How We Got Here (Part Eleven)

December 22nd, 2011

"You ever gonna tell me?"

"Give me a minute." Clark sighed and moved toward her with the tweezers. He could use his vision to pinpoint the tiny shards of glass still in her hand. But he had no powers to draw them out. There was no super-shortcut here. He'd think she'd be grateful he was administering so painstakingly to her nearly self-inflicted wounds with no helpful powers and stop pestering him to tell her things. Of course, she was drunk. Not that that meant anything, she might be just as belligerent, if not more so, sober, given how they stood now.

And how did they stand? He needed her. His life had been absolute shit without her and he wanted her back in it. And not as a trusty sidekick. No. He was done lying to himself. Somewhere between his father's recitations, her humiliating him, and him not caring if she humiliated him every day for the rest of his life just so she was there, he realized he didn't need her to be his sidekick. Just as long as she was there. And how did she stand?

"Well? I'm either bleeding to death or passing out, here. Come on."

"You're not bleeding to death," he said softly as he took one of her hands, glancing over her. Even drunk and belligerent with messy, dyed red hair and no makeup and a sneer on her face and bloody hands, he had to have her around.

"Stop that," she said.

"I'm trying to get the glass out."

"Not that. The... thing you're doing. Don't look at me like that. Just..." She leaned her head back against the cabinet and closed her eyes. "Just tell me how you found me."

"I never believed you were dead. They found your cell phone, found it had made calls from the area, but they never found remains. I knew you were alive. I could practically feel it. So I looked. I looked so hard I forgot to work. I spent all my time poring over passenger lists on planes, trains, boats, even fucking blimp rides, thinking I'd figure out how you did it. I still haven't figured that part out." He carefully pulled a shard of glass out as she hissed. "How did you..."

"Oh, no." She opened her eyes. "You haven't answered my question and I asked first, so I don't wanna know how you failed. I wanna know how you succeeded."

"I didn't succeed. I might never have, really. Not like I had any help," he said bitterly. "Everyone told me to stop it. Even Lois was pissed enough to talk to me, found out I'd been hounding the police, trying to declare you a missing person. Said I was a selfish, obsessive asshole and that I needed to stop my bullshit and let her fucking grieve."

Chloe's eyes squeezed shut again. "I knew it would hurt, but... she's okay, right? Because I was told she'd be okay, that this would be nothing and..." She shut her mouth, eyes opening wide.

"Told? By who?"

She stiffened. "We're still on you. You said Lois called you an asshole. I totally agree, y'know."

"Yeah. You've made that clear tonight." He pulled at one last shard of glass and picked up her other hand. "I think Lois blamed me. She hardly spoke to me afterward. Wouldn't even look at me at the funeral. Neither would Ollie."

"But it was a flash flood. An act of God. You couldn't predict it would happen. You couldn't save me. That was why I..." She stopped herself again.

"No. How?" he asked through narrowed eyes. "How did you end up there, of all places, of all days when..."

"We aren't on me," she said tightly. "But... I mean, I never wanted you blamed. I just wanted to be gone. He said it would be okay. He said it was..."

"Who said?" Clark cut in again. "Who's he?"

She shook her head. "I can't. Just... I never thought anyone could blame anyone. I thought it was the..." she sighed, "the perfect opportunity. The easiest way."

He let it go for now. It would come out tonight. Everything would. Worst come to worst, he could wave those papers in front of her face as a bargaining tool. Not that he'd sign. Not tonight. He needed to be sure first and, despite all her vitriol and claims of wanting to be gone, he wasn't so sure it was true. "I don't think there is an easy way. And I don't think they blamed me directly. They just... they thought you wouldn't have been there if it wasn't for me. Like I set off the chain of events. Besides, they didn't want to talk to me even before that. They were both still a little pissed about our," he chuckled darkly, "marriage."

June 2nd, 2010, 7:56 am

He was married.

That was his first thought upon waking. He might have brushed it off as a crazy dream, what with Wayne Newton and Liza Minnelli and Chloe in tight jeans. It wasn't an unfamiliar dream, Wayne and Liza aside. He wasn't a stranger to Chloe dreams at home, so quickly brushed away as crazy talk from his subconscious and best forgotten. But he knew he wasn't at home. The bed was too lumpy, the walls were too red, and there were too many people in the room -- one too many.

He could hear her breathing and he didn't move. Not just because his limbs felt heavy, but because he wasn't sure he wanted her to know he was awake. Wasn't even sure if he wanted to be awake.

"Clark?"

He wondered how she knew.

"You stopped snoring," she said, as if answering him.

"I don't snore," he croaked, turning over. She was sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed, her back straight, her fingers drumming on her knees in what seemed to be a very loud way.

"You know, I don't know if you usually do," she said nervously, "but you have been... all night. Couldn't even..." She took a deep breath. "Listen, we need to talk."

He winced. "Don't talk." Everything was loud. Her voice, her breath, her drumming fingers, the shuffling and creaking of wheels outside the door. "I don't want to hear it," he moaned.

"Okay. I know you're angry, but... this is all for you. I need you to see that."

He wasn't angry as far as he could tell. His head was being ripped apart... and that was before the knocking noise. "Jesus, just make it stop," he moaned.

"Clark?" She squinted at him.

"ROOM SERVICE," a voice yelled. At least it sounded like yelling.

"COMING," Chloe seemed to be screeching back. "I'M JUST GONNA..."

"No more talking," he groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. It helped, not much, but enough that every noise wasn't making his body vibrate like a tuning fork.

"...two croissants, a carafe of coffee," a voice he didn't know was droning dully, "fruit salad, two toothbrushes, aspirin..."

"I'm sure it's all there," Chloe said in a hushed and hurried voice. "Thanks. Um... That's for you."

"Thank you," that same droning voice said. "And may I tempt you to take in our Pirate's Adventure matinee." There was a tired pause. "It's a swashbuckling spectacle of... magnificence," he finished, sounding pained.

"You know, I think we'll be checking out soon. Thanks."

"Uh-huh. Congratulations, Mrs... um..." There was a shuffling of paper. "Kent."

There was a long pause. "Thank you," she said, sounding slightly shaky.

He felt shaky, too. Because that guy called someone Mrs. Kent and it was not his mother. He slid the pillow down.

They were married. It hit him again, coming back a bit now, hazy but there. They were drunk, drunk and giggling and gambling and grabbing and touching and kissing and... He froze up as the door shut. More than kissing. He couldn't fully get his mind around it, but they... they... He was pretty sure they... *CLUNK*.

Noise.

He was suddenly assaulted with it again as he heard clinking and pouring and sighing and... God, the smell!

It was coffee, that much was clear, but it was everywhere. He could swear he felt it sliding into his pores. He'd never thought coffee smelled bad before and maybe it didn't smell bad now, but it was just too much. It was at least better than the taste in his mouth, which was bitter and sour and... His stomach lurched and his limbs, heavy as they were, started rising, He had to do something about this. He just didn't know what. He fell against the too-close couch.

Chloe turned, hot coffee sloshing on her hand. She hissed and he nearly started to apologize for startling her, but nothing came out of his mouth, but a wet gurgle. "Clark!" She put down the coffee on the cart and rushed forward, pushing him between the couch and the bed to the bathroom. "Toilet. Now."

He suddenly knew what was happening. He'd seen this before from his father after a high school reunion, his mother after a Luthorcorp party, twice from Lois. He just never thought it would happen to him. But here he was, his head over a toilet, sweat breaking out on his face as sour liquid rose up his throat and poured from his mouth in sick, dripping clumps. He squeezed his eyes shut as he heaved, felt Chloe's hand on his back, heard soothing noises. He wasn't sure he wanted her to see this, but he wouldn't tell her to go away for the world right now. Her hand was rubbing circles on his back and it was the only thing that felt remotely good about these... hours. Or that's what it felt like as he choked and heaved and spat, thinking it was over before it started again.

He heaved a bit more, but his throat seemed stuck together and nothing was coming out. He wondered if it really was over. He opened one eye as her hand slowed, her noises stopped. He looked down. After all that, he expected to see the bowl overflowing with whatever the hell was in him, but there were only a few inky spots that sort of hissed and bubbled.

"Feel better?

"Better than what?" he croaked into the toilet.

She chuckled and rubbed his back some more, which still felt nice. "First hangover?"

He supposed that was what it was. He wanted to agree, but he was too busy spitting, trying to get the sour taste out of his mouth.

"Come on." She pulled at his shoulder.

He closed his eyes and braced himself on the toilet seat, pushing up. He wavered a moment, leaned against the sink as he heard running water. It stopped and he felt a hand taking one of his.

"Listen, don't drink this too quick. Just rinse out, then take tiny sips." She pressed a plastic cup into his hand.

He opened his eyes and stared at his own rather green-tinged face. "We got drunk, Chloe," he said dully. It was obvious, but he felt he had to say it, as if it explained everything. His eyes moved to her reflection.

"We," she repeated, staring into the sink. She looked upset. "Like I said, we need to talk." There was a pat on his back. "I'll be back."

He turned and stared after her as she moved through the door and sidled past the obstructing couch. She stopped at the cart and he noticed her shirt was on inside out. No wonder she was upset. He'd gone and married her and had sex with her and now he was crying drunk. Of course, he had been drunk, but... Was it really so bad? Chloe looked out for him. Chloe took care of him. Through almost every hardship, there she was.

Even when he was about to go away, possibly, forever, there she was, organizing drinks and trips to Vegas and last hurrahs. Even when he was experiencing his first hangover, vomiting things that made hissing noises, there she was, rubbing his back and soothing him, even ordering breakfast. And maybe he didn't remember the sex, but he remembered most of it and what he did remember seemed pretty damned...

"Okay, here we go," she stepped sideways past the couch, shaking a bottle. "You know, I thought I was getting these for me. I didn't know if Kryptonians could get hangovers. Then again, they can get drunk, so..." She shook two into her hand. "I just woke up with a little headache, so..." She handed him the bottle. "You might try taking the rest of these. I don't know if it'll help, but..."

He took the bottle, attempting to smile. He just wasn't sure if he was there yet. "I guess you handle your liquor better than me." He shook some into his hand blearily, thinking it couldn't hurt.

"Well, what you had could probably take the skin off a rhino." She did smile, just a little. "And as for what I drank. It wasn't that much."

He swallowed what he had with a slight gag. "You kidding?" he choked. "You had almost that whole bottle before we got here."

She sighed. "That's one of the things we need to talk about. I... I don't even know where to start. Clark, last night..."

"We got married." He swallowed the rest and shook his head. "You don't have to tell me. I remember." He took a deep breath, trying to think of what to say next.

"Clark, I'm so sorry," she burst out. "I just... I didn't know what else to do and I... I mean, I'm not sorry, really. Now nothing has to change."

He gave a dry huff. "I think things have already changed." He put the cup down on the sink and stared at the cheap ring on his left hand. He remembered her sliding it on as he giggled. He did a lot of giggling last night. A lot of laughing and touching and smiling. And so did she. Once again, he wondered if this might not be a good thing. He wondered if they could be like that now. Not drunk, of course, but happy. Most of what made last night was how right it felt to be together again. Just the two of them. It felt like it had been years. Mostly because it had.

"Not really. Nothing has to change," she insisted. "As soon as things settle down, we can go back to normal. I know you're mad now, but..."

"I'm not mad," he sighed. "I... I don't know what I am right now." But he knew he didn't want to go back to normal. Not when normal was cold silences and never more than a few strained minutes together. No. He didn't want to go back to normal. Did he want to be married? Well, he wouldn't have done it if he hadn't wanted to, alcohol (or whatever it was he drank) aside.

"Then you're disappointed in me," she said, pacing the tiny bathroom behind him. "But I was just... I was at my wit's end and you're so stubborn. I thought if you had a few drinks, I could..."

He turned from the mirror and gripped her arms, stopped her pacing. "Chloe, I'm not disappointed in you. Okay? Last night happened and it's not all your fault."

She shook her head, her eyes filling. "Yes, it is, Clark. I... I thought you were going away forever and I... I just acted..."

His hands gentled and he pulled her in. "Chloe, it's okay."

"No, it's not," she said rather wetly against his chest.

He nearly rolled his eyes. This was a heck of a honeymoon, with a crying wife. "I felt that way last night, too. As if everything was ending. So maybe we overreacted, but it's not that bad." A wife. His wife. Hadn't his father been married by the time he was his age?

"No, Clark," she sniffled against his chest. "I was bad. I even tried to turn back. I knew it was wrong, then I went and did it, anyway."

"I know. It is wrong," he agreed, stroking her back. He might be going away for the rest of his life and now she was legally tied to him. "I never wanted to do this to you."

"I did this to you!" She lifted her head, gripped his shoulders. "Listen, even if you never speak to me again, I don't regret last night. It was like... It was just like old times. I mean, if we forget the kissing parts."

He smiled a little, ready to now. "Why would we want to forget the kissing parts?"

She stared at him. "I like that you can joke, but..." She squeezed her eyes shut. "Jesus, Clark. Just do it."

He started to lean in, then stopped. "Shouldn't we brush our teeth first?"

"Don't go easy on me," she said through clenched teeth. "Get mad."

He drew back, confused. "I told you. I'm not mad."

She opened her eyes and shook her head sadly. "Only because I'm not explaining this right. Clark, you need to let me explain. Last night wasn't some spur of the moment thing. Not for me."

"You planned this," he said, shaking his head as he remembered saying those words last night. "I know. I mean, you showed up with the bottles for a crazy night. That doesn't make it your fault. Chloe, we were drunk and we did something a little crazy, but it's not so bad. If you think about it..."

"No. You were drunk," she cut in. "I wasn't. At least... I wasn't at first."

He squinted down at her. "But you drank that whole..."

"No." She pulled away, taking a deep breath. "Clark, when you say I planned this, you don't know how right you are. You can toss some weak tea in a bottle, wince at every sip, and pretend it's whiskey. I think the first real drink I had was in this place and this," she held up her left hand and the cheap ring flashed at him, "is exactly where I wanted this night to go. Do you get it now?"

He stared hard at her, taking a step back. "You... planned to marry me?"

"Yes, I did," she said firmly.

"You were sober and you... wanted to marry me," he finished, still not getting his head around it. He wasn't sure how to feel right now. He felt hoodwinked, maneuvered, and... Yet this tiny part of him felt something more. She'd wanted to marry him. Above every man in the world, even her damned boyfriend, she wanted him. But what she did...

"Are you mad now?"

"I don't know," he muttered, moving away. He was trying not to be and he knew it. And most of the reason he didn't want to be mad involved last night and hazy memories of a peach bra and her wriggling under and over him. He wanted her. And that was a damned good reason not to be mad... or not. It really wasn't a reason. Just an embarrassing condition resulting from a honeymoon he couldn't remember and years of a girl who always seemed out of reach for one reason or another. "I... I thought you were over me or us or... whatever might have happened."

"I was," she said, nodding furiously. "I swear I was. I had to do this, Clark. It was the only way."

"Chloe... why would you want this? Are you planning to wait like some dutiful wife?" It still felt strangely... nice, knowing she wanted him again. But a horrible thought hit him. "What if they take you, too? What if they experiment on you because you were involved with me? I couldn't take it if..."

"But that's the beauty of it, Clark. They won't take you. There's no witness. I can't testify against you now. They can't make me. Now that I'm your legal wife..."

"Wait." He held up a hand. He had to. The world had to stop for a minute. "What?"

"I've covered our asses in every way. This solves everything. You can stay here and be the hero we need." She let out a long sigh. "I'm just so relieved you see it my way."

He took another step away. "Like hell I do," he grunted, brushing past her and into the ugly, red bedroom.

"So you are mad," he heard her say softly behind him.

"You got it."

"But I did this for you," she said louder now. "You didn't want me to lie and now I don't have to. They can't make me testify if..."

"If we're married," he grunted. "Just like you planned." Now he got it. Every calculated bit of it. And he was pissed. "And having sex? Was that part of the plan? Just dangle that carrot like a dirty, little tease until you got your way and..."

"We did not have sex, Clark."

He stilled in the middle of looking for his shirt. "We didn't?" he asked, not sure if he wanted it confirmed or denied.

"I would never do that to you."

"There's an ego boost," he muttered, spotting his shirt and jerking it on. Of course. Of course, they didn't have sex. He was just a means to an end to her, some guy who could do heroic stuff, some means to help her save the world. Maybe that's all he'd ever been to her.

"I would never take advantage of you when you're drunk," she said behind him. "As soon as I sobered up, I made sure I stayed away. I made sure I didn't..." She trailed off. "How could you think that?"

"Well, you know, once you marry a guy..." He didn't finish that. He didn't want to say anything ugly and he didn't trust himself to say anything but that.

"Clark, I... I need to explain this better. Please, just get us home. We can talk it all over then."

"Home," he growled. "I want to go home." That was about the only subject they could agree on right now. "I want to go home right now and forget this night ever happened." He strode past her to the door, pulled it open.

"Clark..."

"I don't want to talk it over," he snapped, whirling on her.

"Okay." She put up her hands. "I get that you need some time, but..." She sniffled and stared down at her bag on the floor. "Don't just leave me here."

He stared at her, wondering if he should do just that. She probably deserved it, that wife of his, but... He strode toward her, picked up her bag, then her, giving one last baleful glance at the metallic bottle by the bed before he sped off, hearing the door slam in his wake.

He wanted to speed right home. He meant it when he said he didn't want to talk it over... at the time. Now, speeding through the desert with an armful of her, her arms around his neck, he found last night coming back. He felt cheated, confused, and too damned angry to hold her for one more second.

He skidded to a stop, kicking up a cloud of dust, and let her down a little more gently than he wanted to. "Screw this," he growled, dropping her bag as well. "I want to talk now."

"Okay. We'll... " She choked and waved her hand in front of her face.

He checked the urge to apologize and paced away. "Let's just forget that you tricked me into marrying you for your own deceitful ends."

"It wasn't just my ends. This is for..."

He held up a hand, not looking at her. "No. You say you married me so they couldn't make you testify, but I had to brush up on state law, getting thrown into the bullpen, and I know that they can force you to testify to events that happened before the marriage took place."

"Well, the marriage might have taken place two months ago."

"But it didn't, so..."

"But it might have," she said levelly. "Lucky Sevens isn't known for their timely paperwork. Somebody might have forgot to post it till just today."

He turned to her slowly, remembering her little private convo with Fake Wayne Newton. "For a price, right?"

She closed her eyes, swiped at her rather dusty face. "Clark, I had to..."

"Had to be a control freak? Had to make me dance like your little puppet? Is this who you are now?" He looked over her clothes, her hair, slightly mussed, but still flipping out at the ends. She had all the trappings of the girl he knew, but... "You sure as hell aren't the girl I knew."

"Well, you know what? You..." She took a deep breath, then spat out some seriously dirty saliva. "You just turn that around. I work around the damned clock, I eat, sleep and breathe keeping you safe and for what? For a guy that hardly acknowledges I exist anymore! I didn't have to do this!"

"Damned right you didn't!"

"Well, you know what? This is the last thing I do for you because I see it now. I get nothing from you! Not even gratitude!"

"Better be careful. You sound like a nagging wife."

She moved toward him and planted her feet in the cracked earth. "Well, I am your wife. For as long as it takes to make sure your stubborn, bull head stays out of lock-up. So get used to it!"

"It's not even real."

"It really happened," she countered.

"But not two months ago. It's all a lie."

"Says the extra terrestrial with phony adoption papers," she said, throwing her hands up. "What does it matter if it's real? That was done by your parents and it was done for the best. So was this."

"Then why go through all this? Why make me..." want you, wish we could be like we were, wish we could be even more... "Why not just draw up some phony papers?" he sneered instead.

"In case you didn't notice, Watchtower still isn't at full power and I can't just..."

"Bullshit. You faked an airtight background for Kara before you had Watchtower."

"And you had no problem with that."

"This is different. You... Last night, you..." He stopped what was about to come out of his mouth, angry noise about how she made him think she wanted him. And that would lead to her knowing he wanted her. He felt powerless enough in the face of her machinations. He wasn't about to give her more power over him.

"I needed to do it for you. So you'd see it as real."

"Then maybe you should stop doing things for me," he snarled.

"Oh, believe me. I've learned my lesson." She picked up her bag and smacked a tiny cloud of dust off it. "This is the last time I do you any favors."

"Some fucking fav..."

"I know you, Clark," she cut in. "I knew you'd never go along with some piece of paper I fabricated. I needed to actually do it for you to accept it, accept that I wasn't going to say a word now. And I won't." She stalked away. "It's done. I don't see you turning me into the authorities for faking a marriage date and I won't see you put away for protecting me. It's done. We're done."

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To find my own way home. I'm done with you." She marched toward Highway 50 and a sign proclaiming it "The Loneliest Road in America."

He followed her, despite telling himself he wouldn't. "Chloe, don't be an idiot."

"And more name-calling," she grunted. "Good thing we aren't friends anymore or that would really smart."

He stared after her as an eighteen wheeler moved toward them from the west, trying to prove that sign wrong, and realized it was true. They hadn't been friends, not like they were, for a year now. And now he wasn't sure if they would ever be again. Still, he moved toward her.

She was his damned wife, even if she fudged the dates. And he wasn't about to let any wife of his hitchhike across a desert.

She hadn't even stuck out her thumb before he swooped in, gathering her and her bag and heading east. He was still pissed, but not enough to let her go.,, at least not till they got to The Talon. He did let her go then, dropped her dusty self and her dusty bag in the alleyway without a word and sped off before she could get one of her own in.

She was right about one thing. They were done. Let her refuse to testify. He was done caring what she did or didn't do.

December 22nd, 2011

"Just tell me how you did it," she said impatiently, gesticulating a bit wildly before he grasped her wrist, not wanting that glass to dig further in. "I'm not about to apologize for the damned marriage. I did what I had to do. Maybe some people got pissed, but it worked, so shut up about it. Just... How the hell did you find me?"

"Hold on a second." He concentrated on her hand, trying to pick the rest of the glass out before he spoke. Because he was pretty sure she was about to do more flailing before this night was over. "I found you," he began carefully, "because you left me a trail."

"What?" She pulled at her wrist, but he held it firmly. "That's crap. I didn't leave anything. There was no record of me on any plane, boat, or blimp, not even under an assumed name. I didn't want to be found."

"I'm not talking about travel. I'm talking about that breadcrumb you left me."

"No. There was no crumb." She shook her head and tried to pull her wrist away again. "Not for anyone and especially not for you."

"Would you let me finish this before your skin grows over the glass?" he said sharply, more sharply than he intended, but it worked. She stilled and quieted. Truth was, he was getting pissed. Not just at her insistence that she wanted to leave him so badly, but at the idea that the one clue she left wasn't for him. Meant nothing. As angry as he'd been, after finally finding her out, he'd tempered it with one thought: that she really wanted him to find her somewhere inside. But maybe it had no meaning. "Then why E.J. Cochran?" he asked, trying to keep his mind on task as he let another shard of bloody glass fall to the counter-top.

She was quiet for a long time. The only sound was the light scraping of tweezers on skin and the wet clink of each piece he pulled from her skin. "How the hell did you figure that out?" she asked softly.

"Elizabeth Jane Cochran. It was Nellie Bly's real name. Wasn't it?" That was how he'd found her the first time she died. Nellie Bly in General Lane's calendar. He'd hoped, was even a little sure, that she'd think he'd pick up on it, find her.

"Yes, it was. But I never thought you'd figure it out."

"You told me. You said her editor chose the name for her and you wondered if she would have rather been published under her own, but being published at all was more important than exactly how..."

"That was more than thirteen years ago. I didn't even think you were listening."

"No. I guess you didn't," he said sadly as he dropped the last shard on the counter. It had nothing to do with him. He moved to the laundry room and took out a bottle of peroxide. He'd never needed it except for washing his suit. His mother insisted that it was the only way to remove stains from colors. "So why'd you pick that name?"

"I wanted something of my own to take with me," she said so softly he almost didn't hear it. "I couldn't take anything of my life, so I took the life I wanted. The life that got interrupted before I..." She hissed as he poured it over her hand.

"It's not supposed to sting," he said, feeling less angry now.

"Doesn't mean it doesn't."

He dabbed at her hands with a paper towel gently. Maybe he shouldn't blame her for wanting to get away. She could have been a great journalist if she'd never met him. Before she knew his secret, Chloe Sullivan had uncovered nearly every other secret in Smallville. She could have done the same in Metropolis, then all over the world just like her hero. "It was an accident," he said, thinking she deserved the rest of the truth, along with so many things he couldn't give her, not without a time machine or one of the Legion rings he swore he'd never touch again. "I never would have found you if I hadn't been smacked in the face with a copy of The London Times." He sighed and dabbed at her hand. "The cuts are pretty shallow. They shouldn't hurt much tomorrow."

"Yeah. Whatever. I wanna hear more about you getting smacked in the face."

"You would these days." He pulled her other hand over the sink and poured more peroxide on it. "I was making a save at the airport. Some guy lost his job and went a little nuts. I caught the jumper, but the newsstand we landed on got a little destroyed. I ended up spitting a copy of the London Times out of my face, but not before I saw that name." He smiled just a little. "I might not have looked closer, except it was about the Loch Ness Monster."

"That was my first story... ever."

"I know." He looked up, pressing the towel against her hand. "E.J. Cochran said that, too. I was pretty sure even before I saw your other articles."

"It's a series of articles on UK myths and legends," she said softly, staring away from him. "I kept Nessie for the last. Returning to my roots and all, so..." She shook herself and pulled away, hopping off the counter. "Fine. You found me. And why'd you need to find me so bad? Cause you loooove me?" she slurred. "Fuck you again, by the way."

"For saying I loved you?" He calmly capped the bottle and turned to her. "I'm not sorry. It's true."

"It's what you do," she sneered, waving her hand. "You're just upping the ante. Like you do. See all that vague-ass you mean more to me than you know, don't know what I'd do without you sh*t works on the Chloe that stays, not on the one that goes." She folded her arms and leaned against the kitchen table. "You gotta dangle a better carrot, right? So you think you can say you're suddenly madly in love with me now and I'm supposed to..."

"This isn't sudden," he cut in. "This has been a long time coming."

"I don't need you anymore," she shouted.

"Maybe you don't. But I need you. My life's been shit for over two years now."

"I wasn't even gone that long."

"Yes, you were," he said evenly. "You said I left and I was still gone, even when I came back. But you left, too, long before you disappeared."

"Because you..."

"Maybe it was because of me. Maybe I started the whole fucking thing," he growled. "But it doesn't change where we are now. I do everything now, every fucking thing you always wanted me to do, and it means nothing because you aren't here to see it!" He had nothing to lose now. It was time to lay it all out, whether it helped or hurt. "Do you know what I miss most? How we'd talk. After every bad thing that went down, there you were."

"Like a lackey," she snarled.

"No. Like a... wife. Damn it, Chloe!" He moved to her, took her by the arm. "You were a wife long before we ever said I do in front of a couple celebrity impersonators. At the end of every fucked up day, I had you to help me feel good about what I did, even when I didn't want to. I had you to tell me I was doing my best, that I would be something great someday, that I'd save us all. And maybe I never saw it then and maybe it's too late to see it now, but... I needed that. I needed that then and I need it now. And you left with what I needed. You just left." He felt bereft, just saying the words. He thought of Jor-El and all he'd said about this woman, about how empty his life was now and he felt that emptiness so keenly now that...

"My God! You'll say anything to get your way," she said with narrowed eyes.

June 6th, 2010

There was nothing she could say, except what she said. That they were done.

So he deleted her text unanswered and continued repairing the barn. They didn't "need to talk." Not "now" or ever. He focused on the barn. They had termite damage and he'd neglected it for far too long. Sure, there was no livestock these days, but that was no excuse to let the place crumble. Maybe he'd convert the barn. That would take some time. He could install plumbing and turn it into a studio, rent it out to some flighty... His phone beeped again and he was about to ignore it until he saw the name. It wasn't Chloe. It was Lois.

He was sure she'd be across the ocean by now and he felt mildly confused. He picked up. "Lois?"

"You know what?" she said so loudly he had to pull the phone away. "I waited at that cafe for over an hour. I could be in Egypt by now, but I waited for your ass and... Let's just forget that, so you can tell me why the cops are taking my cousin."

"What?" He took a deep breath. "Don't worry," he said more calmly. "It's nothing. I'll take care of it."

"That's what she said. And, by the way, screw you all. You have your little club and you talk in whispers and... whatever. I don't even care."

"Where did they take her?"

"I don't know," Lois yelled. "They said downtown. And she's telling me it's nothing and... Jesus, Clark, you didn't even call me. Did I tell you I waited for over..."

"I have to go," he said, hanging up. He had to go downtown, apparently. That was where his damned wife was.


PART TEN

PART TWELVE