(Art by Nyonyo, also inspired by this chapter!)
There was a smell. That was the first thing he registered. An awful smell and an even worse taste. It was like the nurse's office combined with paint thinner. He opened his eyes and even they watered with it.
He blearily saw Chloe, holding something white in front of his face. "What are you doing to me?" he mumbled.
Her eyes met his still-watering ones. "Damn it. You weren't supposed to wake up." She sighed. "Okay. Just hold still and..."
Something touched his lip. It felt cool, then burned like...
He shot up sitting. "Ow! Jesus! What the..."
She leaned back. "See? This is why you were supposed to stay asleep. I knew you'd be a baby about this."
"About you burning and..." he glanced at the bottle in her hands, the one with a big red WARNING on it, "poisoning me?"
"It's just alcohol. For your split lip. And I'm only dabbing at it lightly. Now hold still." She leaned in again and he squeezed his eyes shut.
"It's not like I'm a baby. It's not like I ever had split lips before."
"I figured that. I know it stings a little..."
"A little?" He winced as she dabbed at his lip again.
"It's for your own good. Now keep holding still. You have some other scrapes on your face."
"Guess you wanna burn them off, too," he muttered.
"It can't be that bad." She leaned back again. "You never had even a little cut?"
"I have. They just heal right up when I get away from the... well, there's something you don't know about me. It's about the..."
"The green meteor rocks. Yeah. I know about that."
"You do?"
"Mm-hmm." She leaned forward, torturing him some more. "I figured it out at prom. Saw your dad use one on you when the Queen Bee left my body for yours." She dabbed somewhere above his forehead and it burned at the spot. "But it was kind of confirmed when I found you unconscious in Lex's safe, bathed in a green glow."
"I meant to thank you for... I mean, I'm sorry I just rushed off without..."
"It was no problem. I'm probably going to have to do a lot more than drag you a few feet to even up the score, looking back."
He caught her wrist as she hovered over his eyebrow. "You've done a lot more than that. That time I had amnesia, you... I didn't realize it at the time, but you knew then. You helped me keep my secret."
"And every time I escaped death, which had to be more than a hundred times, there you were. Let's not even mention every other person you saved. At least ninety percent of the town."
"But every time I needed to figure out who was terrorizing the town, there you were, pointing me in the right direction. I didn't save the town alone."
Her eyes grew soft, then narrowed. "Is all this sentimentality because I'm going for the big cut?"
"I mean it. You don't even know how... There's a big cut?"
"You won't need stitches, but it's a pretty good gash." She smiled. "Why don't you let me prevent infection, then decide if you still like me?"
He released her wrist and squeezed his eyes shut. "Where are you getting this evil stuff?"
"Found a first aid kit. Kind of picked over, but..."
He opened his eyes. "Where was..."
"Clark, shut! I don't want to blind you."
He shut his eyes and his mouth as well as she was leaning close and the bottle was right under his chin. He could even taste the stuff.
"I found a lot of stuff just in the bathroom. Found a new flashlight to replace the one the stupid moose took. No batteries, but there must be some of them lying around. There's a hunting guide next to the toilet. Reading matter of choice here, I guess. It's about two years old, so I'm guessing that's the last time this place was occupied, if the cobwebs hadn't already tipped me off. No shampoo or conditioner, but there's a bar of soap and some lotion and this kit and... That's kind of where I stopped. I figured we should treat our wounds."
"Torture our wounds," he muttered.
"Oh, you're fine." She moved away, he could tell by the absence of the noxious smell and the way her breath was no longer stirring his hair.
He opened his eyes and looked around. "You didn't have to do all this."
"Didn't have to snoop?" She moved to the wooden counter and capped the bottle, placing it in a tin box. "It's like you don't know me."
"Well, that. But..." He stood and gestured to the blackened stove, glowing orange from the window. "I mean the fire and all. I could have helped gather..."
"I didn't want to wake you. Anyway, I told you last night. There's a wood pile outside, kind of under the side." She dug through the kit. "Mostly wet, though. Took forever to get it going. Surprised you didn't wake up with all my cursing and moaning and..."
"You should have got the logs in the middle. They're usually drier. Then you bring the others in to dry out."
She looked up. "Oh, yeah. You have a fireplace at home." She shook her head. "Probably should have woke you up. Might have saved me some time... Damn it! I saw it a minute ago. Where's the... A-ha!" She pulled out a tiny yellow tin and moved toward him.
He shrank back slightly. "What's that?"
"It's Carmex."
He backed toward the bed. "And?"
"It's for your lips." She unscrewed it.
"I think you've already done enough to my lips."
"You're still whining about that?" She advanced on him. "The split wasn't even that bad. I was only making sure they were clean before..."
"They feel fine. Really." He tried for a smile, but the split lip turned it into a wobbly sneer.
"Clark, this is soothing. You just..."
He backed another step and tripped over the bear's head, ending up sprawled on the bed. He opened his eyes to find her standing over him.
"You really are being a baby. Just let me..."
"No." He tried to get up, but ended up knocking into her knees, toppling her down on top of him. "Chloe, I'm fine. Let me..."
She pushed at his shoulders, then reared up, straddling his thighs. "Seriously, this isn't like the alcohol. Hold still. I can't..."
"I don't want you to." He reared up, but she planted an elbow in his shoulder, then twisted to the side, sipping her finger into the tin.
He tried to turn his head away, but she got him, right on the lips with...
"Balm," she panted. "It's just lip balm, Clark."
He stilled as she smeared her finger back and forth over his bottom lip. It didn't smell bad. Neither did she, despite days of trekking. She smelled like wet snow and clean dirt and felt like...
"And this is the good stuff. It's what my dad always gave me when I got chapped lips." She kept rubbing. "You never had even chapped lips?"
"No." he swallowed hard. "Chloe..."
"I still wonder how it all works... or... worked." She stared at his lips, rubbing slower now, almost caressing. "I know you were invulnerable." She smiled slightly, smoothing her fingers back and forth over his lips... a little slowly, but he wasn't complaining. It felt nice... too nice. "But those pesky things like dry skin and rub burn... Did you ever..."
"No." He caught her hand and tried to move back from under her before she felt it. He was so caught up in his own embarrassment, getting turned on by lip balm of all things, that he nearly missed her wincing. "Chloe, what..."
"Let my hand go," she gasped.
He did and she got up, shaking it out.
"What's the matter?"
"Just some stupid splinters. Getting that wood, I kind of..."
"Damn it. You should have woke me." He got up from the bed and moved to her. "Let me see."
"It's fine. I just..."
He grasped her hand and turned it over before she could protest. "There's about a whole tree in there." He nodded toward the first aid kit. "Any tweezers in there?"
"Yeah, but I'll get the splinters later."
"After they dig their way into your skin? I may not have had splinters, but my dad has and my mom always gets them out right away." He moved to the kit and dug around until he came up with some tweezers and took a stool. "Come here."
She put her hands beind her back. "Clark, I'm really..."
"Now who's being a baby?" He nodded to the other stool. She glowered at him before taking it.
"I hate this."
"You'll hate it more when you have a bit of wood harpooning its way through your organs, Just hold still," he said, feeling a bit of satisfaction at being the torturer as opposed to the torturee. He tweezed the first out. "So you've never had a splinter before?" he asked, trying to mimic her nursey tone from earlier.
"Of course I have. The only thing worse than it going in is," she cringed, "feeling it come out. Gross."
"You don't have to look."
"Thank you." She turned her head away.
"Looks like it's just three big ones."
"Spare me the details. Just..."
"Almost done." He pulled at the splinters of wood, then ran his hand over her palm. "I think I got them all. Let me see the other."
"No. That one's fine. I hardly..."
"Chloe..."
She sighed and surrendered her other hand. It felt sticky and he turned it over. Her knuckles were bloody. "Is this the hand you hurt?"
"It's only scraped a little."
"So was my face, but you had to torture me with that... that..."
"Rubbing alcohol," she finished. "And I don't need it. I've had scrapes before and..."
"And you didn't use any," he accused, noticing her face was still dirty and scratched as well.
"I was going to. I just had to make sure you were okay, then..."
He nodded and dropped the tweezers, going for the bottle that might star in his nightmares for some time. "Then you shouldn't mind me helping you out." He pulled out a tissue and held it to the top, giving it a good shake.
She eyed him as he did so. "Something tells me you're having fun with this."
"Don't be such a baby," he said, smirking slightly. He pulled the tissue out and moved it toward her hand.
She hissed slightly.
He pulled back. "God, I'm sorry. Did I hurt..."
"You didn't touch me. I just... Oh, give me that." She snatched the tissue and pressed it to her hand. "I can do this, Clark. It's probably easier if I do it. I've done it before. About a million times." She hissed again and rubbed at her hand.
He sat back and watched. "Yeah. You've probably had more scrapes and bruises than anyone in town."
"Don't forget concussions," she grunted, wiping the blood and dirt from her knuckles. "But about you... there's one thing I don't get." She glanced at him. "You were really sick back in sophomore year. I saw it with my own eyes."
"You visited. I remember my dad told me. He said you seemed pretty upset."
"Well, of course I was. You never had a sick day before." She smiled slightly. "I was so scared, I even wrote this stupid..." She suddenly pulled away, jumping back from him and off the stool.
"Chloe, what..."
"So how'd it happen?" She moved to the bathroom.
"I got sick." He followed her, wondering why she suddenly got so twitchy. He watched her, dabbing at her face in the mirror. "What did you write?"
"But how did you get sick? I know your mom got it, but then you did and..."
"The spores made her sick. The meteor rock mixed with them made me sick. But what did you write?" And why does it have you so upset?
"Oh, this article about how the DCA should have detected this disease and what a travesty it was. I trashed it. It was nothing."
"Uh-huh." She was lying. There was something in this. Something about the way she jumped away from him just now. Something about the way she jumped away from him before. Something about every time she...
She turned back from the mirror with a bright smile. "It can't be past noon now. We can probably get in some good snooping before sunset."
"You mean we should..."
"Stay here. Why not? We can put on the kettle, wash the worst of the dirt out of our clothes and..." She looked down. "Probably ourselves, too." She took a deep breath. "Could you imagine? Being clean? Give me some coffee and that would be enough for me."
"I don't think..."
"Yeah. You're right. Probably no coffee. I'll live." She rubbed her hands together, then winced slightly. "Let's get to snooping."
"It's one thing to stay here, but to look through all their..."
"Clark, no one's been here for two years." She opened a cabinet under the counter. "I don't think they've left anything indispensable behind. Nothing in here, at least." She closed the cabinet.
"I don't know. I still feel weird about using someone else's things."
"You had no problem at the ice shack."
"Well, that was life and death."
She straightened, putting her hands on her hips. "And this isn't? If we hadn't found this place, we'd be having this argument in the afterlife."
"No. We wouldn't be having this argument, Because we'd have never found this place."
"Oh, you know what I mean."
"I think we should keep going. It's daylight now and we could cover some ground before su..."
"I am not covering any ground," Chloe cut in, "with dirty clothes. We can get that kettle going and have actual baths and wash our clothes and..."
"And what are we supposed to wear while washing our clothes?"
"Uh..." She glanced around, eyes landing on the bed. "Sheets, I guess."
He eyed the sheets on the bed. He could see the blue stripes of the mattress through them. He swallowed hard. "They look kind of thin."
She shrugged. "So we'll toss more wood in the oven. It'll be warm enough."
"It's not that. It's..."
"Clark, there might be food, here. I wouldn't even mind if it was more jerky. Just..." She opened a drawer. "There has to be something... Ew." She pulled out several rusty knives. "They must use these to... Ew."
"Okay," Clark said, standing his ground. "If we found this place, there might be another..."
"You were the one that said trappers stay out in the middle of nowhere. We might go a long way before finding anything else?" She straightened, dropping the knives in the drawer with a grimace. "Besides, if there's something close by, looking here is the best way to know. We might find a map or..."
"How would a map help us? We don't know where we are. It's not like they're going to be marked with 'You are here' like at the mall."
"You don't know that. They might have CABIN all marked and circled in case they get lost... when they're finding more animals to torture." She pulled out a screen from the side of the counter with rusty stains that probably weren't actual rust. "Creepy."
"Exactly. We shouldn't stay here another..."
"Ugh!" She straightened, huffing. "Clark, we've been walking for two and half days. I need a rest."
"Like I don't?"
"You're acting like you don't. If you want to keep it going right now, then you can do it yourself."
"Maybe I will." He moved to the door.
"Jesus!" She moved in front of him. "What has you so dead set against one night of guaranteed shelter and... semi-modern plumbing?"
He stared at her. I can't do this. I can't be trapped alone with you wearing sheets. I can't take one more second of you touching me too long, then avoiding me. He didn't say that. "I just want to go home," he said.
Her eyes turned soft. "I want to go home, too. I just... I want one night I'm sure we can get through. No questions."
He nodded and moved past her, opening the door.
"Clark?"
Her voice broke on his name and he turned back.
She cradled herself as the wind blew in. "Are you going to leave me here?"
Never. But he didn't say it. "I'm going to get some more wood," he said, moving out.
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