How We Got Here (Part Eight)

PART EIGHT

December 22nd, 2011

He caught the other bottle just before it flew at him. "You keep doing that! You know it won't hurt me."

"I don't want to hurt you," she yelled. "I want to break things!" She move to the china cabinet and grabbed a blue and white antique pitcher.

"Not that!" he said quickly. "That's my mother's."

She stilled, then turned to gently place it back on the shelf, then clenched her fists, whirling on him. "You're not drunk!"

"Well... neither were you that night." He stayed in his chair. He was going to keep his control on this night.

"Oh, Jesus! Is this some kind of petty revenge thing?"

"Not really," he said, shrugging. "I'm just pointing it out."

"Well, that night was different. That was for your own good. I did that to make sure you stayed free. Whatever I f*cking did, at least I had a reason. How does getting me drunk accomplish anything?"

"I have a reason," he said steadily.

She stepped back, her eyes widening. "If you think last night is going to repeat, you have another..."

"No. I wouldn't want a night like that again," he said, still holding her stare.

"Like I would," she sneered. "It was... an aberration." She nodded to herself. "I don't know why I did that."

"Oh, so you're admitting you started it now?" He smiled just a little. It was a mistake. Her hand seemed to be inching toward that cabinet again.

She drew it in, striding around the table instead. She looked like she wanted to slap him and he was a little concerned she was drunk enough to try it. She leaned and he flinched backward, ready to catapult himself backward and save her a broken hand, but she was only grabbing his bottle. "So what's in here?" She lifted his bottle and sniffed. "Sprite?"

"7-Up," he muttered. "I thought the fizz made it seem more authentic."

He expected her to yell at him some more, but she only chuckled and sat on the table, took up her bottle with his. "Makes a good chaser, at least." She took a slug of her whiskey, then followed it with a long gulp off his. "You know what? I think..." She looked past him toward the front hall, her eyes wide. "Mrs. Kent?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and turned slowly in his chair. His mother would check on him when the house was in shambles. "Mom, I can exp..." He trailed off, staring at the empty space, then scanning through the walls. "There's no one..."

Cold, fizzy liquid rained on his head and into his eyes. He swiped at his face, turning back to her.

She was doing more than chuckling now. She was outright guffawing, holding her stomach. "You know what?" she squealed through her laughs. "I could sober up right now." She calmed down, taking deep breaths, then another slug of whiskey. "But I think I'll actually choose to get blind drunk because it is about the only way I can look at you." She giggled. "See, I said blind drunk, then talked about looking at you. Get it?" She laughed harder. "Because you totally disgust me."

"Hilarious," he groaned and stared at the table, wringing out his cape.

"Hell. I'm having a good time now."

June 2nd, 2010

He was having a damned good chase.

The last thing he could remember, they'd landed in a fountain after an overly eager leap over a row of cars, after he apologized up and down for getting her wet, then giggled like a loon because that sounded really, really dirty. She'd just rolled her eyes and wrung out her shirt and pulled that shiny, metallic bottle out of her bag, telling him to "juice up."

It was a little hazy after that. The next thing he remembered, he was chasing her through the lobby as she shook his paper bucket of coins. "Chloe, give it back."

"Nope! You're quitting while you're ahead."

"But I'm still behind. Come on..."

She ducked around a gargantuan potted plant. "Yes. Forty-three dollars behind and that's bad enough. You might as well throw your money down the drain."

He moved around it. "Well, it's my money. If I want to..."

"Okay, then," she said with a giggle and darted toward the outside doors. He could catch her in a millisecond, but it was kind of fun, chasing after a pretty, laughing girl. And Chloe hadn't been a pretty, laughing girl for some time now. Well, she'd been a pretty girl, especially now when she was running and her cheeks were touched pink from it and her shirt was still a little damp around the bra area from the fountain she was stepping onto the edge of now and... Wait a sec.

"Make a wish," she called out.

He chased in earnest, this time, catching her wrist before she upended the bucket. "You were just gonna toss it away?"

"Well, that's what you were doing."

"There's ten dollars in there." He grabbed the bucket and jumped down to the ground. "You were totally gonna..."

"Not really. I was making a point." She put her hands on her hips and looked down from her perch. "I'm looking out for you." She grasped his shirt sleeve and her eyes sort of pinned him. "Remember that, Clark. I always look out for you."

He looked up at her, which was new, and realized she'd stopped laughing. He didn't want that. Not over ten bucks. "Okay." He took the bucket and emptied the ten golden coins into his hand, then hooked a finger into the front pocket of her jeans. "You hang onto them," he said, hearing the muffled jingle as they fell in, then looked up. "You gonna smile now?"

"Are you gonna... move your hand?"

He looked down, saw his finger was still in her pocket. "It's moving." At least his thumb was, just between her jeans and her shirt, over her stomach, moving from side to side like a windshield wiper over soft, bare, skin.

"Clark," she began and he knew what she was going to say. She was going to say to stop. But she didn't say that. "Move your hand," she said again.

It was like a loophole and he was glad for it because he wasn't sure he could stop touching her now that he'd started. He moved his hand, though, up past her waistband and under her shirt, not too far, just under the edge, just to feel a little more of that skin.

"Clark, st..."

"I like tonight," he said quickly before she could finish that hated word. "I like the way we are and I wish we could always be like this and I know I'm a lot of the reason we're not. I know I pushed you away."

"Clark, I pushed you away, too. Now, let's..."

"But I did it more. I don't want to do that now. I like you smiling. I like you laughing and running and grabbing my shirt." Her hand fell away from his sleeve, but he didn't let that stop him. "I like you ruining my fun and looking out for me." He slid his hand around, trying to see if the skin there was as soft. It was. And her jeans were so low-cut, he probably wouldn't have to go far to feel that birthmark of hers. He'd seen it once. It looked like a strawberry. He wondered if it was just discolored skin or if he could feel the imprint of it. "I even like you taller than me."

"If you like me so much, why don't you marry me?"

He looked up -- sort of slowly as her breasts were at eye level and it took him a bit to get past them. "Huh?"

"Why don't you marry me?" She said it with a giggle, but he could see something else in her eyes. They were searching his and they seemed sort of... scared. Then she giggled again and hopped down, dislodging his hand... unfortunately. "I mean, here we are, home of the all-night Chapel O' Love. Wouldn't it be hilarious?"

"Uh..."

She grabbed his shirt, tugging him back to the entrance, her smile widening. "I mean, if this is our last hurrah, then we should just pull out all the stops and you know what's crazier than a sudden trip to Vegas?"

"Getting married?" he said, sort of dazed by the smiles and the giggling and the grabbing and a head that was still spinning.

"You read my mind," she said brightly, tossing up her hands and letting him go.

He stumbled backward, shaking his head. "I thought it was your idea."

"Yes. My brilliant idea." She giggled again, but she moved closer. "Let's get married in Vegas, Clark. I mean, it's only a Vegas marriage. Right? We can undo it like it was nothing."

"Then why do it?" he found himself asking.

"So we can say we did it." His eyes focused and he could see hers clearer now and they still had that look, that nervous sort of look that told him she needed this. That she needed this the way she needed to go to this old casino. The way she needed to go to Vegas. The way she needed him to take a slug off that bottle. "Clark? What do you think?" That look, more than her giggles and her smiles and her grabbing told him he needed to answer this right .

"Chloe," he said, gripping her hand. "Remember that time we got married in Vegas?"

She let out a laugh that was more of a choking breath. "Yeah?"

"It was so crazy," he said, walking backward to the door, pulling her with him.

"We were totally bombed," she answered, smiling as she followed.

He pulled her up against him as the doors slid shut behind them with a rusty squeal. "It was the wildest night of my life." He gripped her around the waist and lifted her up as she let out a startled squeak and grabbed at his shoulders. "The best, most fun..." He stumbled just a little and she landed on the edge of that potted palm. "Oh, sorry." He thought of attempting to right them when he realized his hands were on her waist and hers were on his shoulders and her lips were right in front of him. If there was ever a time for a kiss...

He leaned in and... he met air, then a snapping palm frond. He drew back, saw she was ducking to one side and released her waist. "How'm I supposed to kiss the bride if the bride won't let me?"

"The bride..." She sat up... or tried to as her bottom was still planted in the dirt and her legs were dangling over the side. "Well, it's only a Vegas... I mean it's only..." She stiffened and hopped off the giant pot. "Clark, your lips taste like battery acid."

"What do you mean my... Oh. I forgot." He took her by the shoulders and pushed her back to the plant. "Don't move."

He ran into the casino, and not that half-assed running that was reserved for chasing pretty blondes in the lobby. He had a goal in mind, one that still involved a pretty blonde and a not-as-pretty blonde. He zoomed around the casino in search of the middle-aged waitress with the bleached-blonde hair and the jet-black roots he'd seen tottering around on four-inch heels all night. The one that called everyone "Sugar." He stopped before her and she blinked at him through her inky false eyelashes.

"Where'd you come from, Sugar?" she drawled. He didn't say anything, just plucked a glass off her tray and dug in his pocket. He wasn't sure what kind of bill he pulled out, but she seemed happy enough, calling out, "Well, you just help yourself, Sugar," as he moved back to the lobby, trying not to spill a drop. He saw his blonde leaning against the potted palm and fidgeting.

He stopped. His blonde? She wasn't his blonde. She had a boyfriend. His friend... kind of. He and Ollie hadn't spoken much since he'd taken up with Chloe and... He stalked toward her. His blonde, he thought grimly. And why the hell not? She'd been his long before Ollie even knew she existed. As fun and crazy and wild as this marriage would be, there was another bonus to be found. She'd be his. Legally. For however long it lasted, even if it was for fifteen minutes, she'd be his.

She stopped fidgeting and looked up as he approached. "There you are. I wondered..."

He held up his hand and took a long sip from the glass. He wasn't sure what was in it. He hardly tasted it as he threw his head back and gargled it like mouthwash. He swallowed it, tasting it then, and grimaced. "God, that's gross. What is this?"

Chloe took the glass from him, then gave it a sniff, wrinkling her nose. "Smells like scotch."

He plucked it from her hands and placed it on the edge of the pot, annoyed that she knew what scotch smelled like. Probably something her boyfriend had taught her. Well, he'd be her husband and husband trumped boyfriend. He swiped at his mouth and pulled her to him.

"Clark, what are you..."

"Are we getting married?" he said against her lips.

She pulled away and smiled again. "Well, of course we are. But it's a Vegas marriage so it hardly even cmmmffts."

The last word was a little garbled as it was spoken against his lips. He took a second to brush them over hers just a little lighter before he unbent. "Sorry, what?"

Her eyes opened slowly. "Huh?"

"You were saying stuff," he said, moving the both of them backward to that palm again. he wanted her to stop saying stuff and let him kiss her. Maybe kiss him back while she was at it.

"I was?" She shook her head, then stared up at him. "I.... Yes. I mean... that I..." She squeezed her eyes shut. "I mean... This is just for fun. You don't ha..." Her words cut off as he gripped her waist, lifting her onto that damned pot again. He had to. It just made it easier. He didn't have to bend over or lift her. He could just lean forward and there she... wasn't.

He drew back as she straightened or... unducked... if that was a word. He stepped away again, but didn't rush off to find a drink or some other way to wash out his mouth. The remainder of his drink was still planted in the soil by her hand. "You don't want to kiss me," he said dully.

"What?"

"You'll marry me, but you won't kiss me? I don't get it. I..."

"Clark," she cut in with a laugh. "You just... surprised me." She fumbled to her side and came up with the rest of his drink. She downed it in one gulp, then stared hard at him. "I mean, of course I... Jesus Christ!" She nearly fell over, gasping. "What the hell is that? It's disgusting."

"That's what I said," he said, rushing up to rub her back as she coughed. "Thought you were drinking worse."

"Nothing that bad," she gasped. "Trust me." She drew back, wiping her eyes.

He let his hands fall away and took a deep breath, "Maybe we had enough of a crazy night. We should..."

"No!"

"Chloe, if you don't even want to kiss me, a wedding is kind of..."

"A Vegas wedding," she cut in, grabbing his shirt. "And it's not that I don't... I just... I mean, why do you want to?" Her eyes were sort of panicked and he didn't get why.

"I don't know. I just... need to. A lot," he answered honestly.

Chloe squinted at him. "You need to kiss me?"

"Well, yeah." He started to step back, embarrassed now. Because if she didn't get it by now...

She pulled him in, her hand still fisted in his shirt. She stared down between them. "If this is what you need," she said, as she raised her head, met his eyes, then his lips, her eyes squeezed shut as she pulled him inward...

December 22nd, 2011

"So what do you need, Clark?"

He stopped wringing out his cape and stared up at her, wondering when he'd lost all control of this night.

"You said you had a reason," she went on, leaning back on the table. "So what's the reason?"

"I wanted to talk."

She hummed to herself. "And I needed to be drunk for that?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. You seemed too likely to throw things at me sober. Not that drinking changed that," he finished on a mutter.

"Fine. I'm drunk and I'm not throwing things. So what do you want?"

I want to know what we are now. what we were then, what we will be, if anything. But he didn't think she was ready to hear that. "I want truth," he said instead. "Answers."

"And what if I wanted answers? You're not drunk. What am I gonna get out of you?"

He sat back. "Ask me anything."

She raised her eyebrows and leaned back further on the table. "And you'd tell the truth? Don't make me laugh."

"I've never lied to you, Chloe."

"No, I guess you didn't," she said after a moment. "You just conveniently forget to tell me things."

He knew what she was talking about. In fact, it had been the last thing they had talked about before she "died." He took a deep breath. "I admit it. I told Jor-El to keep your memories of me. That's the only thing I've kept from you. And you know now."

"Not because you told me," she said, sitting up straighter.

"I guess not."

There was silence and lots of it before she spoke again, so quietly he might not have heard it if he was anyone but him. "Would you have ever told me, Clark?"

"No. I don't think I would have," he said, thinking she deserved the truth.

She lifted the bottle and he stiffened, but she didn't throw it. She moved away, pacing toward the dining room window and took another drink. "F*ck you, Clark," she said, her back to him.


PART SEVEN

PART NINE