Title: Before it's too Late
Author: Lala
Rating: PG for character death
Pairing: Clark/Lana
Summary: The realization has hit him, slow and painful like ice forming in
his stomach and he wants to cry out for someone to do something, anything
to save her to save him.
Spoilers: None really set before Exodus though, but has nothing to do with
that ep or Calling
Disclaimer: Yeah, Smallville's mine. And Lex's my uncle. That would be
freaky. :D Also, there is a Lois and Clark fan fic slightly similar to
this. this was not intentional.
---
Red.
Dark, thick red liquid.
It's everywhere he looks, everywhere he feels.
He wants to believe its wine, but knows it isn't.
Even with his eyes closed, the red is still visible, penetrating his eyelids, seeping through to his brain, and imprinting itself they're for all eternity.
He cries out, but makes no sound. It's as though he is mute, or deaf. Regardless he cannot escape the red.
And as abruptly as he was transported there, he is gone.
But not to his normal world, or at least not to some extent.
Clearly, there is something wrong.
Something is terribly, terribly wrong.
He is looking at Smallville's main street from a bird's eye view, watching a long procession move somberly down it, looking like dolls from his vantage point.
Yet he can still see the expressions on all their faces however - grief.
Grief so deep it causes their bodies to sag, as though the pain they carry is too heavy for them to bear.
And then he begins to recognize people in the crowd.
Soft blonde hair and teary blue eyes are all he can see of Chloe at first, but then he sees a camera in one hand and notepad in the other and he is certain it is her.
The figure beside her is slumped, dark eyes seeming to match his mood. His best friend's usual cheerfulness is gone, Pete's shoulder's slumped like the rest.
And just in front of them tears streaming down one's cheeks, the others arm securely around her are his parents. His mother sobs into Jonathon's shoulder and his eyes are misty as well.
And beside them is.
He blinks, and looks again, thinking his eyes are playing tricks on him.
But the person's still there, still the same.
It's himself, but so much different.
Tears stream silently down his face, and his pain is so strong that Clark can almost feel it.
Lex is in the crowd as well, looking somber and downcast.
But he cannot find his princess.
Lana is nowhere to be seen. The sun seems darker without her presence. Just the sight of her seemed to brighten his vision.
Then he looks to the front of the procession, where a group of six large men carry a coffin.
He stares at the wooden box, memorizing every curve, every detail but not daring to look inside.
The realization has hit him, slow and painful like ice forming in his stomach.
The realization that Lana could be inside that coffin.
That she could be lying there, cold and motionless and. dead.
Slowly the procession reaches the cemetery, with him following. And then he has no choice because the coffin is opened and he cannot bring himself to look away.
And then he sees the endless void of red, covering her entire form and he literally feels his own heart stop.
It's as though he's back in the sea of red, yet things are clearer now.
Had he been seeing her death before?
He strains his memory, thinking hard. But he cannot recall his ravened- haired love being there.
But had she?
Had she been crying out for him, for salvation? Had she been terrified, much like he himself had been?
Why, oh why hadn't he found her!
Why hadn't he saved her?
The preacher speaks, and suddenly the coffin is being closed for the last time. The sight is horrific to behold and he wants to cry out, order them to bring her back for someone to do something, anything to save her to save him.
But then she is being lowered into the ground and he sees himself sink to the dirt in tears. As one, Martha and Chloe move towards him, all three crying and holding onto one another for dear life.
Slowly, the funeral ends. The group disperses, some crying, others talking, but all looking miserable.
He watches his parents talking quietly to himself, and then the two adults leave, trying to hide their tears from him. Now Clark - both of them - are alone in the graveyard.
"Lana." Clark whimpers from his place on the freshly dug earth, cold tears causing it to grow wet.
"I'm sorry." he hopes his counterpart cannot hear his unsteady whisper, but if he does, Clark realizes he doesn't care. He has to say it; has to believe that Lana has heard it and forgives him.
And he feels tears gathering in his own eyes, falling like raindrops onto the scene but leaving no mark.
"I miss you," the teen down below proclaims. "I-I'm so sorry. it's all my fault. B-But I w-wanted to save you, L-Lana. I wanted to save you, and tell you I love you. I wanted to tell you everything, Lana." He catches his breath on a sob, pulling a single rose from his jacket. "I w-wanted to. so much." He clutches the rose in both hands, salty droplets spattering the flower that shakes just as much as the hands that hold it.
Clark doesn't want to watch anymore. He can feel the other's pain now, like a knife cutting through his heart, like kryptonite but at the same not. It is worse than any time he's ever been exposed to kryptonite. because he knows, deep in his soul, that it will never go away. There is no bringing her back.
He's lost her.
Below him, Clark rises, and places the flower over Lana's name on the headstone.
"G-Good bye, Lana." His voice is barely a whisper, fresh tears forming and spilling over. He leaves the cemetery slowly, and against his own will Clark follows.
He watches his double make his way home, and up to the loft. Chloe is waiting, sitting on the couch, cheeks tearstained, laptop held in shaking hands.
"I-I'm writing her. obituary. ummm." She can't seem to say the words, and Clark obviously doesn't want her to. "D-do you w-want to add anything?"
And at this moment in time, he can see that Clark hates her, hates the fact that she's able to function when Lana's died, hates that it wasn't her, and hates himself for thinking this. Clark himself does not know how he knows the other's thoughts, emotions, he simply does.
He is once again positioned above the scene, and he watches as Clark moves closer to the couch and in one quick motion grabs Chloe's laptop, and breaks it into peaces, flinging them out the window. He then falls to the floor, sobs shaking his large form.
Chloe remains sitting for a moment, clearly stunned, before dropping to the floor and pulling Clark into her arms, whispering meaningless words to both boys, because nothing can take away their pain. Because her touch isn't Lana's, because her voice is too high, hair smelling of coconuts instead of flowers. That's not Lana, and there's no replacing her; there's no getting over her; there's nothing to take away the heart-wrenching ache the loss of her has caused.
Clark is suddenly no longer watching from above. He's in Chloe's arms, sobbing into her shirt, feeling her fingers in his hair. where Lana's used to be. The two Clarks have become one, and everything seems more real for him more permanent.
His body trembles, and he desperately wants the agony to vanish. He wants forgiveness and solace and release.
And suddenly Chloe is gone, and the room is glowing golden. Lana stands over him as he lies on the floor, Lana's feet not quite touching it. The golden light is coming from her, and he reaches out to touch her, kiss her, embrace her, but his hands pass through her body.
"Clark." her voice is soft, and he sits upright, meeting her eyes.
"C-Come back to me, Lana. please."
She smiles a sad smile, and her fingers touch his cheek yet he doesn't feel them. "I can't. and you know that."
"But."
"Shh." She brushes away the tears with a touch he cannot feel but desperately wants to.
"I forgive you," she says softly, "and I think we both know that I loved you to."
There is a pause as she looks into his eyes, and he sees her happiness, her love. sees the angel that she always was to him and now truly has become.
"Good bye, Clark."
"G-good bye, L-L-Lana. I. I love you."
She smiles, and disappears without a reply, but in his heart he knows the truth. He knows that she does - she did. He knows that she has finally found out his secret and loves him, accepts him nonetheless.
And he wishes that he would have known this sooner, known this when there was still more time.
He sighs a bittersweet sigh and closes his eyes, sleeping for the first time since her death.
---
"Lana."
She hesitates halfway up the stairs, confused. He can't have seen her already, can he? But he speaks her name again, voice a frightened whimper.
Concerned, she quickens her pace, reaching the top of the loft stairs and finding him curled up on the couch, sleeping restlessly.
His head moves from side to side, breathing uneven and she is almost certain he's been crying. His expression is twisted into a look of pain, and his eyes are moving rapidly under their lids. Bending over, she reaches out, placing her hand on his shoulder.
"Clark?"
"Lana." His voice is panicked, filled with desperation and tears, and her heart aches for him.
"Clark?" She presses slightly harder on his shoulder, and he moves slightly.
"Lana. I'm sorry. no. Lana!"
"Clark!" Her voice overrides his, and she shakes him forcibly.
His eyes snap open, and he bolts into a sitting position. Startled, she jerks her hand from his shoulder, watching as he stares around, bewildered.
He's confused. Shouldn't he be on the floor? He remembers falling asleep there just after Lana. Oh. Lana.
He sighs heavily, shoulders slumping at the recollection that she's gone.
"Clark?" A hand touches his shoulder, and he jumps, knowing that voice but not believing it's possible.
Slowly, he turns his head, coming face to face with her; with his princess his angel his Lana.
Yet there is no golden light surrounding her, and he can feel her hand, warm and small and. real, resting on his shoulder.
"Lana?" He speaks her name in a tentative voice, staring at her as though he has never seen her before, or as though she is a ghost.
"Clark, are you okay?"
Her beautiful green pools are shining dark with concern; concern for him and he opens his mouth to speak, but doesn't. He has to be sure; has to know; has to be perfectly certain.
He leaps from the couch and pulls her into an almost literal bone-crushing hug which tightens if possible almost instantly because he's sure; he knows; she's real; she's here; she's warm and breathing and alive.
Lana's confused, to say the least. She'd come up here intending to ask Clark about going horseback riding together, and found him asleep and moaning her name as if his life depended on it. And now, he is hugging her so hard it is a wonder she is still breathing.
"Clark? What's wrong?" She can feel his hands on her back, in her hair, touching her everywhere but it doesn't feel violating or wrong; it just feels right.
She smoothes the hair out of his face, and he sighs into hers. Finally he releases her, holding her at arms length and staring her up and down, as though he still can't quite believe it's her.
"Clark, what's going on? Are you all right?" He loves her voice; her hair; the way her hand is reaching out to rest on his shoulder; loves that she is concerned; loves that she cares.
But he doesn't know how to answer her. He doesn't know if he's all right doesn't know what's going on doesn't know anything. But he has to tell her something has to explain and it has to be the truth because he can't lie to her anymore, not when she could so easily be taken from him.
So he hopes what he's about to do is all right hopes that she isn't alarmed by the closer his face is growing to hers hopes the gleam in her eyes is from excitement and knows her lips will taste like heaven. He has to do this before he does anything else before he explains before he apologizes because it's the only thing he can think to do for her to be certain of his feelings.
He still isn't answering her and the space between them is suddenly growing smaller. His face is descending on hers too slowly for her liking, and she knows she should be surprised should be nervous because Clark is not the type to kiss someone out of nowhere but she's not. Everything just seems natural; seems right seems safe.
And his lips are finally on hers tasting of tears and mint. The kiss is slow yet deep, long but gentle. It's everything Clark and she returns it instantly, never wanting this paradise to end.
Yet it does and she is left breathless, his arms holding her loosely around the waist, as she encircles his neck.
"I love you," he whispers so soft she can barely hear, yet she does and her heart sores.
"I-I love you too," she says after hesitating slightly just to be certain. But she realizes almost instantly that this is needless because she knows. Her feelings for him are as clear as the moon in the sky or the leaves on the trees. Her love for Clark is so obvious that she is shocked she hasn't realized the intensity of her feelings before.
He is kissing her again, hard and urgent, as though he is afraid she'll slip away from him and never return. She kisses him back just as firmly, trying to assure as well as express her affection for him.
She is the one to break it this time, pulling back slowly yet resolutely. She remains in folded in his embrace however, not yet ready to release him. She wants to remember the feeling his arms around her gives her forever.
"I-I'm ready to tell you." His voice is quiet, like someone on the brink of sleep, yet as she meets his eyes the look in them almost causes her to shudder in it's intensity.
"Everything?" She inquires, suddenly unsure.
"Yes." His voice is stronger now, surer.
And slowly, she smiles. "Okay."
---
Red.
Dark, thick red liquid.
It's everywhere he looks, everywhere he feels.
He wants to believe its wine, but knows it isn't.
Even with his eyes closed, the red is still visible, penetrating his eyelids, seeping through to his brain, and imprinting itself they're for all eternity.
He cries out, but makes no sound. It's as though he is mute, or deaf. Regardless he cannot escape the red.
And as abruptly as he was transported there, he is gone.
But not to his normal world, or at least not to some extent.
Clearly, there is something wrong.
Something is terribly, terribly wrong.
He is looking at Smallville's main street from a bird's eye view, watching a long procession move somberly down it, looking like dolls from his vantage point.
Yet he can still see the expressions on all their faces however - grief.
Grief so deep it causes their bodies to sag, as though the pain they carry is too heavy for them to bear.
And then he begins to recognize people in the crowd.
Soft blonde hair and teary blue eyes are all he can see of Chloe at first, but then he sees a camera in one hand and notepad in the other and he is certain it is her.
The figure beside her is slumped, dark eyes seeming to match his mood. His best friend's usual cheerfulness is gone, Pete's shoulder's slumped like the rest.
And just in front of them tears streaming down one's cheeks, the others arm securely around her are his parents. His mother sobs into Jonathon's shoulder and his eyes are misty as well.
And beside them is.
He blinks, and looks again, thinking his eyes are playing tricks on him.
But the person's still there, still the same.
It's himself, but so much different.
Tears stream silently down his face, and his pain is so strong that Clark can almost feel it.
Lex is in the crowd as well, looking somber and downcast.
But he cannot find his princess.
Lana is nowhere to be seen. The sun seems darker without her presence. Just the sight of her seemed to brighten his vision.
Then he looks to the front of the procession, where a group of six large men carry a coffin.
He stares at the wooden box, memorizing every curve, every detail but not daring to look inside.
The realization has hit him, slow and painful like ice forming in his stomach.
The realization that Lana could be inside that coffin.
That she could be lying there, cold and motionless and. dead.
Slowly the procession reaches the cemetery, with him following. And then he has no choice because the coffin is opened and he cannot bring himself to look away.
And then he sees the endless void of red, covering her entire form and he literally feels his own heart stop.
It's as though he's back in the sea of red, yet things are clearer now.
Had he been seeing her death before?
He strains his memory, thinking hard. But he cannot recall his ravened- haired love being there.
But had she?
Had she been crying out for him, for salvation? Had she been terrified, much like he himself had been?
Why, oh why hadn't he found her!
Why hadn't he saved her?
The preacher speaks, and suddenly the coffin is being closed for the last time. The sight is horrific to behold and he wants to cry out, order them to bring her back for someone to do something, anything to save her to save him.
But then she is being lowered into the ground and he sees himself sink to the dirt in tears. As one, Martha and Chloe move towards him, all three crying and holding onto one another for dear life.
Slowly, the funeral ends. The group disperses, some crying, others talking, but all looking miserable.
He watches his parents talking quietly to himself, and then the two adults leave, trying to hide their tears from him. Now Clark - both of them - are alone in the graveyard.
"Lana." Clark whimpers from his place on the freshly dug earth, cold tears causing it to grow wet.
"I'm sorry." he hopes his counterpart cannot hear his unsteady whisper, but if he does, Clark realizes he doesn't care. He has to say it; has to believe that Lana has heard it and forgives him.
And he feels tears gathering in his own eyes, falling like raindrops onto the scene but leaving no mark.
"I miss you," the teen down below proclaims. "I-I'm so sorry. it's all my fault. B-But I w-wanted to save you, L-Lana. I wanted to save you, and tell you I love you. I wanted to tell you everything, Lana." He catches his breath on a sob, pulling a single rose from his jacket. "I w-wanted to. so much." He clutches the rose in both hands, salty droplets spattering the flower that shakes just as much as the hands that hold it.
Clark doesn't want to watch anymore. He can feel the other's pain now, like a knife cutting through his heart, like kryptonite but at the same not. It is worse than any time he's ever been exposed to kryptonite. because he knows, deep in his soul, that it will never go away. There is no bringing her back.
He's lost her.
Below him, Clark rises, and places the flower over Lana's name on the headstone.
"G-Good bye, Lana." His voice is barely a whisper, fresh tears forming and spilling over. He leaves the cemetery slowly, and against his own will Clark follows.
He watches his double make his way home, and up to the loft. Chloe is waiting, sitting on the couch, cheeks tearstained, laptop held in shaking hands.
"I-I'm writing her. obituary. ummm." She can't seem to say the words, and Clark obviously doesn't want her to. "D-do you w-want to add anything?"
And at this moment in time, he can see that Clark hates her, hates the fact that she's able to function when Lana's died, hates that it wasn't her, and hates himself for thinking this. Clark himself does not know how he knows the other's thoughts, emotions, he simply does.
He is once again positioned above the scene, and he watches as Clark moves closer to the couch and in one quick motion grabs Chloe's laptop, and breaks it into peaces, flinging them out the window. He then falls to the floor, sobs shaking his large form.
Chloe remains sitting for a moment, clearly stunned, before dropping to the floor and pulling Clark into her arms, whispering meaningless words to both boys, because nothing can take away their pain. Because her touch isn't Lana's, because her voice is too high, hair smelling of coconuts instead of flowers. That's not Lana, and there's no replacing her; there's no getting over her; there's nothing to take away the heart-wrenching ache the loss of her has caused.
Clark is suddenly no longer watching from above. He's in Chloe's arms, sobbing into her shirt, feeling her fingers in his hair. where Lana's used to be. The two Clarks have become one, and everything seems more real for him more permanent.
His body trembles, and he desperately wants the agony to vanish. He wants forgiveness and solace and release.
And suddenly Chloe is gone, and the room is glowing golden. Lana stands over him as he lies on the floor, Lana's feet not quite touching it. The golden light is coming from her, and he reaches out to touch her, kiss her, embrace her, but his hands pass through her body.
"Clark." her voice is soft, and he sits upright, meeting her eyes.
"C-Come back to me, Lana. please."
She smiles a sad smile, and her fingers touch his cheek yet he doesn't feel them. "I can't. and you know that."
"But."
"Shh." She brushes away the tears with a touch he cannot feel but desperately wants to.
"I forgive you," she says softly, "and I think we both know that I loved you to."
There is a pause as she looks into his eyes, and he sees her happiness, her love. sees the angel that she always was to him and now truly has become.
"Good bye, Clark."
"G-good bye, L-L-Lana. I. I love you."
She smiles, and disappears without a reply, but in his heart he knows the truth. He knows that she does - she did. He knows that she has finally found out his secret and loves him, accepts him nonetheless.
And he wishes that he would have known this sooner, known this when there was still more time.
He sighs a bittersweet sigh and closes his eyes, sleeping for the first time since her death.
---
"Lana."
She hesitates halfway up the stairs, confused. He can't have seen her already, can he? But he speaks her name again, voice a frightened whimper.
Concerned, she quickens her pace, reaching the top of the loft stairs and finding him curled up on the couch, sleeping restlessly.
His head moves from side to side, breathing uneven and she is almost certain he's been crying. His expression is twisted into a look of pain, and his eyes are moving rapidly under their lids. Bending over, she reaches out, placing her hand on his shoulder.
"Clark?"
"Lana." His voice is panicked, filled with desperation and tears, and her heart aches for him.
"Clark?" She presses slightly harder on his shoulder, and he moves slightly.
"Lana. I'm sorry. no. Lana!"
"Clark!" Her voice overrides his, and she shakes him forcibly.
His eyes snap open, and he bolts into a sitting position. Startled, she jerks her hand from his shoulder, watching as he stares around, bewildered.
He's confused. Shouldn't he be on the floor? He remembers falling asleep there just after Lana. Oh. Lana.
He sighs heavily, shoulders slumping at the recollection that she's gone.
"Clark?" A hand touches his shoulder, and he jumps, knowing that voice but not believing it's possible.
Slowly, he turns his head, coming face to face with her; with his princess his angel his Lana.
Yet there is no golden light surrounding her, and he can feel her hand, warm and small and. real, resting on his shoulder.
"Lana?" He speaks her name in a tentative voice, staring at her as though he has never seen her before, or as though she is a ghost.
"Clark, are you okay?"
Her beautiful green pools are shining dark with concern; concern for him and he opens his mouth to speak, but doesn't. He has to be sure; has to know; has to be perfectly certain.
He leaps from the couch and pulls her into an almost literal bone-crushing hug which tightens if possible almost instantly because he's sure; he knows; she's real; she's here; she's warm and breathing and alive.
Lana's confused, to say the least. She'd come up here intending to ask Clark about going horseback riding together, and found him asleep and moaning her name as if his life depended on it. And now, he is hugging her so hard it is a wonder she is still breathing.
"Clark? What's wrong?" She can feel his hands on her back, in her hair, touching her everywhere but it doesn't feel violating or wrong; it just feels right.
She smoothes the hair out of his face, and he sighs into hers. Finally he releases her, holding her at arms length and staring her up and down, as though he still can't quite believe it's her.
"Clark, what's going on? Are you all right?" He loves her voice; her hair; the way her hand is reaching out to rest on his shoulder; loves that she is concerned; loves that she cares.
But he doesn't know how to answer her. He doesn't know if he's all right doesn't know what's going on doesn't know anything. But he has to tell her something has to explain and it has to be the truth because he can't lie to her anymore, not when she could so easily be taken from him.
So he hopes what he's about to do is all right hopes that she isn't alarmed by the closer his face is growing to hers hopes the gleam in her eyes is from excitement and knows her lips will taste like heaven. He has to do this before he does anything else before he explains before he apologizes because it's the only thing he can think to do for her to be certain of his feelings.
He still isn't answering her and the space between them is suddenly growing smaller. His face is descending on hers too slowly for her liking, and she knows she should be surprised should be nervous because Clark is not the type to kiss someone out of nowhere but she's not. Everything just seems natural; seems right seems safe.
And his lips are finally on hers tasting of tears and mint. The kiss is slow yet deep, long but gentle. It's everything Clark and she returns it instantly, never wanting this paradise to end.
Yet it does and she is left breathless, his arms holding her loosely around the waist, as she encircles his neck.
"I love you," he whispers so soft she can barely hear, yet she does and her heart sores.
"I-I love you too," she says after hesitating slightly just to be certain. But she realizes almost instantly that this is needless because she knows. Her feelings for him are as clear as the moon in the sky or the leaves on the trees. Her love for Clark is so obvious that she is shocked she hasn't realized the intensity of her feelings before.
He is kissing her again, hard and urgent, as though he is afraid she'll slip away from him and never return. She kisses him back just as firmly, trying to assure as well as express her affection for him.
She is the one to break it this time, pulling back slowly yet resolutely. She remains in folded in his embrace however, not yet ready to release him. She wants to remember the feeling his arms around her gives her forever.
"I-I'm ready to tell you." His voice is quiet, like someone on the brink of sleep, yet as she meets his eyes the look in them almost causes her to shudder in it's intensity.
"Everything?" She inquires, suddenly unsure.
"Yes." His voice is stronger now, surer.
And slowly, she smiles. "Okay."