Before Sunset (Part Seven)

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She wasn't sure what to do with the flashlight, as if the thing growling before her might take some offense, but she'd kind of like to see what was about to eat her.

She lifted the beam and kind of wished she hadn't. A wolf. Black and white and teeth all over. She let out a mad breath of laughter, thinking of the old joke about newspapers, then about newspapers in general, then about The Daily Planet, then about college and how she hoped she could earn her way back there and how now she never would and her journalistic career hit its pinnacle with a column she never felt quite right about having and how...

"Yeeeeahhhhh!"

She shrieked and dropped the flashlight as a noise even more startling than the growl sounded to her left. It was closely followed by a streak of flame and more unintelligible yells. The only thing that kept her from running for the inky black hills was that it sounded like it was human.

"Shooo! Go on! Get out!"

It also sounded like it was Clark, shooing away a wolf like it was a squirrel.

She dropped to the snow and fumbled for the flashlight, only lifting it in time to see the wolf running off, whining into the distance.

"You okay?" She lifted the beam and Clark stood, his back to her, a burning branch in his hand, looking after the wolf. He turned, then shielded his eyes, dropping the branch into the snow where it sizzled slightly. She hardly had time to answer before he started talking. "I'm sorry. I know I was supposed to stay back, but I just walked out a little. And I kept my distance. I didn't see anything. Well... maybe that wolf, but I..." He stopped with a slight grunt, possibly because she'd launched herself at his chest. She didn't remember planning to do it, but she suddenly saw him, not just now, but always...

Pulling her out of a coffin. God only knew how... Touching her face in the barn... Holding her as The Torch's office burned around them...

So many times. So many times he'd saved her and it was really hitting her now. "It's always you. Every time," she breathed, tightening her arms around his middle. Even without a superhero's abilities, even in the cold, even when she told him not to, even with a flashlight squashed between them, Clark Kent made her feel so safe.

"I take it you're not mad." She felt his shaky hands on her back and opened her eyes. He was shaking. She wasn't doing much better.

"Frustrating as it is, I can never stay mad at you." She pulled back slightly and grasped the flashlight, then tugged on his arm. "Come on. We should get back. Keep our claim on that thing's house."

"You think it was his?"

"I kind of hope so. Unless there's something bigger lying in wait." She wished she hadn't said it. This day had gone from hope to despair easily enough without her adding more fear to the fire. The fire was dimming as they neared the cave and she sped forward, tossing more wood in. "I hope that thing doesn't come back. I don't think we can keep this going through the night." She sat down, cross-legged before it.

"We can keep it going as long as we can, then toss the rest in before we go to sleep." Clark sat next to her and held his hands out.

"And if it dies during the night?"

"We either get attacked by a wild animal, which we'd be pretty powerless to prevent. Or freeze."

"Which we're also pretty powerless to prevent."

"Not really. We'll be fine if we could just get warm, then stay insulated."

"And how do we do that?"

"Ideally, we'd be in a sleeping bag, surrounded by cushiony softness."

She glanced to her right. "Is ratty old blanket a good substitution?"

"It'll have to do." He frowned. "I just wish it was bigger, so we could have something on the ground as well, because a lot of the cold will be coming from there."

She frowned into the fire. This was looking grim. "Do you think we should eat... dinner?" She refrained from calling it their last meal.

Clark shook his head. "Probably should save it for morning. We'll need more strength to keep walking, with those hills ahead, than to just go to sleep."

"You're right." She glanced at the blanket. She was through putting this off. "The sooner we sleep, the sooner we know if we made it or not." She stood, working at the buttons on her jacket.

"What are you doing?"

She spread her jacket on the ground. "Last night, I heard being naked and sharing the same covering generates heat." She toed off her shoes and kicked them aside. "You said that yourself. With our clothes on the bottom and the blanket on top, we're about as close to insulated as we'll get."

"Well... I know that, but today we talked about... lines and... and blurring and I don't want to..."

"And you won't. This doesn't blur anything. It's just what we have to do." She grasped the hem of her shirt. "Turn around, Clark. And strip."

He swallowed hard, then stood, turning.

She turned as well, reluctantly.

"I think you should be on the side nearest the fire," he said, rustling behind her.

"Why? Because I'm the girl? Chivalry noted, Clark, but no."

"No. Just... You're smaller and..."

"I think the both of us share equal potential to freeze to death. Besides," she stepped out of her pants, feeling both the fire and the cold that blew over it, "I think we should have our feet nearest to the fire. If our extremities stay warm, the rest should follow," she said, glad she'd read that article again. Extremities. Movement. Naked. Insulated. With their combined knowledge, they might live through another night. She tossed what was left of her clothes to the ground behind her, shivering. "I'm going to turn and straighten out my clothes and keep my eyes down."

"Uh... Me, too."

She kept her eyes on the packed dirt floor and on their clothes and the hands arranging those clothes that sometimes brushed and pulled away. It was torture. She didn't want to look. And she did. It wasn't even about Clark's body, though... Yeah. It was a whole other torturous factor. It was because now, going over how many times he'd saved her life... Well, it could take a schoolgirl crush to a whole new level. It was hard to think about lines and boundaries with such a guy.

This was definitely torture. It didn't change the fact that they still had to do what was necessary to survive.

"Could you turn around again?" she choked out. She kept her eyes on his feet, then turned, grabbing the blanket. She laid down over their clothes and pulled the blanket over herself. "I'm in."

He didn't answer, but she felt him slide in behind her. She felt a hand brushing her shoulder as he settled the blanket over them.

She could feel him shaking behind her, even without any direct contact. She could feel the cold air creeping under the edge of the blanket and scooted back slightly, tucking it under her. He inched back behind her, keeping his body away. She knew why. She knew now no healthy 18-year-old guy could go through this and not be cursed with a reaction. She had one, too. The fact that she was freezing didn't completely override sharp tingles that raced through her insides because she was naked and he was naked and he was gorgeous and had saved her life more times than she could count and... She decided to adopt Clark's idea -- ignore it in the hopes that it would go away. She wasn't thinking straight. Who could when it was so cold?

"Are you asleep?" she whispered.

"No. I'm too busy freezing." His teeth chattered slightly with a hissed in breath. "But you're right about the feet. They feel warm. I keep waiting for the rest of me to get the message."

"I don't know. Give it a minute. I read it in some article. It kept going on about keeping your feet and hands warm and moving a lot."

"So if we just sleep while touching our toes, we'll be fine."

She chuckled. "No. We should be sleep-jogging over hot coals with woolen mittens."

"Don't talk about mittens. I think it makes my hands colder." He shuffled behind her and something that felt like an ice cube brushed her back.

She jumped. "Jesus! You're hands are freezing." She turned over. "You're supposed to fold your arms or something. Tuck them in."

"Well, I don't know these little tricks. I never had cold hands until yesterday."

"Here." She reached between them for his hands, rubbing them between hers. She pulled them up to breathe on them.

He closed his eyes. "Chloe... What are you doing?"

"I'm creating friction." She kept rubbing. "What? You did this for me last night."

"Well, that's different." He started to pull his hands away.

She held on. "Is this some macho thing where you can't admit when you need help?"

He opened his eyes. "I don't think I should be accepting this kind of help from you again."

She abruptly let his hands go. "This isn't that kind of help."

"Tell that to certain parts of me. This is hard enough." He winced slightly. "And you touching me while you're naked doesn't make it any easier."

"This isn't exactly easy for me," she hissed. "But whatever's going on down there, it's more important that we actually live through the night. So just... deal with it." She grasped his hands between hers and moved closer. "If we keep our hands between us, they'll stay warmer."

"Is this from your article?" he sneered.

"No. I just think it makes sense," she said tersely, losing patience now.

"And I just think you're being a little too casual about this. You're the one who went on about lines and boxes, well I have lines, too. And here's one of them." He pulled his hands upward, freezing as he grazed her breast.

The both of them locked eyes, stopped breathing.

He spoke first. "Chloe, I can't do this."

"You think I can?" She sat up, frustration overriding common sense. "This sucks for both of us, you know. I'm scared and I'm tired and I'm hungry and I'm freezing." She shivered violently and looked down. She'd kind of forgot she was naked for a minute. Her breasts were bare and covered in gooseflesh. He was looking at them, too, his eyes sort of glazed. She gingerly crossed an arm over her breasts. "We've been teetering on the edge of death all day. There are bigger things than whether we... touch." She stared down at his chest, partially uncovered by the dislodged blanket. "There might not be a tomorrow," she whispered, frozen by the idea of that and the sight of him until she felt his hand on her shoulder.

He tugged her down and pulled the blanket over them, his eyes still strange and half-lidded. "I'm sorry," he said in a choked voice. "Let's just go to sleep." The hand that had been settling the blanket landed on her waist. "I can do this." He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. "I can."

She stared at his closed eyes, his open lips. I'll regret doing this. I'll regret not doing this, she thought in the split-second before she settled her hand on his chest. His eyes shot wide. "I don't think I can," she breathed before leaning into him.

"Chloe..." He pulled back. "If you do this..."

"There really might not be a tomorrow, Clark." Was that an excuse? Probably. But, to her mind, it was a good enough one to slide her leg up his, settling over his hip. She snaked her other hand around his neck and pulled his head down.

"No," he growled, catching her wrists. She closed her eyes and waited for him to push her away, but he didn't.

Or he did. But he rose up over her, pinning her wrists on either side of her head before he leaned down, catching her lips.

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PART EIGHT