This idea came to me, decided to see if there's any interest. AU Smallville, no meteors or powers or freaks of the week, a lot of characters will be used here and there. If you enjoy the idea, please review and let me know if you'd like to see more. I own none of these characters.

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A lone figure ran down the stretch of empty road, breathing hard. Looking over his shoulder, he stumbled face first into the dirt, immediately pushing himself back to his feet. "Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god…"

Cresting the hill he saw a house off in the distance, the lights still on. "Yes, oh yes thank you!" He was running down the hill to reach the dirt lane when he heard it. An engine roaring. He wouldn't look back, he just kept murmuring as he pushed his legs to move faster, work harder. "Oh please… please…"

The SUV crested the hill, so fast it was airborne for a moment. The headlights illuminated the man as he tried to reach safety.

Feeling his will give out, he sobbed to himself and turned slowly to face his fate. "Fine… just do it."

--

The sheriff walked into Rowdy's, heavy footsteps echoing out through the usually noisy room. He looked around, seeing a very subdued crowd. One hand instinctively resting on his pistol, he touched the brim of his old cap, the bent brim frayed. "Hey everyone."

Greetings came from several places around the room, very quiet greetings. Walking to the bar, he looked up and noticed man causing the subdued atmosphere in Smallville's rowdiest (and only) bar. "Hey Travis. Bad night?"

The bartender looked at him with frantic eyes, gulping to find his voice. "Y-you could say that Sheriff."

"Well don't worry, we're gonna get you out of here, alright?" He nodded to the barkeep before following the barrel of the shotgun held to his temple all the way to the man holding him hostage. His hands were shaking, making it very clear this situation could go to hell very quickly. "Hey Jake. Think you can tell me why you're holding a gun to your brother's head?"

The twitchy man made a noise between a scoff and a whine. "Son of a bitch is sleeping with my wife, no brother of mine!"

The sheriff held a hand up. "Now, you and I both know Travis would never mess with Elizabeth. He got her this job Jake. He's just trying to help you both out."

"He keeps her here all the time, he's tryin' to make his move! He wants my wife!"

Travis jumped, feeling the barrel pressed into his head. "She asked me for more shifts, I'm just trying to help out!"

"You lyin' mother…" Jake pulled the hammers on both barrels back.

Moving fast the Sheriff grabbed for the gun, angling it up into the ceiling as the buckshot went off. In the confusion, he jumped on the bar, spinning around and landing between the brothers, ignoring the screams from the witnesses as the gun went off. Ripping the gun out of the man's hand he slammed his elbow back into the gunman's face. Jake screamed out, spitting blood onto the floor and rushed him now, only to be met with a hard kick to the gut, a knee to the face, and an even harder punch knocking him back through the air and through a table sending him to the ground with a loud crash.

Everyone in the bar clapped, cheering the sheriff for the damage done to the man about as much as the fact he kept everyone alive. He waved around before pulling the groggy Jake up by his shirt and pushing him into a chair, pulling his cuffs out. "Everyone stay seated. Riley you wanna tell Whitney and the other boys they can come in now? We're gonna need statements from everyone."

A couple of hours later, they had about wrapped it up. The EMT was finishing wrapping the sheriff's hand from the heat burn when he grabbed the shotgun barrel. Apparently, Jake had burst into the bar with the shotgun, demanding to know where his no good brother was and said that if anyone moved he was just going to open fire. Jake was stinking drunk, anyone nearby could tell that. "So where is Elizabeth now Travis?"

The man looked up from the shotglass he had just emptied, his hands still shaking. "She's at home. She asked off early because she felt bad she hadn't gotten to spend anytime with you, you dumb bastard!" He aimed the last of his tirade to his own drunken brother, currently sobbing facedown on a table.

Jake looked up. "I didn't mean it Trav, you know that. I just… my knee's been hurtin' and I had to get it to stop, so I was just havin' a little drink, and I miss Elizabeth, I never get to see her."

Travis lunged at him. "Then get your own damn job, stop blamin' your knee! You didn't make it to the Sharks, quit bitchin' and grow up Jake!"

The sheriff jumped between them, holding the brothers apart. "Whoa whoa alright. What we're gonna do here is take Jake in, and you're gonna be charged with assault, public drunkenness, public endangerment and most likely a few other things by the time we're done. Travis, it might be best if you go tell Elizabeth about this, alright?"

Travis nodded, followed by Jake lunging up at him again. "Don't go near her you bastard, she's my wife! You can't have her!"

The sheriff hauled Jake away by his cuffed hands, "accidentally" slamming him face first into one of the posts on the way to the door. "Whoops, sorry 'bout that Jake, maybe you should stop talking and just calm down, how about that?" He walked out of the bar, guiding the man to the back of a squad car and pushing him headfirst into the backseat, slamming the door. Brushing his hands off on his jeans he sighed. He noticed the Smallville Sheriff's Department patch on his shoulder was torn. "Dangit. Inconsiderate drunks. You try to keep them from saying something stupid and they go and mess up your uniform."

He was opening the door to his truck when someone ran up. "Sheriff we got another call. Hit and run out on the highway."

He opened the door and climbed up into the driver's seat. "Well, send Whitney out there, I'm gonna try to deal with Jake here."

He shut the door and sighed, rolling the window down when the young deputy didn't get the point. "Is there something else I can help you with?" He turned to face the kid, fixing his hat.

The rookie looked nervous. "Uh, well sir, Whitney's already out there, and… Whitney said to tell you… it's out by your mom's farm Sheriff Kent."

--

The truck pulled up to the yellow tape with a skid, blue light blazing. Clark Kent climbed out, pulling his cap off and running his hand back through his hair, putting the hat back on. "What do we have?"

His second in command, Whitney Fordman, held out his notepad. "Caucasian male, about 5'8'' I think, it's kind of hard to tell. His legs are pretty badly banged up."

Clark nodded, glancing over the notes. "Who called it in?"

"Passing truck driver saw it, called 911, state trooper was out here first, now they're pissin' and moanin' about being their case because he's on the highway." The two men walked up on the body, face down and just straddling the edge of the asphalt, his body almost perfectly spaced half on the road and half on the dirt. "It's close, I will admit."

Clark looked down, then up at the farm house. "Has she been out here?"

Whitney shook his head. "I ran up there to talk to her, she didn't see anything, said she might have heard a thump but it could have been on TV."

Rubbing his eyes, Clark sighed."Thanks for that. Rather it was you than one of these quota chasing…"

Whitney patted him on the back. "Not a problem. She helped me and Lana out babysitting, and she said she'll make her cherry pie for Kyle's birthday. Anything to keep Mrs. Kent happy."

Clark chuckled. "No using your son to blackmail baked goods out of my mom Whitney, I'll tell Lana."

"Whose idea do you think it was?"

Clark made his way to the scene, crouching down in front of the body. "Anyone got a glove?" A scene tech handed him a pair of rubber gloves. Pulling them on Clark patted over the pockets. "Any ID on him?"

The tech looked through a set of bags. "Name in the wallet was 'Eric Summers'."

Clark looked up quickly. "Eric?" He pushed the hair back off his face. "Is he ok to move yet?"

The tech nodded. "We just got everything we could here, we were about to flip him and continue. Pretty sure he was hit from the front."

Clark shifted to help turn him. "Alright, let's turn to my left, on three… one, two, lift." They slowly turned the body, one tech trying to keep the legs from flopping too much. Looking down, Clark grunted. "Dammit Eric, what did you get yourself into now?"He looked down at his old friend from back in school. Whitney came closer, whistling. "Wow… Summers? What happened?"

Clark shook his head. "No clue." He patted his shirt down, feeling a lump. Reaching in gently, Clark pulled his hand out, twisting it to look. "Is that a… this is one of those medical tags isn't it? For allergies and all."

The tech leaned over, nodding. "Yea. He had a major peanut allergy apparently."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "That can't be, I grew up with this guy, my mom made us PB and Js when him and Pete would come over to play basketball."

The tech shrugged. "There can be late onsets, just depends on the environment and all, genetics too."

Clark nodded, unsnapping it and dropping it into an evidence bag. He reached into Eric's shirt pocket and found something, pulling out a scrap of paper. He unfolded it slowly, blood staining a good bit of it. "I got a memo sheet from the Daily Planet in Metropolis and part of a name. Blood's covering too much." He pulled his cell phone out, snapping a picture of the paper.

He looked at the picture to make sure it took clearly, but noticed something in the corner when the flash had gone off. "Someone give me a flashlight?" He reached out to take the offered light, clicking it on and brushing the hair back from Eric's forehead near the road rash at his hairline. "John, is this what I think it is?"

The tech walked around, crouching down by him and angling his own light. "That's small caliber. Most likely a .22 caliber round."

"Any chance he caught a stray round from someone hunting around in the woods, car ran over his legs when they didn't see him in the road?" Whitney made notes on his pad.

Clark shook his head. "Doesn't seem likely. You know the .22 is favored by hitmen? Pistols are small, and the bullet burns up most of its energy going into the skull, it doesn't have enough left to get out most of the time. So the slug bounces around inside the head, shredding everything. One shot does a lot of damage. This just went from a hit and run to a plain Hit." Clark stood up, looking around the scene once more.

"Alright, let me know what you find, I'm gonna go visit mom, make sure she's not too worried." He stripped the gloves off, tossing them into the small trash bag set aside.

As he walked onto the dirt lane, one of the deputies stood up. "Hey Sheriff?"

Clark didn't even look back. "Yea?"

"You think if Mrs. Kent has any extras she might send some cookies to the station?"

Clark just waved back, ignoring the murmurs from his deputies, and the CSU tech who added "Think she's made cinnamon buns yet? The weather is getting colder now."

Clark knocked on the door before he walked in. "Mom? You up?" He walked through the living room and toward the kitchen, a familiar smell hitting him. "Did Whitney drop a hint earlier?" he asked, grinning wryly.

Martha set the pan of fresh cookies on the stove. "No he didn't, but it's been a while since you took your hard working deputies some home cooked goodies. That vending machine is full of candy bars and twinkies, that's no good for anyone to live off of during the day."

He sighed, sitting down at the counter. "And chocolate chip cookies are?"

"Whole grain cookies with low sugar chocolate, much better than a pop tart." She reached into the oven for a second tray.

Clark sighed. "That's it, I'm putting a block on the telephone at the station to this house and taking your number out of the phone book. My people run to you way too often."

Martha grinned, setting the cookies out to cool. "Any word on the man up by the road?"

Clark looked down at his hands. "Yes ma'am. It was uh… Eric Summers." He looked back up at his mom, seeing the shock on her face.

"Little Eric? How did that happen?"

Clark shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. No vehicle, no other evidence of how he got out there. He was hit by a car, his legs are pretty bad." He didn't want to share the rest with her, his mom was tough but that was a lot to digest if it was true. "Hey mom, when Eric would come around with me and Pete, you made us peanut butter and jelly all the time, right?"

Martha smiled and nodded. "Yes, I remember each of you liked different jelly. You liked strawberry, Pete liked grape and Eric liked orange marmalade. Why do you ask?"

Clark stood up. "No reason. Just some old memories." He walked around the counter, kissing his mom's forehead. "I need to get going, there's a lot of paperwork before this night is through." He turned to head back to the door.

"Clark, wait."

He stopped in mid step, grumbling to himself. He turned around to see her putting the cookies on a plate. "Take these in for the boys. And tell William there is no coconut in the macaroons, I remember he said he didn't like coconut." She wrapped the top of the plate and walked over, handing it to him.

Clark took the plate, looking confused. "William? You mean Billy? When did you talk to the rookie?!"

Martha shrugged. "He was at the grocery store when I was picking up some things, he said he had heard a lot about the cookies."

Clark rolled his eyes, turning to the door again. "Love you mom." He walked briskly down the dirt lane, muttering to himself. Seeing the men finishing up the scene and Eric being loaded into the bus. "Are we done here?"

"Yea, the techies are taking him in, we'll call Ian to do the autopsy." Whitney made a beeline to the plate in Clark's hands before Clark pulled it away.

"Hey now, we have to be nice and share, don't we? Billy! Come over here kid."

The rookie jogged over, still nervous around the sheriff. "Y-yes sir?"

Clark pulled the saran wrap off. "Mom said to tell you the macaroons don't have any coconut in them. Cause you don't like coconut, right?" He grinned sarcastically at the rookie.

The newbie didn't catch on. "That's right. Oh that's so cool that she remembered." He reached for a cookie only to have it snatched back by Clark.

"All the others on the squad like coconut in their macaroons. And now they're gonna learn that there isn't any, because of the rookie. Ooooh it's gonna suck to be in your shoes, lemme tell you son." Clark walked off with the cookies, leaving the rookie back with several of the deputies moving to surround him.

--

Clark walked out of his office at the Sheriff's Department, pulling a fresh shirt on. Clipping his badge into place at his belt, he rolled the sleeves up. "Ian get here yet?" Someone shouted an affirmative and Clark headed to the morgue, grabbing one of the aprons off the rack outside the door.

Tying it into place quickly he stepped in. "Thanks for coming in Ian, good to see you."

The shorter man just grumbled. "Yea, like I had a choice. Eric was my friend too Clark, I want to find out what happened as badly as you do."

Clark nodded. "Well hell, just hit my mom up for a cake or a pie or something. Apparently that's what the rest of my squadroom has been doing."

"She's already making a pineapple upside down cake for Emily's and my anniversary. She still thinks I cook them each year for her."

Clark laughed. "That's only because you married an out of town girl. And you manage to keep her away from all the bake sale booths at the fairs around here. One day she'll figure it out, Ian." Clark walked over to the table, pulling a mask and putting it on. "Find anything yet?"

Ian gestured down. "Bruising and blood at the legs shows that he was alive when he was hit. COD is definitely the gunshot to the right temple. There's trace of gunshot residue on his skin and hair, this was close. Clark, I think someone hit him, and got out to finish the job face to face. Eric was… he was assassinated Clark." Ian looked up at his friend, emotion choking his voice.

Clark could only nod. He moved away quickly, tossing the mask and the apron off. "Thanks Ian. Anything else you find, let me know ASAP."

Clark slammed the door to the morgue open, pacing the hallway. Growling he slammed his fist into the wall, punching repeatedly, yelling with every hit until he felt the rage stop. Someone had killed his friend. This was… someone was going to pay. Turning, he headed back into the squad room. "Anything come in from the evidence?"

Whitney, held up a file from his desk, feet kicked up on the table. "That newspaper memo in his pocket, the blood took out most of the legibility, but they made out the letters S, L, and A. Maybe someones name at the paper? Slate? Slade?"

Clark grabbed the file. "My office, now."

Whitney followed him in and shut the door, standing in front of the desk. "What now boss?"

Clark sat down, rubbing his hands over his face, feeling the stubble scratch at his hands. "I told you not to call me that Whitney. You're older than I am."

He chuckled. "Yea, but you're the boss here Clark. You have the fancy Criminal sciences degree. I just got the job when I got out of the service and settled down with Lana and Kyle."

Clark grunted. "Just because most of the former sheriff's had bad luck doesn't make me the best man for the job."

Sitting down, Whitney crossed his arms. "Yea well, it's our people taking over the town now boss. It isn't Travis and Jake's dad and uncle in those cells now, it's Jake. We're getting old man, get used to it. And you are the best man for the job here."

Sighing, Clark unwrapped his hand, tossing the bandage in the trash and flexing his fingers, looking at the blister on his palm. He looked over at his second in command. "I'm going to the city. I'm gonna find out who talked to Eric and what he was involved in that got him executed on the side of the road."

Whitney nodded. "Alright Bossman, let's go."

Clark held a hand up. "You're not going. You're staying here to keep an eye out. You're the most experienced one here, besides me of course." He grinned.

Whitney raised an eyebrow. "Fine. I'll be interim sheriff for a day or two."

Clark walked over to the cabinet against the wall, pulling out a second smaller pistol, strapping it to his ankle and pulling his jeans down to cover it. Grabbing his TAC shotgun, Clark shut the cabinet and pulled his hat off the top of his lamp. "And if that rookie gets one coconut free macaroon, you're joining him on meter maid duty. Got me?" Clark stared his old friend down.

Whitney sighed. "Got ya."

Clark slapped him on the arm and was heading out of the office when Whitney ducked his head into the hall. "Hey Clark, what about me…?"

"You can wait and sneak some of your son's birthday cake smartass." He disappeared out the door, heading for his truck.

--

Several hours later after a long drive and a quick meal at a truck stop, Sheriff Kent pulled into the Daily Planet parking structure. Looking around he noticed his truck was fairly out of place among the hybrids, exotics and sporty cars littering the lot. "Well, here we go."

He walked into the front door, showing ID and heading through security. Bypassing the line, he walked up to the front desk, leaning over to get the receptionist's attention. "Excuse me ma'am, maybe you can help me?"

She didn't even look up, punching numbers on the phone. "Sorry sir, if you can please wait in line, I will be happy to help you."

Clark licked at his lip, feeling a little frustration come up after his long night, but he pushed it back down. Lifting the cap some and putting on his most charming smile, he tried again. "I do realize you're very busy this early in the morning ma'am, but this is a police matter and there is a lot of time sensitive information in the loop here."

The woman sighed in frustration and looked up… and smiled back. "Well… I'm sure I'd be glad to help anyway I can, Officer…?"

"Sheriff Kent, Smallville." He stood up, pulling his badge from his belt for her to inspect.

"What can we do for you here at the Daily Planet, Sheriff Kent?" She ignored the phone ringing in the background.

"Well, I found this at a crime scene down in my town…" he pulled the evidence bag with the memo in it out. "It's a memo sheet from here at the Planet, but the only writing we could get off of it was the letters S,L, and A and part of a phone number. Any chance you have a reporter here named Slate, Slade or something along those lines?"

The receptionist looked at the memo, turning green slightly when she realized what it was that stained the note. "I… I'll look through our registry, one moment sir." She turned to her computer, typing quickly. Several minutes later she turned back to him. "I think I found your reporter, please have a seat and I'll call up for them to come meet you."

Clark took on a look of hesitation. "That seems like a lot of unnecessary trouble. I'd be happy to go to them if you tell me where."

The receptionist looked around. "We're really not supposed to do that sir."

"Are you sure? I'd really appreciate it, and I'd consider it a friendly gesture of the good relationship between us now…" he leaned in to look at her nametag, "Gloria."

The woman blushed slightly. "26th floor, here's the name." She scribbled it on a scrap of paper. Clark took it, smiling brighter.

"Thank you very much, I'm not gonna forget this now." He tipped his hat as he walked away, noticing glances from several women as he headed for the elevators. "What is it with women and cops? I swear…"

After a fairly long ride consisting of having to stop on every floor, Clark stepped out into the noisy din of the Major Leads floor. "Who the hell would want to work here?" He made his way through the rushing journalists and ignored some of the more colorful language before he found the desk. Standing by it he noticed a couple of pictures, but mostly the fact that a tornado seemed to have hit the top of the desk, notes and papers and files strewn all over.

"Any particular reason you're invading my privacy there, Dudley Doright?"

Raising an eyebrow, Clark turned to see the woman from the pictures standing in front of him, a smart looking skirt and blouse wrapped around what had to be a very impatient package. "Sorry, Dudley's busy tracking down Snidely Whiplash again. Sheriff Clark Kent, Smallville." He held his hand out to her.

The brunette stared at his hand, her arms still crossed over her chest. "And what brings you into my personal space?"

Clark shook his head, realizing charm wasn't going to work here. "Well, basically I have a dead body on one of my highways, and he was found with your name on him. What can you tell me about your relationship with Eric Summers, Miss Lane?"

--

Thanks for reading, please let me know if you'd like to see this continued.