Stop Along The Way

A short Smallville fic.

Spoilers: Season Two finale, after Clark has taken the red kryptonite ring and left Smallville. Cliffhangers suck. Especially when one has an Economics test to study for, but I've just eaten a large plate of chicken wings, so it's not like I'm getting to bed anytime soon. Enjoy.

***

Pulling off his sunglasses, Clark Kent stood in the doorway, blinking his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the bar. He'd been riding the bike non-stop from Smallville for almost 18 hours, and he'd started to get thirsty about 30 miles back. Now he was parched. He knew he could move faster if he just ran, but he took the bike for effect. Besides, he didn't know where he was going; what difference did it make how fast he got there?

He strode up to the bar and took a seat on a stool, tucking his sunglasses into the pocket of his shirt.

"Gimmie a drink," he said curtly.

The bartender laughed. "Coke or Pepsi?"

Clark looked up at the bartender, annoyed. She was a tall young woman, with black hair that fell in front of her eyes in ringlets, and she was wearing a stained wife-beater and dangerously low-cut jeans.

"Either one, as long as it's got beer in it," he growled.

She seemed unaffected by his glare. "Well then, I'm gonna need some I.D."

He scowled, and slapped a twenty dollar bill on the bar, which she looked at with mild amusement. "Sorry, Mr. Jefferson, but the face don't match the picture. Try again." She shrugged and leaned forward onto the bar. "Cops have been crackin' down on us lately, sorry Puppy, there's nothing I can do."

Sighing, he switched tactics, leaning forward. He stroked a hand down one of her smooth arms, smiling warmly. "You sure about that?" he asked softly.

She gave him a sympathetic look, but showed no reaction to his charm. "Well, honey, there's this thing called a liquor license. We kinda need one, and if you get caught serving to minors, they don't let ya have one. It's weird like that." She pulled her arm away. "You're very good, by the way. A lesser woman would be butter by now. Anyway, every bar from here across Kansas is being hassled, so you might as well just rock the non-alcoholic stuff here instead of hittin' dead ends till Oklahoma."

There was a pause.

"Gimme a Coke.

She smiled, pouring his drink. "I'm Laney." He didn't move. "You got a name? Cuz if I have to make one up for you, it's not gonna be pretty. It'll be funny, but it won't be pretty."

"Clark," he said.

"There, was that so bad?" she asked. He looked up at her with a scowl. "Never mind." She went back to wiping down the bar. "So Clark, what grade are you in? Fifth? Sixth?"

"Why do you want to know?" he asked.

"Curious," she replied. "Mostly bored."

"None of your business, okay?"

She put up her hands. "Fair's fair. Nice ring."

His hands clenched.

*********

"Don't you think you've had enough?" Laney asked with a smirk.

He might have laughed. Instead he just looked steadily up at the young woman in front of him with a muttered, "Give me another." She didn't look any older than seventeen, but if she was tending bar at a place that wouldn't serve minors, he knew she was at least 21.

"You're great at this conversation thing, you know that?" she laughed, handing him another soda. "It's okay. I dig the strong, silent type."

"Lucky me."

She just smiled, and refused to acknowledge his sarcasm, which infuriated him. His eyes were narrowed behind the sunglasses that he hadn't taken off yet, and his lip curled back. He was about to let loose a scathing comment when the door to the bar was flung open. Laney looked up as a large man in a flannel shirt barged in. In one smooth motion, she hopped the bar and placed herself in front of him, blocking his path towards what Clark assumed was the back room.

"Where is she?" the man growled.

"Where's who?" Laney asked as if she hadn't just scrambled to stop the large man.

"Don't play stupid with me, bitch. Where the hell is she?"

"Now that kind of attitude's never gonna get you anywhere. Maybe if you learned how to talk politely to women, you wouldn't be having this problem in the first place."

"Why you little--" The man raised his hand as if to hit Laney. Clark stood up from his bar stool, but at that moment, the door to the back room of the bar opened, and a blonde waitress that Clark hadn't paid much attention to in the first place came out with a tray. Seeing the man with Laney, her eyes went wide.

"Tracy, go inside!" yelled Laney, but the large man had already backhanded her savagely across the face. She went stumbling across the bar, crashing into Clark, hissing in pain as she twisted her ankle the wrong way.

Just as soon as the boy had caught her, she was sitting on a bar stool, by herself. A split-

second later, Clark was in front of the man, the blonde waitress cowering behind him.

"Get out of my way, kid," the man growled. "This is none of your business."

Clark said nothing, nor did he move at all. The man tried to push him out of the way, but found that Clark wouldn't budge. Clark responded by placing one hand on the man's shoulders, and in a moment that man was flying towards the door. He landed in a crumpled heap on the floor, and looked back at Clark and the blonde girl. His eyes flashed wildly in fear as he stood up shakily. For a moment the two just stared at each other, but then, giving up, the man smoothed out his shirt and turned out the door.

The blonde girl smiled in relief, and ran to Laney, hugging her tightly. Laney's eyes never left Clark as he walked back over to the bar, dropped a few bills on the table, grabbed his jacket and started toward the door.

"Hey!" Laney yelled as he walked away. "Thanks, Clark."

He stopped for a second, but he never looked back.

When he was gone, the blonde waitress turned to Laney with a grin. "Wow, that guy was something else." She grinned. "And hot, too. What'd you think of him, Lois?"

Laney shrugged. "Eh, he's okay."

Fin.