Chapter Thirty
Clark blinked up at the ceiling. He felt weak. He turned his head to the side, saw the tiny shards of kryptonite surrounding him. He pulled himself half-up and backed away from them, feeling his strength returning the further he got. He felt his face. It was slick with blood, he knew, but he felt no wounds. He sighed and slumped against wall, closing his eyes. His hand hit the floor... no. Not the floor. Something soft. His eyes slowly traveled down his arm to his hand where it rested against blonde hair.
"Chloe!" He crawled over, lining himself with her where she lay sprawled next to the wall. She was white and still. He took her shoulders and shook, waiting for her to seize like with the mouse. But she didn't. Her head lolled on her neck. "No," he cried out. His mind raced over the years. There was something. He had to do something.
In his mind, he saw Adam Knight. Adam who'd been resurrected with his blood. He'd become something dark, but Chloe. He placed his head on her chest, felt the slight heartbeat. He didn't have time to worry. His hand scrambled across the floor, groping for a shard, just a tiny shard. It burned his hand, but he gritted his teeth and brought it to his arm, cutting into the flesh that paled and became vulnerable under it. He tossed the shard away and brought the cut to Chloe's lips. "Swallow," he urged. "Please."
He felt blood dripping from him into her mouth. He willed her reflexes to work, take it in. His hand groped her throat and he felt it move. He kept his arm there until he felt the wound closing. He pulled his arm back and glanced at it. Only a few drops and a smear of her lipstick remained. No wound. He waited, wondering if he should do it again when she suddenly seized, thrashing and jerking in his arms. He held her still, held her to him, until she quieted.
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Chloe sat on the porch steps, sipping at her tea. She couldn't get over the fact that his blood was inside her. Strangely, she felt strong. Stronger than she had after the other instances of healing. His blood must have had a part in it.
Still, she wasn't a hundred percent. She'd felt winded after sweeping the shards of green she knew he couldn't be near. And even more so after she dug a small hole in the barn to bury them in. But she'd wanted to make sure they were gone before he got back. He'd left her in bed, saying she needed food. She'd pointed out that neither could cook worth a damn. He'd finally smiled and touched her cheek, saying he'd be back.
She was waiting for him. They hadn't talked yet. He'd only laid her in bed silently before his voice, choked and weak, had mentioned food. She wanted to go over things, examine things. It was what she did best. She wanted to find out what had happened to him. Why he'd been sprawled inside the door. How Bizarro had found him here.
She turned back to the front door with a shiver. It had been awful, seeing him there powerless. It was worse than with Lois. Because Clark wasn't supposed to be powerless. He wasn't supposed to bleed. She'd seen him do so once when he was mortal. It had been enough for her. She didn't want it repeated.
Her eyes lighted on a scrap of fabric sticking from under the door. She scooted over and bent down to examine it. Plaid. Some of Clark's shirt must have ripped. But it wasn't the shirt he'd had on today. She pulled at it, noting a dull clunk as it released itself from under the door. She nudged the door out and fumbled behind it, her hands closing over something hard.
The ring. She'd thought he'd destroyed it. It must have been hidden all this time. And he'd been carrying it around, bunched up in a piece of shirt, probably trying to sneak it on Bizarro's finger. She had a feeling sneaking anything past Bizarro wouldn't be easily done.
She heard a soft whoosh behind her and tucked the ring back in the scrap of flannel, stuffing it in her pocket hurriedly. She turned and tried to look casual.
He wasn't looking. He was peering into a box in his arms. "Hey. I know you like Italian, but I wasn't sure if you wanted marinara or vodka sauce or alfredo..." He trailed off. "Why aren't you in bed?"
She smiled, not only for his concern, but at his state. He'd wiped his face, but there were some droplets of blood on his collar and he was very dirty, still. "What did the restaurant set think of your ensemble?" she said, giggling a little.
He shrugged. "They only agreed to make my order after I'd paid first." He still looked at her with worry.
"I feel fine, Clark. Better than fine." She grinned. "And given our mutual savings of each other's lives, we should break out the fine china."
He finally smiled back. "Not a bad idea." He helped her up. She took it, even though she didn't need it. She let him lead her to the dining room. "Close your eyes," he said.
She did, giggling at the bangs and whooshes that sounded out around.
"Open them," he said after a moment.
"Aw, Clark." She felt what must surely be the goofiest grin ever on her face. It wasn't just the fine china. "Candles, too?"
He laughed, sitting across from her at the now set table, only marred by the cardboard box in the center. "Nothing but the best."
"Yeah. We should take a sec to celebrate that neither of us kicked it today."
"Definitely," he agreed, passing her a container.
"And celebrate our new knowledge, too." She used her fork to scrape some Penne Vodka onto her plate.
He stopped, his fork full of linguini in midair. "What knowledge?"
"My tears can heal a Kryptonian," she said, her mouth full. "That and my practice paid off. If they can heal you, I bet they can do the opposite to Chief Crazy Krypto. Now we just..."
His fork hit his plate with a clatter. "Not this again." He covered his face.
"Clark, surely you can't..."
"And what do you mean by 'your practice'?" His hand fell away and his eyes bore into her.
"Okay, don't freak out."
"I'm not," he said tensely, picking up his fork again. He stuffed a bite into his mouth and chewed quickly. "Just want to know how you've been practicing."
She recounted the pigeon on the roof of The Planet and how she'd gone to Lois afterward. He just listened and ate. She began to relax as he listened, telling him how it felt to know she could help so many people and that, now that she thought of it, her ability was the best possible one to have. "It's like Krypto Florence Nightingale. I can make things better."
"Not after you're dead," he said lowly.
She stared at him, now realizing his calm had been an act. "Clark..."
"You're not going to be able to heal the world from six feet under," he said tightly.
"Stop talking like that. You're scaring me."
"Good." He put his fork down and gave up the farce. "I want you scared. I want you to stop pretending you're invincible. You nearly died today."
"Only because I didn't concentrate. I can control how my body reacts. But today I just..." She didn't tell him about the voice. He didn't need anything else to harp on. "It will be better next time."
His fist hit the table, shaking it and the entire room for a moment. "There's no next time. You aren't going near him. You don't know what it will do to you."
"Don't you get it? I don't care what it does to me. The longer this thing exists, the more that wraith might take over. He could kill millions, Clark. He could get tired of torturing small animals and start playing soccer with nuclear warheads!"
He was quiet, shaking lightly. "So... So you just want to die."
"We don't know that I will. Inside, I think I can make it." Soon enough. She pushed the voice away again. She had to have faith.
"Chloe, please don't..."
"Clark, please." She leaned in, pleading with her eyes. "For once, I can do something concrete to help you. If I can save so many, I don't care about the risk."
"But I do," he said, his voice louder now. "I care about the damned risk and I won't let you take it."
They stared across the table, neither looking away. She dropped her gaze first, picking up her fork in silence.
Another quiet, tense meal piled on top of the others they'd shared this week.
And another silent fuck deep in the night. This time he was gentler, taking her slowly against her door. His mouth worshiped her neck, soothing the hickey he'd taken such relish in marking her with two nights ago. But he still wouldn't let her touch him. His hands held hers gently but firmly against the door, his fingers threaded with hers. He needn't bother. She didn't need the necklace. She had the ring now.
But she enjoyed the feel of his hands clutching hers as he thrust so slow and deep inside her. He only spoke after she was limp against him. "Can't lose you," he breathed.
He walked backward to the bed and she fell on top of him. She smoothed the hair from his sweaty forehead. "I know," she whispered. It was so very nearly "I love you," that she thought she might cry.
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Her hands were shaking. She'd never been an actress. She'd gone to parochial school while living in Metropolis. In fourth grade, she'd been the third Wise Man on Christmas Eve. It had been a show they talked about all year - mostly because Chloe had lurched forward and, instead of telling the crowd about her myrrh, she'd tossed her cookies all over Mary. Mary, played by a girl who'd previously put a ferret in Chloe's backpack, had thought it was premeditated. Chloe got her first bloody nose that night. Her dad probably still had the video somewhere.
The memory made her laugh. She was glad to have it. She might be getting much worse than a bloody nose today.
She stood on the roof of The Planet, clutching the ring in her fingers. How could she be sure he'd come? She stepped as close to the edge as she dared and took a deep breath. "Hey! Bizarro!" She stepped back and waited. Nothing. She stepped forward again. "It's Me... um... Blondie! I want to talk!" She sure hoped he was in range of super-hearing. She also hoped no one else would come check out the crazy girl yelling on the roof. "Hey!"
She waited, but there was no one. She turned back to the door. She'd make an excuse and try again in an hour. Maybe... Her hair and clothes stirred. She sighed in relief and anxiety.
"Blondie," she heard him drawl.
She turned, pasting a smile on. There he was. The body of a man, the mind of a thirteen-year-old bully, and the look of a homeless person. He was unshaven and dirty. She dreaded getting too close. "Hey, Biz... you."
He giggled and circled her. "I knew you'd wanna see me again. I mean, I don't wanna sound conceited, but I know I look good. That guy's got good genes, huh?"
Her smile grew forced. "Oh, yeah. I just... I mean, you look great, but there's something... I don't know." She let her toe sweep the floor of the roof, trying for coy. "There's something missing."
He looked down at himself, suddenly seeming insecure. "Yeah?" He suddenly looked up and groaned. "Don't tell me. It's, like, a bath. Am I right?"
"Not exactly. I..."
"Be right back."
He was gone before she could protest. She gripped the ring tighter and growled. Was he seriously going to take a bath? Now?
He was back, though, in minutes. He looked damp, but nearly clean. "Whoo!" He shook his head, droplets of water sprayed her. "Oh. Oops. Thought I air-dried." He leaned forward. "Little dip in the lake." He leered at her. "Might go for another if you come with. Maybe naked..."
She smiled tightly. "Sounds great. But I wasn't exactly talking about a bath, though... Thank you?" She smiled brighter. "I have a present for you."
"Really?" He swooped in and picked her up, floating upward. "Is it what I think it is?"
She tried not to react to the sudden height. She dipped her head and tried to summon a blush. "I don't know." She traced a finger over his wet, but still-dirty shirt. "It's something very special."
He blinked suddenly and looked away. Hot rays shot from his eyes and into the distance. She winced, thinking of what they'd hit. He giggled. "Sorry." It sounded goofy. Like a seventh grader amazed at the attentions of an older girl. "What is it?"
She held her breath. His breath smelled like chocolate and morning breath and the Juicy Fruit he was chomping on. "It's something I took from you-know-who." She smiled again. "It's a special present I only gave to him because he was my boyfriend."
"He was? I didn't know that. I mean it makes sense, with what I saw, but..." He smiled suddenly. "But you like me more."
"Oh, yeah. Clark's no fun." She produced a pout. "He can't even fly. Not like you."
He took them higher and spun around for what felt like a year. "Yeah. It's kinda cool, huh?"
"Totally," she breathed, feeling dizzy and a little nauseous. "That's why I want you to have my ring." She brought her fisted palm up and opened it.
He stared at it in fascination. "Cool. I never saw it on him."
"I took it away," she said, fluttering her eyes as much as she dared. "He doesn't deserve it. He said he didn't want you to have it."
"No." He grinned, then looked down at it again. "Does it always glow like that?"
"Only for someone special." She tilted her head up. "Someone like you."
He stared at her lips. She was afraid of this. But she'd probably perform a pole dance if it meant he'd wear the ring. She grimaced as he smushed his lips sloppily against hers. She pulled away quickly, though, pasting on a smile. She didn't want this to progress to tongue.
"Wow," she breathed. "You really are special."
He snorted and giggled. They started to float downward. "I guess." He held out his hand when they were on the roof. "Put it on me. I wanna see how it looks."
"Mmm, me too." She tried to stop her hand shaking as she neared the tip of his finger. She pushed it down and looked up, searching his eyes. "There. I've got you now."
He blinked and backed away. She was afraid of another blast of heat-vision, but he only furrowed his brow and stumbled further back. "What... how..." He looked scared.
"Are you okay?" She stepped closer, but he fell and scrambled away from her.
"Don't touch me!" He stared at her feet and blinked harder. She could see tears forming in his eyes. "What did you do?"
"Nothing. I only..." She stepped forward again, but he stood suddenly and pushed her. It wasn't that hard, but it knocked the wind from her.
"Stay away from me," he yelled, sniffling. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. He turned, his shoulders slumped, before flying up and off.
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Chapter Thirty-One
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