Before Sunset (Part Fifteen)

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It was the worst bath of his life. Le Gal must not be a big man. He felt like he was crunched in a can with a lukewarm puddle. Still, he was clean.

Clark dumped all of their clothes in the tub and picked up the empty kettle, trying to secure the blanket around his waist a little better. He'd just kind of tucked it like a bath towell. It was too thick to tie. It would be good enough. It wasn't like they'd be doing lunges or jumping jacks or anything. Just sitting around a cabin, trying to stay warm, eating cold food, trying not to look at her...

He stopped, sniffing the air. It smelled like food -- like hot food.

He followed the smell to the door, thinking of those cartoons where the characters floated on the smell. It was so good, it made him nearly light-headed. He pulled open the door and it was like a cloud around him. He closed his eyes and moaned.

He opened his eyes as she gasped. "Damn it. I'm not ready." She scurried to the bed and grabbed the pillow. She bent to place it on the floor, giving it a pat. "Okay. Now I'm ready." She straightened and moved to him. "I'll take that." She took the kettle from his limp hands and squeezed between him and the doorway, a hand brushing his arm. He turned with her as she went in the bathroom and turned on the water. "I see you put the clothes in. Thanks for that. I figure we let them soak in hot water while we eat." She turned the faucet off and straightened with the kettle, "Why don't you sit down, Clark? Dinner's getting cold."

"Dinner..." He finally looked around. The place looked kind of neat. He couldn't see any cobwebs in the corners. And he could see the corners, too. She had the lantern lit, sitting on the other side of the quilt, which was spread on the floor in front of the stove. The pillow was on one side, the bearskin rug spread out nearest him. In front of each was a wrinkled, but clean napkin, one with a fork, one with a sort of large spotted spoon. The three cracked cans sat in the middle, steaming slightly. "You didn't have to do all this."

She sidled past him and stepped around the blanket to the stove. "It's not much. I just cleaned, rummaged around for some utensils, set a kind of... table." She placed the kettle on the stove and turned to him, shrugging. "It was nothing."

"It's not nothing. It's..." He couldn't think of a word for it. It felt strangely homey. "It's nice," he finally finished.

She smiled and looked down. "Well, you slayed the beasts. I just reheated them and tidied up the cave."

He squinted at her. "Wha..."

"Nothing. Never mind." She clapped her hands together. "Have a seat." 

"Oh. Uh..." He moved to the dusty bearskin and sat down, cross-legged.

"No. You can have the pillow. I just put that there because I didn't want to drag it too far."

"It's fine. I'm getting used to this guy." He gave its head a pat.

She eyed him and sat on the pillow, folding her legs under her. "Really? I'm not. I had to close my eyes to touch it. It looks like it wants to eat me."

"Oh, it's harmless," he said dismissively, trying not to pull his hand away too obviously. Actually, he was still extremely creeped out by the skin with its wide-open mouth full of sharp teeth, despite a night damned near snuggling with it. It did look like it wanted to gobble them up. He turned his attention to the blanket instead. "So... we just take a can and..."

"Oh. Yes. Sorry, I figure we should try to save some hash, but dig in on the rest." She pushed the can of corn to him. "All yours."

He pushed the green beans to her with a grimace. "And you can have these."

She picked up her can, then nearly dropped it before placing it down with a hiss. "Too hot to hold." She left the can on the quilt, but picked up the slotted spoon that was in front of her. "I don't get people not liking green beans."

"And I don't get people liking them."

"Can't argue taste," she said, trying to get a green bean to balance from the can to her mouth on the spoon. It dropped onto the quilt. "Not exactly clean."

"No," Clark agreed, snorting.

She huffed. "I don't care." She picked it off and popped it in her mouth. Then closed her eyes, a sort of blissed out expression on her face.

He gaped at her, licking her lips and sort of moaning. There was a clenching in his gut and he vaguely wondered if his state of constant near-arousal today had solidified into full, then his stomach gave a loud gurgle and he realized it was hunger. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt it on this level. He quickly grabbed up his fork and stabbed it into the corn, remembering that there was food here. He tried to get it from can to mouth as well. He wasn't having a better time than she was. His corn rolled off the fork and right down his chest.

She giggled, even while chewing.

He shrugged and scooped it up with his hand, eating up the kernels. His eyes slid shut at the first taste on his tongue, salty from the canning and sweet because... that's just corn. "Oh, my God!" Had corn always tasted this good or was it just the level of hunger?

"I know... Oh!"

He opened his eyes and saw her warring to get a green bean off the spoon. She eventually succeeded and chewed, humming to herself with a grin that must match his. It had to be the hunger with her. No one could really feel that way about a green bean.

He tried to get another forkful. Only two kernels made it to his mouth before he groaned and tried to get his fingers in the can. "That's it. I can't..."

She was giggling, staring at her spoon. "Idiot."

"What? I need to eat. You should try..."

"No. Me. I just realized I set the table wrong." She held out her slotted spoon. "Trade?"

He stared at the spoon. "That could work." He took it and shoved the fork into her hand. He actually got a whole spoonful. He looked up, ready to remark on their new success, but she wasn't paying any attention to him, nearly shoveling green beans into her mouth. He realized she had the right idea and went to town, taking heaping spoonfuls of corn and, when he was down to kernels at a time and the can was cooler to touch, drinking the juice that was left.

His can clanked to the floor beside him and he nearly fell with it, closing his eyes as he collapsed against something soft.

She laughed and he opened his eyes. "What now?"

"Nothing. Just looking at you and your friend." She gestured to the floor with her fork.

He looked down, realized he was caressing the snout of the bearskin rug. It occurred to him to be horrified, but he was too comfortable. He shrugged. "It's kind of growing on me."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah. I even named it." He gave the head a pat. "He looks like an Ernest to me."

She snorted. "I was just calling it Dead Bear, so I guess Ernest and I don't have that kind of connection."

"Well, we did cuddle."

She giggled and he found himself smiling. "Isn't that crazy?" he said, staring at her.

She quieted and tilted her head. "What?"

"I don't know. I just... like that we can laugh in the middle of all this."

"That's just us, I guess." She smiled, her eyes so... warm. "Like you said, we've been through worse."

"Will be again, too. If we ever get back to Smallville."

Her eyes left his as the smile left her face. "Back to Smallville..."

"We will get back, Chloe," he said reassuringly.

"I know. Back to our lives. Just like before." 

"Well... not just like before. Obviously, a few things have changed."

She laughed. It sounded too loud somehow. "Obviously. You aren't bringing secret powers to the table anymore."

He wasn't talking about that, but he suddenly wondered if he should be. "No. Not anymore," he said, staring at the edge of the quilt.

"I guess we'll have our work cut out for us. I mean... if you still want to stop the latest freak."

He looked up sharply. "Of course I will. I'll never stop... trying, at least."

"I know. And I'll... I'll always be your research assistant."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." He leaned in. "Maybe you didn't always know it, but... now you do. Every time a meteor freak was stopped..."

"It was you," she finished for him.

"But with you," he corrected. "I couldn't have done any of it without you. You've saved the town with me and you didn't even know it. I'm glad you know it now."

Her eyes grew soft again. "Well, it wasn't totally altruistic. I did get some must-read Torch articles out of it all." She stabbed into her can, picking it up now.

"I know. I've read them all. Every word," he said truthfully. He had, always so afraid she'd noticed something off, something that might lead her to him. He scrutinized each one and he was always marveling at how fearless she was in her assertions. No theory was too far-flung to be explored and, most times, she was so close it scared him. But he was always impressed. She'd take on everything from the town to the government with no qualms at all. Once, he'd balked at her implications that the FBI was in on a conspiracy to hide the effects of the meteor shower. She even published it, so undaunted. It made him wonder why she'd sit on an article damning the DCA. The one that seemed to upset her so much. "Maybe not every word."

She didn't look up, too busy trying to spear more green beans. "Hmm?"

"Never got to read that DCA expose."

"What DCA expose?" she said, frowning into her can.

"The one you trashed," he reminded her.

She snorted. "I've never trashed a good expose."

"I thought you said you did," he said. In fact, he knew it. "I was so scared, I even wrote this stupid... Oh, this article about how the DCA should have detected this disease and what a travesty it was. I trashed it. It was nothing."

She finally looked up. "What are you talking about?"

"The article you wrote when I was sick with the spores."

She squinted at him. "I didn't write one. You yelled at me for questioning you about your mom's illness. I was too upset to even try..." She stopped as if someone had slapped the words out of her. "Oh, that article. Yeah. Nothing big. I realized accusing the DCA of negligence was just... stupid." And there was that jumpiness again.

"No stupider than claiming the FBI had a secret file on Smallville." He knew it! She was hiding something. But what?

She suddenly looked to her left. "Hey! Kettle's done." She jumped up -- literally. She took the edge of her sheet and picked it up. "I'll just pour this on our clothes."

"You do that," he said, nearly smug now. He knew it for sure now. She was hiding something. She was too jumpy then and too jumpy now. But what he didn't get was why. 

She came back with the kettle and he sat up, sick of this. "Chloe, what's so..."

"So they're pretty dirty. We should let them soak a bit before attempting to wash them." She opened the stove and shoved another log in. 

"Okay. Now could you just..."

"They aren't even covered. I think two more kettles and we have enough for a wash. Add a little more hot, little more cold..."

"Hot and cold. Just like you," he muttered. 

She straightened and closed the door, wiping her hands. "Sorry. What?" 

"Nothing." But it was true. He couldn't keep track of her. One minute she's giving him melting eyes and suddenly she's all perky and businesslike. She seemed determined to avoid this... whatever it was. And who was he to deny her that, with his years of secrecy? Maybe he should just drop it. Like everything about them. She seemed to want to. "Nothing," he repeated, trying to smile as she sat back down. "Ignore me. I'm just... I don't know what I am."

"Stuck in the Yukon?" she ventured, poking around in her can again. 

"That, too." He shrugged. "Maybe I'm just still hungry." A can of corn didn't quite cut it. He stared at the center of the blanket. At that one lonely can of corned beef hash. He'd nearly forgotten it. The best thing to come out of that hole in the floor. The one thing that could save this night from failure. "Meat," he nearly growled. He reached for it, but she was quicker, for once, pulling it towards her. 

"Wecanhafdawholefing," she mumbled, her mouth full.

"Huh?"

She chewed and swallowed. "We can't eat the whole thing tonight."

"Why not?" he nearly whined.

"Because I thought this through. It's about the only thing with protein."

"I'm only gonna eat half. You can have the rest."

"But we should ration it a little. Like have some today and some tomorrow and..."

"Okay. Fine. But... We are going to have some today?" he asked, because he could smell meat and to smell it and not have it...

"Sure." She stood and held the can away. "But only a little, then we can have some more tomorrow with the creamed corn and..."

"Okay, okay," he stood, growing impatient now. She was standing between him and more food right now. "Got it."

"I just want to make sure," she said, backing away slightly.

He stepped around the quilt. "Really? Or are you trying to sneak some extra?"

"No," she scoffed, backing up two steps. "How can you think that?" 

He advanced on her. "Then maybe you're just holding out on me for the hell of it. Maybe you just like being in charge."

"What? Clark. I have never claimed to be in charge." She stopped, her back against the door.

He leaned in. "But you have been. You decide when we eat and when we rest and where and when we... stay warm." He planted a hand at her side. "And I'm just supposed to go along. Is that it?"

She was breathing heavily. He could feel her sheet brush against his chest and under it... "Clark, what's gotten into you?" 

He wasn't sure. But he had her against a wall -- a door, actually. And there was this part of him that liked it. He liked feeling in charge. He looked at the can, then at her, not sure which he wanted to grab. "Maybe I'm sick of going along." He leaned a little closer.

Her eyes widened and he felt the can against his chest. "Jesus, Clark! Just take the whole thing if you're so..."

"It's not about that," he ground out, grasping it between them.

"Then what..."

"You know what. You just won't...." He stopped, nearly panting as if he'd run a race. His heart was thudding and he felt sweat beading on his forehead. He backed away, releasing the can, nearly tripping over the quilt and stumbling into the bathroom. He grasped the door and closed it. He wished he hadn't. It was darker now. Nearly pitch black in here with just a sliver of light through the high window. He could see steam rising from the tub in that sliver. He moved to it, leaned on the side of the tub, trying to get a grip. 

He'd been ready to have his way with her against a door and she was shoving a can of hash at him.

Was this all in his head? Maybe, to Chloe, last night really was nothing more than staying warm. Maybe everything he was seeing as some crazy game was nothing more than her trying to send him the message that she just wasn't interested. Not these days. If so, his timing really sucked. Because now he was damned near drooling for her. Staring at the front of that sheet like he could will his powers back, see through it to everything he only saw in scant flashes of firelight last night.

He'd been reeling between trying to accept them as friends and nothing more and raging against the idea that, after last night, they could just go back, as if none of this had happened. Maybe he just had to adjust to the former. He just had to calm down. He'd been acting like some kind of caveman. Trapping her against the door, leaning... He must have scared the hell out of her. His eyes widened in the steam rising from the tub. He had. And here he was, hiding, when he should be apologizing before it was too late. 

He moved to the door in the darkness, pulled it open. "Chloe, I'm..."

She suddenly stopped... pacing. She'd been pacing outside the door, still clutching the can. He must have scared her silly.

"Chloe, I'm sorry. You were right about the rationing." He shook his head. "It wasn't even about the rationing. I'm just... I'm getting edgy and taking it out on you and I shouldn't..." He trailed off. She wasn't even looking at him.

Well, she was. Just not his face. She was staring at his chest. He looked down. He was a little damp from the steam, but there was nothing else wrong. "Chloe?"

"Hmm?" She was still staring at him, even tilting her head to the side.

"Chloe?"

She glanced up suddenly. "I'm sorry. What?"

He peered at her closely. "I said I was fine with the rationing."

"Mm-hmm." Her eyes were on his chest again. His eyes moved to her mouth, which was slightly open, tongue darting to the corner of her lips.

He smiled slowly.

This wasn't in his head. This was a game. And he was ready to play.

He moved toward her and she finally looked up. "So can we have some now?" he asked.

She blinked at him. "Huh?"

He glanced at the can. "Not the whole thing, right?" He bent and picked up his spoon. She was ogling him still. She was ogling him. Her with her soft skin and 
pink nipples and hips that made him want to hold on for dear life and... she was ogling him. And it wasn't enough.

He dipped the spoon in the can and came back up with a scoop. He held out the spoon. "Ladies first."

She gaped at him. He took advantage of it, moving the spoon to her open mouth. She moved to take it, but he held it steady, nudging at her lips. She opened for him and he tilted the spoon in, waiting until she finally closed her mouth over it, drawing back and chewing, looking bewildered.

He wasn't. He knew just what was going on now, And just what to do. His eyes slid to the bottle of vodka still sitting on the floor by the bed. This night wasn't over. Before it was, he'd have control of it... for once.

He dipped the spoon in again and came up with some hash for himself. He opened wide and took it in, hardly tasting the one thing he'd been looking forward to most because she was even ogling his mouth now. He swallowed. "Your turn again."

She shook her head. "Clark, I can handle a spoon myself."

"Just eat it, Chloe." He wanted to feed her. Feeding her made him feel in control of this night.

She took the bite and he glanced at the vodka bottle again, remembering Pete with the wine coolers. He'd heard his entire life story that night. And that was just wine coolers. From what he understood, vodka was just a little stronger.

He dipped the spoon in again and took another bite for himself. "Delicious," he said quickly. "Tell you what? We'll put it between the screen and the window." He moved to the window and opened it, shoving the can against the screen before closing it. "Then it can stay cold, but the wild animals can't get it."

"That's... a good idea," she said looking dazed.

"I'm full of them tonight," Clark said, eyes darting to the vodka bottle again.


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