Title: Unaware
Author: Lala
Rating: G
Pairing: C/L
Summary: Alternate ending to Skinwalker, with their first hug taking place in a slightly different way.
Spoilers: Skinwalker
A/N: Sorry for out of characterness, and this is my first Smallville fic without any nightmares! It must be a miracle of some kind! Oh, and this is totally off topic, but the next chapter of Human Dream Catcher will be up soon.
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Her footsteps echo on the wooden latter. She walks slowly, not knowing quite what to say, or how to act towards him.

Don't give him pity, she tells herself firmly. She always hated pity. And "I'm sorry"s.

She reaches the top of the stairs and stands motionless, collecting her thoughts.

"Clark?" She asks softly, tone unsure.

"Hi, Lana."

His voice is quiet, almost empty sounding. He turns away from his telescope and walks towards her, eyes filled with…

With what? She can't really tell. With pain? That's what she assumes it is.

But whatever it is, she doesn't like it. She wants to take that away, but she doesn't know how.

"I just wanted to… to see you," she finishes lamely, at a loss for words.

"Thanks for not saying you're sorry."

She smiles sadly and nods. "I always hated when people said that to me." A pause, and then she continues her voice soft.

"I know how important she must have been to you."

"She was. You had a lot in common with her… I wish you could have gotten to know her better."

"So do I."

"Kyla told me there used to be a star, right out there by the bright one," he says, turning back towards the window. "But it disappeared."

She sighs and sits down on the couch. He remains by the telescope, staring forlornly out at the night sky.

"It's amazing how quickly a light can go out," she says quietly, not exactly knowing why.

"Or a life can be lost. I…"

He stops speaking and she rises, walking to stand beside him again.

"Clark, you what? Come on, talk to me. I'm not going to plaster your every word for the whole town to see it or anything."

A ghost of a smile forms on his face, and it is his turn to walk to the couch.

"I just wish I could have saved her."

"I know you do," Lana tells him, walking over and sitting beside him. Clark looks into her eyes, expecting to see pity.

But there is none.

There is only compassion, and an almost painful understanding.

"W-When my parents died… I wished a thousand times I could have saved them."

"But that's different," He says before he can stop himself.

"How?" Lana inquires, regaining her composure.

"I… I was there… I was with her… I could have… I should have…"

He stops speaking, and doesn't look at her. His breathing is quick and shallow, and she reaches out, touching his shoulder softly.

"It's not your fault," she whispers gently.

"That's what everyone's saying… but I just can't believe it. I thought… I thought she was different," he says more to himself than her, "I thought… I thought she could understand."

"I could understand," she murmurs, "and I'm not going anywhere."

His shoulder shakes slightly under her hand, his breathing growing louder and more labored.

"I want to tell you… but not now. If I tell you, I could lose you, and I don't want that to ever happen."

She has never heard his voice quite like this before. It's his and yet it's not. She knows he is speaking, but the words don't fit his lips.

Clark Kent should never have to feel sad.

Clark Kent should never be in pain.

It almost seems to cause him a physical ache it seems to Lana, and she never wants to see him hurt again.

"It's okay," is all she can think to say. "I'll be here when you're ready."

He doesn't respond, and she rises, sensing that he wants to be alone. Her hand leaves his shoulder, and she aches for contact once again.

"Wait."

The word is soft, barely a whisper, but she stops as though it were as loud as a gunshot.

"Please… stay with me?"

Before the sentence is finished she is back, hearing the tears in his voice.

"Of course," she reassures him, sitting back beside him.

"Lana?" His voice is that of a Childs, a tone that almost scares her.

"Yes?"

"When you said I could talk to you... that you wouldn't tell anyone… do you promise?"

She hesitates, but only for a second, not grasping his meaning. "Of course I promise," she says when she does. "But what…"

A strangled sob cuts her off. She reaches out, tilting his chin upwards. Her fingers suddenly feel wet and as she looks at him, she realizes it is from tears.

They stream down his face as he sobs softly, body shaking, breathing loud and unsteady.

Out of instinct her arms go around him. She draws him close, and a warmth goes through her as he returns the embrace.

His head falls to her chest, muffling his sobs.

"Shh," she soothes, rubbing the small of his back. "Everything will be all right… shh, shh."

He hears her words and feels her arms around him, and in his heart, underneath the pain, underneath the almost painful longing, he knows it is true.

And he realizes that his feelings for Kyla were and still are small in comparison to those for her.

Her lips are suddenly on his cheek, kissing away the tears, and a small part of the pain.

He wants to kiss her, to tell her he loves her, to tell her everything.

But exhaustion overtakes him, and all he can do is move closer to her, a small smile forming on his face for the first time in days.

She feels the remaining tension leave his body as he falls asleep, and kisses him again, this time on the forehead.

"Good night Clark," she whispers, sliding him out of her arms and lying him down on the couch. "I love you."

And with those words leaving her mouth in a low whisper, she leaves the loft, not knowing of the message waiting for her at home.

The message that Whitney Fordman is missing in action.