Almost Clark (Chapter Twenty-Nine)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

She adjusted the scarf. It was actually kind of jaunty. Nobody had to know the nearly black mark it covered. But she could feel it there, aching mildly. She liked it. It reminded her of the way he possessed her fully, marked her as his. Clark wouldn't do it- not on his own. She'd bet her last dime that his lovemaking with Lana had been as vanilla as it could get. Clark would never accept that part of him that wanted to take, grab, fuck.

It was the red K that brought it out. It released the part of him that he thought was bad and she thought was instinctual. She'd like to mark him, too, though she knew she couldn't. She started out of her temporary room, her high heels clicking against the wood floors.

She'd wanted to dress like a woman today. She felt like a woman. Her tulip skirt was light and flared at her knees. Her favorite red top fluttered slightly at her shoulder. Add the red heels and she felt about as gorgeous and feminine as she ever did.

It was Kal that did this to her, Kal that made her feel soft and feminine. Kal with his wolflike smile and rough hands, so different from Clark's doofy grins and awkward gait and... They were two different people, yet the same. And it was the red K that did it. What else could the red K do? Could it take someone who was mean and childish and turn his instincts on their ass?

"Oh, my God!"

She grabbed her cell phone with hands that almost shook with excitement, hoping that, wherever Clark was, he had reception.

**********************************

She was nearly late for work, but he'd be there any minute. She checked her watch anxiously, tapping her toe on the floor of the loft.

He was in front of her suddenly. "I couldn't hear you. What were you..."

"The red K," she said in a rush. "I've thought of something and..."

She trailed off as he near jumped a way from her. She saw the nervous dart of his eyes away from her and the way he clenched his fists. She arched her back before she was aware of doing it. Perhaps the mention of red K when she looked this good (and she knew damned well she did) was off-putting for him. She felt a satisfied smile at the corner of her mouth.

"Look, Chloe... Can this wait? I just have no time to..." His eyes darted to her scarf, then her neckline, her shoes...

She rolled her eyes as he searched for words. He thought she was going to have it out. They hardly discussed red K, both knowing what happened when he let it take him. And it was a conversation she relished the thought of. But not today. And she had no time for his squeamishness.

"Clark, this isn't about us. This is..." She chose her words carefully, wanting to make sure he stayed to listen. "It's about Bizarro."

"Bizarro? What could the red K..."

"Nothing yet, at least not that we know. But it could help. If it brings out the part of you that is aggressive and uninhibited..." She noted his discomfort, but went on. "Then maybe it could change his instincts from destructive to... not destructive. There's a part of you in him. It could bring out his conscience."

His eyes widened. "You... you might be right."

"Yes," she squealed. "It's worth us trying."

He stood straighter. "Us?"

"Yes, Clark. You could bring me with you and..."

"No," he said, his expression hard.

"But I could get close to him. He came to me at work."

"He what?"

"Yes. He wants..."

"I know what he wants," Clark snapped. "And I'm not letting you put yourself forward like some sacrificial lamb just to try to..."

"You think he'll let you just put it on him? I could get him to do it. I know it."

"We don't know anything. We don't even know if it works."

"Oh, so it's 'we' now?" She crossed her arms and stared across at him. "I'm the one coming up with all the solutions. All you're doing is chasing him fruitlessly and treating me like some child to be put in the corner while the grown-ups talk."

He narrowed his eyes. "As long as you're acting like a child..."

"I don't need your permission," she said marching past him toward the cabinet. "I'll do it my..."

She hadn't gone two steps when she found herself upside down and over his shoulder. She craned her neck only to see the farm recede into the distance as wind whipped at them.

He set her down roughly in an alleyway next to The Planet. "Go to work," he snapped before speeding away.

She ran to the street, following the blur with her eyes. "Control freak!" she yelled after it. "Stupid jerk!" She didn't care that people were staring at the girl screaming at no one. "Big, dumb Alien," she muttered before turning around.

***************************************

She had to take a train and two buses just to get home. Then she hitched a ride with Ben Hubbard, who'd luckily been around Main Street. If Clark was going to run her to work without a by-your-leave, the least he could do is make sure her car was there waiting for her.

But she wouldn't tell him that. In fact, she wasn't about to speak to him at all, with his he-man act. And she was prepared to pointedly ignore him when she got in, tired and dusty. Unfortunately, she didn't have the opportunity to make that point.

He was in the shower when she got home. She didn't hesitate. First, she went to the barn. But, after checking about every inch, she couldn't find the box. She crept back into the house and into his room, searching through his discarded clothes, his drawers, his nightstand. She'd just got to his closet when she felt a presence behind her.

"Looking for something?" he asked coldly.

She turned. He was in a towel, droplets clung to his body and dripped from his hair. She hardly wanted to imagine licking them off him, but she did anyway. "Sheets," she said casually, not batting an eye. "I need clean sheets."

"They're in the linen closet. That's where we keep things like linens."

"Good to know," she said, walking toward the door, making sure she bumped into him as hard as she could.

It was no use. He could have buried it six feet under anywhere on the farm.

He ordered Chinese. She almost refused to eat it, but she'd skipped lunch, too angry to eat. They ate silently, taking turns smiling stiffly at each other.

That night, he came again. Her eyes feasted on the necklace in the half-light from the hallway. But he saw her gaze. He grabbed her hands and placed them behind her back, moving them backward to the bed. When the backs of her knees hit it, he suddenly turned her around, this time forcing her hands to the bed as she found herself bent over. "Fuck you," she whispered, even as her hips pushed against him. She was only wearing a slip and he flipped it up easily.

"I'll fuck you," he breathed, leaning into her, his breath in her ear. "And maybe that'll make you behave."

Her body responded even as her mind rebelled. His hands still held hers as he covered her, entered her, almost made her forget that she nearly hated him right now.

He drove into her, over and over. "Nosey brat... fucking deathwish... Ungh... Keep you quiet..." He punctuated his words with hard thrusts.

She wouldn't dignify any of it with a response, only the moans and soft grunts as she buried her face in the bed, letting her body fall. Her followed her down, as if to say she couldn't get away.

When he was done he left her, sprawled face-down on the bed, her pulse all over her body. She wouldn't get the necklace tonight. But soon... She knew he couldn't keep his guard up forever.

************************************

Clark flew back against the side of the house.

Bizarro had found him here. Something inside him must have led him to a home he almost remembered. He'd looked confused when he saw Clark.

"What is this place?" he'd asked, hovering above the ground. He'd sounded almost scared. He was still dirty and there was stickiness around his mouth, as if he was an overgrown child who'd had too much candy. Maybe he had. Bizarro probably didn't care about things like nutrition. If it tasted good, he'd devour it.

"My family's home," Clark had said, on his guard.

Bizarro's eyes cleared. "Cool." He looked around. "Why don't you clear out? I need a place to crash."

"Getting tired?"

Bizarro shrugged and landed. "No," he pouted. "Just want a nice place to bring Blondie. I think she's warming up to me."

Clark rushed forward, but Bizarro held out a fist. Clark suddenly found himself stopped in front of it. His head was pounding.

Bizarro opened his fist, laughing. "Look what I got," he jeered. "Little green rock and Clarky goes..." He drew the fist back. "Boom!"

Clark slid down the wooden siding and landed in the dirt. "Don't do this," he said weakly.

Bizarro bore down on him, his lips in a grim line. He pulled Clark up be the collar of his shirt. "Then stop..." He punched. "Following..." He punched again. "Me!" he finished by throwing Clark over his shoulder and far away into the field. He heard the manic laughter as he flew overhead.

Don't come back, he thought desperately. But he didn't come back. He heard the laughter recede above him.

He nearly crawled back to the house, the sun beating on his wounds, his ankle swelling as he went. It wasn't healing. None of it was. There was an almost-burning on his forehead. Some of it was there. The green kryptonite embedded in his skin. He stumbled toward the house. If he could get to a mirror, he could see it, get it out. He envisioned the mirror by the coat rack. It wasn't so far. He willed himself there.

When he was in reach of the screen door, he saw the corner of the mirror. He collapsed. "No. Come on," he grunted. His hand shot forward and he pulled himself, trying to get his legs to help. He banged his head against the screen door and pushed his hand at it. His head burned. His ankle was in agony. He was halfway in. Just a little further, his mind screamed. But his body would not obey. And he fell into blackness.

****************************************

When she pulled into the drive, the sun was lowering. She wondered if he was still out chasing. It couldn't be easy forcing a ring on someone who didn't want it, probably didn't even know what it was. All was silent as she entered the back door. No shower running, no noise at all. She felt almost uneasy.

"Clark?" she called out.

No answer. She made her way through the kitchen as her stomach clenched. Something was wrong. Something was...

"Clark!" She rushed to the front door. He was lying half-in and half-out, his head bleeding on the floor. "No!"

She pulled at him, getting him clear of the door. It took all of her strength to pull and turn him over. He lay motionless on his back. "No, Clark. Get up." She ran her hands over his face, stopping at the green, glowing specks all over, shining through the blood. Her fingers shook as her nails pried at them. It was too slippery. they were all over his face. She couldn't get them out. She laid a head to his chest. His breathing was there, but weak, as was his heartbeat. And both were slowing. "No, Clark."

She looked into his face, broken sobs issuing from her mouth. But there weren't tears. Cry, she thought madly. Just cry. Please. Save him.

Soon, she felt them, falling from her eyes. Yes, please, just save him.

Her eyes devoured that white light, the tiny shards that his skin seemed to squeeze out. His chest moved strongly as a light brighter than she'd ever seen, even in the tunnels with Lois, surrounded them. At the last second, she thought of concentrating, but a voice broke in. It was one she'd heard in dreams, but had nearly forgotten.

Your time will come soon enough, it echoed in that strong, clear voice.

Was it now? Was this soon? Her thoughts raced to Clark as the light overpowered her. She was hot and cold and, soon, numb...

Previous Chapter

Chapter Thirty