Before Sunset (Part Two)

(Banner by Selene2)

You guys don't even want to know how long I spent researching the Arctic Circle before deciding to just write this part without bothering about the details so much (and, as a research whore, I have some trouble not getting things exactly right, so you might understand my pain).

But let me just say that there would be no Arctic sunset in the beginning of summer (around Commencement). Honestly, how would Jor-El know when sunset is? It's permanently above the horizon during the summer months where the fortress is and doesn't actually reach sunset before September. Oh... and that dark night when the fortress fell over Clark and Lex... it wouldn't actually be dark at that time of year.

But fine. The show didn't bother with facts, then neither will I (though it smarts. I hate writing about sunset happening in a land where there isn't one, which includes the Yukon in the summer).


PART TWO

Chloe pulled herself up, fairly crawling toward Clark now, picking her way to him across snow layered with a thin sheet of ice that cracked beneath her knees and hands. When she found him face-down, she let out a sob. Consequences. No. Please, God, no. But she could feel his pulse as she touched his neck. So aliens have pulses. Heartbeats. Good to know. She turned him over with a grunt. She could feel his breath on her palm as she touched his cold, wet face.

"Clark?" He opened his eyes. "Clark, what happened? What's wrong?"

"Chloe... It stings."

She moved closer with effort, cradling his head. "What stings?"

"Everything," he said blearily. "It stings and it... burns."

She felt his cold cheeks. "I think you mean freezes." Jesus, Clark. What happened to you? But she had an idea. Her recent experiences with a completely memory-free Clark had given her a fairly good idea of what Clark could do... and what he couldn't. He couldn't be hurt. That included, in her mind, pesky things like feeling the cold. It was something that was confirmed in her mind when he ran with her twice through snow and ice, but stayed warm and steady against her cheek. But not now.

What had changed?

Sunset. Consequences.

She had an idea of what those consequences might be, bleary as the last moments in the giant igloo were. She would stop to be relieved that they weren't what she'd thought upon finding him face-down, but she felt that stopping was a luxury they couldn't afford right now. "Clark, you need to get up. We need to keep moving." She tried to pull him, hoping he'd get on board. As much as she loathed geography class, she knew that the average temperature in the Arctic Circle was close to zero, even in summer. She just hoped they were nearer to the Yukon than the North Pole Right now. As nice as it would be, she doubted Santa and his elves were waiting for them with warm cocoa and a roaring fire.

"Can't move." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Hurts to breathe. I can't..."

She squeezed his arms. "You're just cold and... numb." She was feeling it, too. She could only imagine how it would feel for the very first time. "You can move and you have to. We have to. It's the only way too keep warm until we can find..." She cast a worried look around her. Find what? There was nothing. Just flat, white land as far as the eye could see, which wasn't far. It was getting darker. "We need to find shelter," she breathed. But where the hell were they going to find shelter?

It didn't even matter where. They just had to be anywhere else. But Clark was still shaking, teeth clacking together, but otherwise not moving. His eyes were wide and his breath was coming in visible pants. "Clark, you... you must be in some kind of shock, but I need you to snap out of it now."

"I'm freezing."

"Well, so am I," she said, getting testy now. "And I don't want to die here!"

Clark's head snapped to her. "Chloe..." He stared up at her. "I'm s-s-sorry. You must be so c-c-c-c..."

You big, sweet dope. "Yes. I'm cold. And I don't want to sit here getting colder. Clark, please... Just move... for me. I need you to." After knowing how many lives he saved, she suspected this was the one thing that would get him going. Someone else's need.

And it might seem silly, but even after witnessing months of super-powered heroism, she was never more awed by Clark than now. Because Clark was moving, sort of haltingly, teeth still chattering as he pulled himself out of the Clark-sized dent in the snow, but he was moving. And just because she needed him to. He stiffly grasped her arm as he rose, pulling her to stand with him. "C-C-Chloe... I'm s-so s-sorry I d-d-dragged you out here t-t-to..."

"Don't be sorry. Just keep moving." She huddled close and took a step, pulling him to follow. She really didn't want to focus on reason number 586 to be crazy about Clark Kent (which was sweet, dopey selflessness, by the way). She'd rather focus on moving in some fruitful direction because she knew, from years of experience, that being crazy about him was about the most fruitless direction ever. "If we move, we stay warm," she said, hoping she sounded confident as he nodded, still nearly vibrating with the shakes. And there went most of what she'd learned from some magazine skimmed in the dentist's office last winter. There was something about real wool socks and gloves and how, if your extremities stay warm, the rest of you follows. That was a lost cause. It being June, she had socks so thin they were nearly panty hose. She was lucky she was even wearing a jacket. As for gloves, they were somewhere on the top shelf of her closet along with scarves and earmuffs and every other thing she wished she had right now.

Wishing, of course, did no good. But it didn't stop her from fantasizing about hot beverages and hot tubs and hot... anything. In the realm of what could be reasonably expected in this situation, she'd settle for something hard to walk on, not an icy surface that gave on every step to soft, wet snow that soaked through her pants and stuffed itself into her shoes. "We're going to be fine, Clark," she lied, hoping saying it would somehow make it true. "How you doing there?"

"I'm-m c-c-cold."

"Aren't we all," she said, guessing he wasn't a believer in the power of positive thinking. "Maybe we should focus on something else. Anything else."

"C-Chloe..." His steps were slowing and he pitched forward slightly. "I c-can't..."

"Clark, come on." She gripped his arm tighter and braced him with a hand on his chest. His eyes were closing. "You have to stay with me. I'm never going to get out of this without you." It wasn't exactly a lie. She had a strong feeling she was never going to get out of this, with or without him. But they had to keep trying. "Come on, Clark. Talk to me. You never did explain the big igloo."

His eyes opened. "N-not an ig-g-gloo.... F-f-fortress."

"Okay." She nearly laughed, so relieved he was saying something besides how cold it was. "The fortress. Tell me about it."

"F-from the crystals. It's just... sprouted up and... I was s-s-supposed to learn and then you... you were th-there."

"I remember that part," she said trying to plow forward with him. "And about sunset and consequences..."

"D-d-didn't make it.... T-t-too late. G-gone."

"The fortress?"

"N-no. My p-p-p..."

"Your powers," she finished for him, wondering if making him talk was the wrong thing to do. Maybe it wasted energy they were running short on. "I figured that. Were you somehow presto-changoed out of being an alien, too?"

He shook his head and plodded on with her. "D-d-don't know. I d-d-didn't get back t-t-to learn everyth-th-thing."

"Don't try to talk. It's okay. The bottom line is that you are now... vulnerable, same as me." Maybe even more so. And it sucked. She was soldiering on, but he must have it ten times worse, never having felt the sting of the cold, the burn of the wind, the... She looked around. The knowledge that you could truly be taken down by it all. On a selfish level, she felt cheated. Just when she'd been fully let in to the secret world of Clark Kent, there was now... not only was there no secret, but they were probably going to die. It just figured she'd meet her end just when she got to the truth. Maybe the truth was the end.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked, sick of the quiet again.

"I hate c-c-cold."

"Well, it's just new to you," she said, also getting a little sick of being positive, but unable to stop for fear of what happened if she did. "If this were was a summer day," she said loudly, "we'd be wishing for this."

"It is summer."

"Not in the arctic. Think of it this way. A bunch of sweaty people in kansas only wish they could trade places with us right now."

"I w-wish they would."

"Yeah, so do I," she sighed. "It's so c-c-c..." She clenched her teeth, trying not to let it take her over. She stepped again, crunching through the thinning ice to the snow below up to her... ankles. "Clark..." She turned to him, squeezing his arm with numbing hands. "It's not as deep now. That has to be good."

He turned to her, eyes still at half-mast and bleary. "Is it?"

"Sure. I mean... I think I even feel warmer now. Don't you?" That was a blatant lie. It was darkening even more and the wind was picking up. She could hear it whistling past her ears with the cry of birds and... "Birds," she gasped. "I hear birds. That's good. If there's wildlife, then we're not so far north. If there are birds, then there are..." giant, vicious animals that eat birds. And the even bigger animals that eat them and... And it was even darker now. Why the hell did she think hearing birds was a good thing?

"M-m-maybe hunters," Clark suddenly said. "If th-th-there's wildlife, then maybe there are p-p-people..."

"Hunting," she finished. That was actually encouraging. Go, Clark. "Maybe." But she was starting to feel the despair of it now. "What do you remember from Geography in Sophomore year?"

"That the antarctic is colder than the arctic."

"Oh, then we're lucky. Provided we don't die or anything..."

"No." He suddenly stopped, grasping the arm that was gripping his. "Chloe, I'm s-s-s..."

"Clark, saying sorry does neither of us any good. I got caught up in whatever it was that carried you here and that's not your fault. It was just..."

"No. I'm s-s-sorry I'm not helping m-more. We're going to get out of this. I p-promise."

"You better be right." She smiled weakly. "I'd hate to tell your mother she raised a liar."

His eyes became shuttered. "They don't know."

"What?"

"Lois told me they were okay, so I went to get you. I thought... maybe you could tell them where I was, but now..."

"Lois was okay?" Chloe felt momentarily guilty, so focused on their own impending doom that she'd nearly forgot there was the mother of all meteor showers in Smallville... again. "Is Lana okay?"

"She's banged up, but she'll be alright."

"What about my dad?"

Clark squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't know."

"Oh. Well, I'm sure he's... he's..."

"Chloe, I'm sorry. Lana was hurt and there were these Kryptonians that wanted to take over the world and I had to get back to you because Lex..."

"I get it, Clark." She huddled close to him again and nudged him forward. "Maybe not all of it." She squinted ahead. "Kryptonians?"

"They're kind of... from the same place I am. Krypton. I don't know how to explain it, but... Blood was spilled on one of the crsytals and it was some kind of... signal I guess. They came down, dragging meteors with them and I had to open a portal to send them back."

She nodded, glad that he was no longer stuttering with cold, though she still couldn't understand a word he was saying. "Sounds like a busy afternoon," she said, for lack of anything better. "Maybe we should just... not t-t-talk." The cold was creeping into her. She wasn't sure she had the energy now. It was all crashiing down on her. There was another meteor shower. Their town was probably in shambles. She had no way of knowing of her father was okay -- and vice versa. And now she was going to die in the middle of nowhere. Maybe they'd never even discover her frozen body. Having learned the truth about Clark was cold comfort at this point. It was nearly dark. The nothingness in the distance was turning to true nothing, just black and inky...

"Chloe, I see..."

Her steps faltered and she slid forward and her eyes...

"Chloe..."

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

Clark caught her as she nearly collapsed, nearly slipping himself . "Chloe..."

Her eyes fluttered open, lashes flecked with the white snow that the wind whipped around them. "Not gonna make it, Clark. D-d-don't know why I thought we c-c-c..."

"Chloe, you slipped. There's ice under the snow and the... other ice. It's a lake, Chloe."

"Then m-maybe we can d-d-drown, too?"

"No. It's frozen. And I saw something else... It's a sh..." She crumpled and he gripped her tighter as her head lolled backward. "Chloe?"

There was steam coming from her lips. so he knew she was breathing... for now. But not if they stayed still much longer. After all she'd done to keep him moving, he had to return the favor. Just a little longer and they could rest. Because he'd seen it.

"There's an ice shanty, Chloe," he said weakly, though he doubted she heard. He bent forward, pitting his shoulder against her stomach and straightening with a grunt. It wasn't so bad. Now that he was standing, the extra weight didn't feel so hard to bear.

"My dad told me about ice shanties when I was twelve," he said, trying to think about that as he moved forward so slowly in the growing dark. "He used to go ice fishing with his uncle in Minnesota when he was that age. He said it was the first time he tried whiskey," he said, trying to remember everything he could about that story. Not because she was listening. He was damned sure she wasn't, but he was afraid that, if he stopped talking he'd collapse as she had. And they were so close to shelter. "His uncle gave it to him to 'ward off the cold' and he said it did more than that. He said he only had a few sips and he was falling all over the shack. I laughed, but I was kind of jealous. See, back then, I wanted to be just like my dad and I already knew that I would never feel cold or get drunk. I know because I'd already tried. Me and Pete snagged some wine coolers from his basement. He got all giggly. I faked it, but I didn't feel a thing. And I hated it. I hated knowing that I would never be like Pete or my dad or anyone else that was..." Normal.

Of course, he had a taste of normal now. And he didn't like it. He didn't like cold or heaviness or dark he couldn't see through...

"I can't see it," he said aloud. It was dark now and no amount of squinting would make that out-of-place rectangle stand out against the white again. "It's fine," he reassured her, imagining her limp hand brushing against his thigh as he stopped was some sort of question in need of reassurance. He hefted her more securely on his shoulder. "I know it was right ahead. We'll find it."

He plodded on, trying to plant his feet as he walked rather than sliding on the ice under the thin layer of snow. "Anyway, my dad said his uncle's shanty was really cool. It had four bunks and a hot plate and a toilet... But he said no one ever used that. It was small and no one wanted to stink it up. Plus, they could always practice writing their names in the snow. My dad said he only got three letters. But his uncle could do his whole name. And his name was Jeremiah, so you know that's pretty impre..." He stopped, impeded by... something.

He tightened his grip with one hand and reached out with the other. His hands were pretty numb now, but he felt wood, solid, crackly, splintered wood. "We're here, Chloe."

She gave no answer, even when he squeezed her. He felt along the wood, waiting for anything. Just a break in the planks large enough to be a...

"Door," he panted, feeling his fingers slip through, feeling the wood give as he pulled back, but slowly, halted by the snow and ice. He held Chloe tighter and pulled with all his might, stumbling backward and nearly falling to the snowy surface of the lake. "No..." He skittered back several steps, but stayed upright, holding onto the door. "We're good," he breathed.

There was a slight moan in response and he decided to find that encouraging. He moved forward, using one hand to feel between the door and the edge. He moved them in slowly, trying to mind her, still crumpled over him. The last thing he wanted to do was give Chloe a concussion in addition to running her out here to freeze. Inside, it felt almost warm, without wind that assaulted his cheeks and hands. He moved in further, stopped when something hit his knees. He bent, trying to feel what it was and felt... softness. He ran his hand along it. It felt like blankets, sort of scratchy ones. He sank to his knees in front of it, gripping along the edge. A cot maybe. "See, Chloe? There's even a bed."

There was no answer and he felt momentarily panicked. He reached his free hand over his shoulder to grip hers, hefting her forward. There was a slight crash and he gasped, trying to feel her head. He felt up her body, brushing against places he shouldn't before he felt her neck, then her head. There was nothing near it. Just the softness of the cot. He reached up, feeling her arm, then her hand, then... He drew his hand away with a hiss. His finger stung and he brought it to his mouth on instinct, sucking, tasting something salty and... coppery. Blood? He had a feeling, but he couldn't know for sure. He carefully felt his way up her arm again, brushing against the jagged... glass. It felt like glass. Thin glass, and then a wooden surface and then... His hand came away with what he prayed he'd find. Matches.

His fingers were numb, but he felt nearly renewed by what he held and concentrated everything on feeling the cardboard surface until he felt the slightly gritty strip. He kept one finger on it as he reached under with the other hand, tearing one stick from the matchbook. He closed his eyes, seeing being a useless endeavor right now and struck. The slight snick sounded before him and he opened his eyes, seeing fire and Chloe. He breathed a sigh of relief and...

"No." It flickered out with his breath and he concentrated again, striking the match and keeping his eyes to his left. To the surface. He saw thin, broken glass to the side of a thicker glass base. A hurricane lamp. Now just a wick sticking from a base, thanks to his clumsiness and Chloe's flailing hand. His fingers burned and he quickly touched the match to the wick, pulling back his fingers and shaking them out. Frozen, cut and burned so far...

But he couldn't complain. They had shelter.

A gust of wind hit his back and he shivered, turning to the door. He stood, glad he could see now, but knowing that wouldn't last long if he didn't shut the door against the wind, considering he'd broken the glass top of the lamp. He moved to the door and pulled it closed against the snow and wind, leaning against the jamb, wheezing slightly. It hit him now, how cold he was and how... tired. He glanced at Chloe, slumped on the this cot, and was nearly jealous... and concerned. He fell to his knees before her, feeling in front of her lips. Her breaths were steady and he let out one of his own in relief.

He sat back on his knees and looked around. It was a tiny shack. One cot. One small table. One shelf containing a tackle box and a jar containing... something. His eyes were too tired to glean what. He turned further. One hole in the wooden floor. Must be where all the ice fishing happened. One cabinet... He moved to it. There was nothing inside but some spiders and a flashlight. He'd never felt threatened by spiders before. He supposed now was the time to start. He shrunk back, wondering if it was a brown recluse. He'd seen these pictures on the internet of some guy's thumb, completely eaten away by venom and... he hardly cared. There was a flashlight. He stiffened and reached in to grab it, snatching it back quickly as if the spider had dibs. He held it at his side, then turned back to Chloe.

He felt her hands. Despite the lack of wind, they were still stiff and cold. He rubbed them lightly and looked at the bed in the dim, flickering light.

It was a rather small cot. From what he could see under her, there was one rather scratchy blanket and no pillows at all. If they got out of this, he would never take his bed at home, with it's soft quilt and four pillows, for granted again.

Still, there was enough room for him to squeeze in beside her, He might just have to. Because there was something else about his father's ice-fishing story.

"Funny thing, Chloe," he said blearily. "My dad learned a lot of survival stories from his uncle that winter. Did you know it's actually warmer if you get out of your wet clothes?" He brought his hands to the buttons of her jacket. "My dad said the best way to stave off hypothermia is to generate body heat." He pulled her jacket down her arms and out from under her, then stopped, seeing her shirt, slightly wet in places.

She was in no condition to give permission.

If he did this, she might just kill him in the morning.

If he didn't, they might both die tonight.

He pulled the shirt upwards, trying to keep his eyes on it and not the skin. "My dad also said a sleeping bag was best." He pulled off his own jacket and tossed it near hers. "I think it was something about being sealed in..."


PREVIOUS CHAPTER
PART THREE