in the gym.

                              She noticed his sudden discomfort. “Clark, what is it?” she asked softly but firmly.

                              He looked down, then took a deep breath. This wouldn’t be easy, at all – but there was no way he could keep it from her. “Lana,” he began, “I owe you a huge apology.”

                              She blinked, puzzled. “For what?”

                              He swallowed hard, trying to speak despite his nervousness…and somehow, the words came out. “The second time my x-ray vision flashed on randomly, I was in the gym. I was on the ropes with Pete, and I was looking right at him – and suddenly, I could see all the muscles and blood vessels in his body. I was completely shocked – and then the headache I kept getting with the flashes got worse, and I lost my grip and fell to the floor.”

                              “Oh, ouch,” Lana whispered, wincing.

                              “Tell me about it,” he said softly, almost smiling wryly. But then he cleared his throat again and nervously continued: “I was more stunned than hurt – but when I looked up, my vision flashed again, and I could see right through the wall – into the girls’ locker room. And all the girls were in their underwear.” He swallowed as her eyes widened in surprise. “I tried to shut it off, but it kept showing me – and I know I should’ve just looked away, but I didn’t. I felt drawn to it.”

                              He hesitated, and she giggled a bit. “Well, I can understand why.” She smiled reassuringly, hoping to soothe him. “It’s oddly good to know that you’re pretty normal in that respect, Clark. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of – you didn’t hurt anyone.”

                              “I only wish that were true,” he said, feeling very ashamed indeed. “Because as I looked, my vision suddenly focused – and I saw past the lockers, into the showers.” He swallowed, then came out with it: “I saw you.”

                              He couldn’t bear to look at her after that – not that he needed to, he was sure. Just from the way she became rigid, he could easily imagine the look of utter shock on her face, her eyes wide and her mouth open…and he could imagine her getting incensed. He couldn’t expect her to react so well to the news that he’d seen her naked not quite by accident.

                              “I’m so sorry, Lana,” he whispered, his head drooping in shame. “I can imagine how upset you must be – and I don’t blame you one bit.” He shifted nervously – she wasn’t speaking at all, wasn’t making a single noise. “Um…I should probably go,” he said nervously, his heart pounding in fear, and began to rise—

                              —but her gentle hand on his arm stopped him. “No,” she said, firm but not at all loud…and not at all angry. “Please don’t go.”

                              He looked at her hand, then at her face – and to his amazement, there was not even a trace of anger or irritation on it. She didn’t look upset at all. Oh, she still showed the aftermath of surprise – but no upset. “…what?” he whispered, not daring to believe it. “Why not?”

                              “Because I’m not upset, Clark,” she said softly, tenderly, earnestly. “I’m not angry.”

                              He blinked, stunned. “What?”

                              She smiled in amusement and gently tugged at his arm, and he sat back down fully. “I’m not angry that you saw me with no clothes on,” she said, spelling it out so that he could have no doubt left. “To be honest, when you first said that you saw into our locker room, I thought that might have happened – I don’t think you’d be quite this nervous if you’d just seen the other girls in their underwear.”

                              “Probably not,” he admitted, managing to clear his throat. “I’d still be embarrassed – but not like this.”

                              She nodded. “So when you said that you saw me, I wasn’t all that surprised – and I definitely wasn’t angry. If it were any other guy? Sure. But it was only you, Clark – the one guy I trust absolutely.”

                              At that, he felt both touched and unworthy. He didn’t deserve such trust. “Why?” he wondered aloud – he couldn’t help it. “Why trust me so much?”

                              “Why not?” she said, almost laughing in disbelief. “Clark, just look at everything you’ve done for me – and everything you’ve done for everyone else.” She tilted her head, her eyes deep and compelling. “You think that hasn’t earned you any trust?”

                              He looked at her for a long moment…and then a soft smile began to grow on his face. “Wow,” he whispered. “I never thought about it like that.”

                              “Shame on you, then.” She waved a finger chidingly at him, then giggled, letting him know she was just teasing. Then she licked her lips and swallowed a bit. “So…did you like what you saw?”

                              At that, he felt incredulous. Like it? That word didn’t do it justice at all. “Lana,” he vowed firmly, “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in all my life.”

                              Her smile shone brighter and yet softer than the moon above. She leaned up and kissed him on the lips, her touch ever so warm and gentle and reassuring…and at last, he fully relaxed, knowing that she’d forgiven him without a thought.

                              A minute later, they parted, though he held her close again, each of them immensely grateful that the other was still with them. He cleared his throat and nodded toward her parents’ gravestone. “You come out here to talk with your mom?”

                              “Yep,” she confirmed, smiling fondly. “Now that I’ve found her diary, somehow all these conversations don’t seem so one-sided.” She sighed a bit. “I just wish I could find a copy of that speech she gave.”

                              Clark considered. “Hm – well, Chloe would be the best person to ask,” he decided. “She could help you look through the Torch archives. I think your best chance to ask her would be before first period – she’s usually there to get the paper going for the day.”

                              Lana nodded, beaming. “Thanks, Clark. I’ll do that.”

                              He nodded back. “In the meantime, stay on your guard. First chance I get tomorrow, I’m going to see if I can figure out what happened to Tina’s mom.”

                              “Good point,” she agreed, shivering a bit. “Mrs. Greer would never let Tina do these things. Something must’ve happened.”

                              She looked disturbed, and he couldn’t blame her – he already had a bad feeling that he knew what had happened to Rose Greer. “Let me worry about that. You have your own mystery to solve.” She nodded, conceding the point, and they rose to their feet so he could walk her home.

                              * * * * *

                              If there was one thing Chloe Sullivan loved, it was a good mystery. Lord knew that the recent bank robbery had qualified, what with the thief being the spitting image of Lex Luthor but not having the right fingerprints or signature – and just yesterday, the stolen money had been found in Tina Greer’s locker. She was all but certain that the girl had to be infected by the meteors – how else would she have been able to pull off such a feat?

                              The door clunked open, and she all but groaned – she did not need this break in her concentration. “Pete,” she said warningly, “you throw that rubber spider again, and I’m going for my staple gun.”

                              “I come in peace,” said a decidedly non-Pete voice from the doorway. “And I don’t like rubber spiders either.”

                              She looked over, surprised. Lana Lang? What would an ex-cheerleader, particularly this one, be doing here? No, wait – she could probably guess. “The girl who writes for the pompom parade is,” she said, turning back to her laptop computer, “no surprise, out with mono.”

                              “Fine by me,” Lana said, graciously not taking any offense. “I’m not interested in anything pompom-related – I never wanted to be on the squad.”

                              That surprised Chloe even more, and she gave Lana a longer look, her eyebrows raised. “Really?” she said, not quite believing it.

                              “Really,” Lana said, smiling and nodding earnestly. “May I ask what this week’s editorial is?”

                              Chloe half-smiled wryly, looking back to the screen. “My fairly regular where-are-our-priorities rant.”

                              “Ah,” Lana said, sounding amused but also impressed. “For what it’s worth, I really like what you’ve done with the paper this year.”

                              Now she really had Chloe’s attention. Maybe she’d been a bit hasty to judge – this girl didn’t come off at all like the other members of and candidates for the pompom brigade. “Well, that puts you in a majority of one,” she quipped. Lana smiled widely at that, and Chloe decided that she might as well be decent. “I’m sorry about the pompom crack. Once I hit take-no-prisoners mode, it’s kind of hard to shut it off.”

                              “Actually, I admire it,” Lana said. “You know who you are and you go for it. I wish more girls had that kind of spunk.”

                              Chloe smiled, surprised at how pleased and flattered she felt. “Well, I appreciate the compliment,” she said, getting up from her seat and walking to put a folder away. “However, I know you haven’t come to this hole to give me a pep talk.”

                              “I was hoping you could help me find something,” Lana confirmed, following her. “The Torch prints the graduation speech every year, right?”

                              “Having transcribed last year’s snore-fest as part of my efforts to take control of the paper,” Chloe remarked, clicking the mouse for the nearby desktop computer, “that’s an unfortunate yes. What year?”

                              “1977.”

                              The ‘70s? Chloe raised her eyebrows, moving away from the computer. “That’s P.C.”

                              “P.C.?” Lana echoed.

                              “Pre-computer,” the blonde reporter clarified. “You know, when disco ruled the earth. Anything we have before then is gonna be H.C.”

                              “Hard-copy,” the brunette realized.

                              “You catch on fast,” Chloe said, pleased, and walked over to a filing cabinet, opening up a drawer. “Uh, let’s see,” she said, rifling through the folders inside. “‘77, here we go.” She drew out the old issue of the Torch, laughing slightly as she and Lana took in the front page. “‘Saturday Night Fever’ was their prom theme. Styx won ‘Group of the Century’, and…” She blinked in surprise. “Wow. Someone got in the administration’s collective face.”

                              Lana felt a string of disappointment as she read the words aloud: “‘Due to the controversial nature of this year’s graduation address, the editors have elected not to run the text in this issue of the Torch.’”

                              “Meaning, ironically, it’s probably the only one worth reading,” Chloe summed up knowingly. She considered, then said, “You know, maybe I could track something down for you. Do you know who gave this speech?”

                              “Yeah,” said Lana softly. “My mother.”

                              Ah… So that was why she was so curious about it. On this point, Chloe could only feel sympathy for her – she knew all too well what it was like to want to know more about a lost mother. She would definitely do her damnedest to track down a copy of that speech – to do any less would simply be a crime.

                              * * * * *

                              Clark had a crime to solve himself – but he wasn’t alone as he walked down the street towards the antique shop after school. “So you’re telling me that Tina Greer can bend her bones like a contortionist and become anybody she wants?” Pete summed up.

                              Clark nodded seriously. “Saw it with my own eyes.”

                              Pete chuckled. “I’m sorry – this is usually Chloe’s territory. I cover girls, football, and general guy stuff. She does the Tales of the Unexplained,” and he gestured to go with the melodramatic tone, “so why don’t you give her a call?”

                              “Because she’s busy with something else,” Clark said. “Believe me, I checked.”

                              Pete didn’t break his stride despite his surprise. “You realize that’s like getting turned down by the National Enquirer.”

                              Clark gave him a look. “I’m surprised you didn’t say the Daily Planet,” he said. “After all, that’s where she wants to work after graduation. And remind me again why we’re friends?”

                              They reached the door of the shop. “Because even when I think you’re whacked,” Pete said as Clark looked through the door, cupping his hands around his eyes, “I show up ready to rumble.” He sighed as he saw the sign on the door. “Great, it’s closed.”

                              That didn’t stop Clark from looking intently around through the clear glass. The store seemed to be deserted, but he wasn’t quite convinced. He backed up for a moment, then pulled his hands away and focused on looking deeper, more intently. “Clark, man, haven’t you ever watched Cops?” Pete asked him. “The last place Tina’s gonna be hiding out is in her mom’s store.”

                              But Clark didn’t listen – his x-ray vision was peeling away the layers of objects inside the store. Besides, he wasn’t immediately looking for Tina – he was looking for something she was trying to hide. He found it in a closet, and his mouth fell open in horror – even knowing that it had been most likely, he found it hard to take in.

                              Pete looked at him strangely, then waved his hand in front of his friend’s face. “Earth to Clark,” he said – and Clark blinked as the skeletal hand blocked his view of the closet. The x-ray vision snapped off, seeming to know it wasn’t needed now, and he jiggled the doorknob – no surprise, though, that it was locked. “Is everything okay?” Pete asked.

                              Definitely not. “We need to get in here,” Clark said urgently. “Now.”

                              “Why?” Pete asked, puzzled.

                              “Just…it’s a hunch,” Clark told him, and walked further down the street with Pete in tow.

                              Fortunately, they managed to get in through the back, and they moved into the main area of the store. “Hey, Clark,” Pete said, clearly unnerved about breaking and entering, “what are we looking for?”

                              In answer, Clark went right to the wooden closet and opened it – and the body whose skeleton he’d seen inside tumbled out and hit the floor with a dull thump. Rose Greer’s eyes were wide open, her skin discolored and her blonde hair a mess.

                              “Whoa,” Pete winced, stumbling back. “Who’s that?”

                              “It’s Tina’s mom,” said Clark grimly.

                              “Damn,” Pete whispered. “How’d you know she was in there?”

                              “Because I can see right through the door, Pete,” said Clark seriously.

                              “Very funny, Sherlock,” Pete said, smacking his stomach. “How do you think she died?”

                              The x-ray vision helpfully provided the answer: “Broken neck.” It also revealed some clear signs of deep bruises and further damage to her bones. Clark’s intuition told him that these were signs of Rose having fallen down the stairs. In all likelihood, it had been an accident, possibly caused by an argument between her and Tina – maybe she’d found out about the stolen money then and confronted her daughter upstairs, to her own fatal cost.

                              Pete was looking at him strangely, though, and he shrugged a bit. “I’m guessing.”

                              Pete shook his head. “My call, Tina’s already on a bus to Metropolis.”

                              Possible – but Clark’s instincts warned him this was only a happy illusion. “I don’t think so,” he said grimly, and walked over to the counter – on it sat a bunch of small white papers, several covered with various attempts at Lana’s signature.

                              “Why’s she writing Lana’s signature?” Pete wondered.

                              The final pieces snapped together, and Clark felt sick. “You and Chloe said that Tina’s obsessed with her,” he said, looking up in dawning horror. “She’s going to take it to the next level.”

                              “She wants to kill Lana?” Pete guessed.

                              “Worse – she wants to become Lana.” With that, Clark turned and began to hurry out of the store, Pete close behind. He had to find Lana – now.

                              * * * * *

                              Knock-knock. Whitney answered the door – and was, to say the least, surprised at who stood there. “Lana?”

                              It wasn’t Lana, of course – but he didn’t know that. Tina had hidden outside in the late afternoon air, waiting until she’d seen his parents leave in the car – then she’d assumed her ex-friend’s form and approached the house. If she was going to successfully take over Lana’s life, she needed to rebuild a bridge before she burned the final one.

                              She smiled at the football star with Lana’s lips, her hazel eyes gleaming. “Hi, Whitney,” she said softly, going for quietly uncertain, as if she were ashamed. Why the heck had Lana broken up with him, anyway? When Tina had asked her, she’d given some vague response about Whitney having deceived her. Granted, the question had been casual, so she shouldn’t have expected the answer to be any more elaborate – still, she had to wonder. Maybe if she played him right, she could find out.

                              He scowled a bit, getting over his initial surprise. “Hi, what?” he asked flatly. “Why are you even bothering with me? Didn’t you dump me for your shiny new toy?”

                              Looks like it, Tina thought – the way Clark had responded to her kiss in the loft last night supported that theory. But why? That was still a mystery to her. She looked down, as if she felt guilty. “Okay, I deserved that,” she said, her voice even softer.

                              Whitney blinked, confused. Was she actually going to apologize to him? He doubted it, but it wasn’t impossible. He toned down the anger a bit, leaning against the door frame. “What’s this about, Lana?” he asked. “I thought you were dead set against even coming near me again.”

                              “I was,” she said softly, looking up at him for a moment. “That was before I found out the truth.”

                              Now he felt even more confused – and he found it hard to hold onto his anger. She just looked so small and vulnerable standing there, so in need of comforting attention. He sighed and moved aside a bit. “Come on in,” he said quietly.

                              She looked grateful as she stepped inside, and he closed the door behind her, wondering what had brought on this change. “Is this about Clark?” he asked.

                              “Actually, yes,” she said softly, looking very troubled. “He wasn’t who I thought he was – or what I thought he was.”

                              Whitney raised his eyebrows, inviting her to continue. She did so, a bit hesitantly, as if she could hardly bear to speak about it: “Last night, I went to see if he was okay. I had a feeling that he’d been the one to expose Tina, and I was worried about what she might do to him.” She paused, and a horribly pained and angry expression came over her. “I never expected what she did do.”

                              At that, Whitney felt a surge of vindictive satisfaction – he thought he knew where this was going, and he longed to hear about Kent getting his just desserts. “What happened?” he asked, keeping his voice mild yet concerned.

                              She sighed and closed her eyes, shaking her head. “She was with him, Whitney,” she said softly, pain and disgust and anger evident in her voice. “And…they didn’t have any clothes on.”

                              Eeeeewwww… He grimaced, feeling sickened. Who knew that the farm boy liked them freakish? Still, he probably should’ve seen it coming – after all, Kent spent a lot of the day around animals as it was. What was one more? He shook his head, making no effort to hide his disgust. “Ugh, that’s messed up,” he whispered.

                              She nodded, opening her eyes again. “They didn’t see me – I got out of there before they could. They were pretty heavily into it anyway.” She stopped and shuddered all over, then looked up at him – and her eyes were moist. “I feel so horrible for what I did to you, Whitney. I threw you away for a lying, backstabbing, cheating loser.” She shook her head again, wiping at her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

                              At that, the quarterback felt his resistance completely crumble away. What the hell had he been thinking, huh? Lana didn’t need harsh judgment or any form of “I told you so”. She needed acceptance, forgiveness, closeness. He stepped forward and took her into his arms, holding her against him. “Ssssh,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”

                              She sniffed hard and leaned into him, shaking just a little. “Can you ever forgive me?” she whispered, her voice very small.

                              “Of course, baby,” he assured her, looking down at her with a smile. “Of course.”

                              She nodded, sniffing again, and looked relieved. Then she leaned up, her eyes fluttering closed, her lips parted. He took the invitation and bent down, claiming those hot lips in a kiss.

                              Damn, but it had been too long since he’d done this with her. She leaned up into the kiss, pressing herself against him, and he held her more tightly. This was where she belonged, and she’d finally come back. She was his, and he wasn’t letting go.

                              Clearly, she wasn’t letting go of him again, either. She moaned deeply as his tongue slipped into her mouth, tasting her properly for the first time ever…and it was good. He immediately wanted more…and he sensed that she did too.

                              They popped apart for the sake of air a minute later, both panting. She swallowed hard, then whispered, “Wow. And to think I ever turned away from this.” She shook her head. “What was I thinking?”

                              “Doesn’t matter now, baby,” he said just as quietly, meeting her eyes with his. “You’re back now, and I’m holding onto you.”

                              She nodded, swallowing again. “Good,” she whispered. “Because…I’m scared, Whitney.” She glanced toward the window, knowing that outside, the sun was close to setting. “Clark and Tina are still out there – and if he finds out that I’ve found him out…” She shook her head, unable to say it.

                              Whitney scowled – like hell would that damn farm boy and his bank-robbing freak lay a dirty hand on his Lana. “I won’t let that happen,” he said firmly. “Nobody’s coming near you.”

                              “I hope not,” she whispered, looking up at him again with a tender expression. “That’s why I came here. I don’t feel safe anywhere else.”

                              He smiled warmly, running his rough fingers over her smooth cheek. “You’re completely safe with me, Lana,” he vowed. “I won’t let them touch you.”

                              “Thank you,” she said, and leaned up to kiss him briefly as punctuation. Then she inhaled through her delicate nose and whispered, “Can I stay here with you? Just for tonight?”

                              He tilted his head a bit, as if considering. “I kinda like that idea,” he said, smiling again. “My parents are gone for the evening – won’t be back until morning, I don’t think.”

                              She nodded. “Good. I want us to have complete privacy.” She glanced down at his chest for a moment, then swallowed and looked up at him. “Whitney…I don’t want to be alone at all.”

                              He stared into her eyes for a long moment, realizing what she was really asking. Then he nodded slightly and bent down to kiss her, more roughly and hungrily than before. She returned it in full, moaning and almost growling as they attacked each other’s mouths. They broke apart to breathe again…then she held his gaze for a long moment, pleading silently. He slipped an arm firmly around her and guided her up the stairs, toward the door of his room. They walked in, the door closing behind them.

                              Some time later, it opened again…and a tall blond figure walked downstairs, adjusting a red letterman’s jacket over his muscular frame. The trouble was, the figure wasn’t actually a guy.

                              Tina smirked to herself with Whitney’s lips. Lana had definitely been an idiot to dump this guy – what they had finished doing only minutes ago…well, it would remain with her for the rest of her long and perfect life.

                              But now that she’d rebuilt this bridge, she had one to burn…and once she had, nobody would ever find Tina Greer or Clark Kent again. But they’d easily find Lana Lang – the new and improved version.

                              * * * * *

                              “Sounds like you made quite a splash when you left Smallville High, Mom,” Lana said warmly, knelt at the gravestone under a clear night sky. “I just hope that Chloe can find a copy of that speech you gave. I want to learn from your words, live by your example – not by the fairy tales Nell told me.”

                              “What’s so bad about living a fairy tale?”

                              She looked up in complete surprise at the none-too-friendly voice. “Whitney?” she said, stunned. “What are you doing here?”

                              “Your aunt said you were out here,” he said, walking towards her. Though his face had looked grim and cold ever since she’d dumped him, it looked more so than usual in the dark.

                              She sighed a bit, feeling that the moment was already ruined. Why had he even come here? “I was just talking to my parents,” she said cautiously.

                              He glanced at the gravestone, his expression unchanging. “They’re dead, Lana,” he said flatly, bluntly. “You have this perfect life, and you’re so intent on crying over your parents that you can’t see it. You have no right to be unhappy.”

                              She recoiled, shocked at his venom. “They’re not coming back, you stupid girl,” he spat. “You should’ve dealt with that long ago.” He smirked darkly. “Oh, but don’t worry. Now you won’t have to. You’ll see them again, really soon.”

                              Sudden fear mixed with shock and froze her feet to the spot. “What are you saying?” she gasped, trying to make herself move – her gut was screaming at her to run, fast and far, but she couldn’t seem to budge—

                              “I’m saying that you don’t deserve your life, b*tch,” Whitney snapped, spit flying from his mouth – and suddenly, his face shook and shifted, his hair turning long and dark, his eyes turning a dark and cold shade of green.

                              I do,” Tina snarled. Lana’s heart jumped into her throat in horror, but before she could turn to run, Tina had grabbed her by the neck, her grip far too strong, far too tight – she couldn’t breathe – couldn’t move…could hardly see…

                              “Nighty-night, princess,” Tina sneered…

                              Everything went black.
                              Last edited by superman_lives_on; 10-20-2010, 03:32 PM.

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