SERIES: A Tide in the Affairs of Men
TITLE: What's Past Is Prologue
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: I don't own the rights. Kudos to Smallville writers and producers.
Summary: Aesthetic/lyrical/psychological exploration of the interplay of fate and free will in human life, from the early omens of Chloe's and Oliver's futures building up to their eventual entanglement.

Thanks for the previous feedback! It's my first go at this particular brand of writing, so I was/am a bit antsy. I got sidetracked from the realm of fanfiction for a few weeks by my multiple real-life responsibilities, but here I am, gladly taking a dip in my imagination again. Enjoy!
P.S. Since snapshots of mini-Justin are not in circulation on the World Wide Web, Alex Pettyfer is a stand-in (on LJ).

We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again
(And by that destiny) to perform an act
Whereof what's past is prologue; what to come,
In yours and my discharge.
The Tempest, Shakespeare

Alas, the prologues have set a desolate scene for the actors to occupy. Though many acts are to come, and the chain of events is indeed malleable, it is much too easy to put the past and the present at odds, and in doing so, risk losing the future.

Andover, MA, October 14th, 1994

"Mr. Queen, we have arrived."

Oliver morosely looked out the dimmed windows of the car towards the imposing central entrance of his boarding school. The delicately forged wrought iron fences made him think he would be entering a welcoming prison, once again.

It was certainly much better than the manor he was forced to inhabit each summer vacation, surrounded by all those people passionately committed to being of service to the Queen heir - not that there was any genuine feeling behind their diligence - but all the while more isolated than ever. He couldn't stand passing through the halls that his toys once littered, nor lingering in the quiet living room once full of laughter, nor stretching his legs in the gardens still exhibiting the beautiful flower arrangements all assembled under his mother's specific orders. As the settings he had again felt suffocated in during the last months drew themselves in his mind, a sudden wave of nausea hit him.

He pressed the button to address his chauffeur: "Take my luggage to my dorm. I will be out in a few."

After watching the security guard get out from the passenger side and unload the truck, he put his head between his knees and took a deep breath. The truth was that he fled away from every single, tiny thing that was tied to his childhood. When it had happened, after crying his heart out for longer than he'd care to admit, he had stashed all of his room's contents in the attic in a fury, except the bow and arrows that were locked away in his father's study because he should never have given them to his son instead of standing by him. He had asked that his room be redesigned in the simplest, most neutral style possible. If he was to be left an orphan with all these resources at his disposal, he would use them and abuse them for the vainest purposes possible - they were all he had, and to him, they meant absolutely nothing. His father's study and his parents' master bedroom had been barricaded at his demand since… since then. Worst of all, however, was looking in the eyes of his nanny, and coming face to face with the disappointment in them, remembering the vapid "I don't care!" he had professed to her announcement of his father's arrival that fateful day. She had stubbornly refused to leave even with his fruitless attempts to have her fired, fruitless as her contract firmly stated that she was to remain in position until he turned 18.

He finally composed his facial features, morphing them with practiced ease into their careless set. Squaring his shoulders, he opened the polished door of the silver Mercedes, and faced the grounds of Excelsior.

18. Right now, that number was the magic numbered ball in his box of fortune; as soon as he picked it, he could desert the family home, get himself a luxurious penthouse in the city to indulge freely in whatever struck his fancy to forget. Memoria Pii Aeterna, he read from the marble arc above the gates, chuckling darkly. All he wanted was to forget, and doing something pious was certainly not the way to go about it.

Well, my education is the only thing that can't be taken from me, isn't it Mom? Don't worry, I'll make sure to get it, since everything else has been taken from me. After all, besides running miles around the grounds of the manor each day and those two visits to Alden and Geoffrey, he had just spent the entire summer reading. He was pretty sure he had memorized half of Shakespeare's plays by now. Wearing a mask, pretending to be someone else was after all what he excelled at.

Underneath all that anger, there was a churning guilt, but he dared not dwell on it, and tried to bury it as deep as it would go. Hide weakness by showing dominance. You can't get real love, so take mouthfuls of groupie love. Love. He was pretty sure that was not in the cards for him, even more sure that he did not want it, not when this is what it felt like having it stripped away. Did I dream about saying I loved you that night, Mom? Or, did I leave you with a wish to have no parents? And his last words to his father... His cellphone rang from the pocket of his uniform then, interrupting his thoughts.

"Queen," he answered, as though he were already answering a business call. Well if I'm thrown the suit, I'll wear it.

"Oliver, man, where are you? Alden and I have already crashed your dorm."

Almost laughing at the mutating voice of Geoffrey, Oliver racked his brain for a way to brush off his reluctance to step pass these gates he had passed by exactly 5 years ago, only to be pulled out of the school the same night by security guards ushering him away from a swarm of paparazzi.

"Well, classes don't start until one o'clock. Figured we should escape to the girls' school for the morning."

"He thinks we should check out the skirts," Geoffrey said, passing on the message to his companion. "Yeah, man, it's a great idea. Wait for us under the sword dude."

Right, the sword dude, as in the statue of the school's founder. It's a good thing my friends are dumb, they make it easier to forget. At that thought, Oliver went to end the call, when a grave voice he would recognize anywhere sent a chill down his spine, making him drop his phone.

"Remember, Lex. There is only nobility of birth, only nobility of blood. When one speaks of aristocrats of the spirit, they are usually concealing something. Spirit alone does not make noble. Blood is required to ennoble the spirit. So, don't waste your time with those who are not of noble blood."*

Lionel Luthor and his bald son stopped as they arrived in front of the gates, having made their way from their limousine parked at the curb. Oliver, bending to retrieve his phone from under the car, placed a hand against the vehicle to support himself, half-entranced by seeing the old man that to him appeared as a ghost from that summer. Today of all days, he did not want to cross paths with a Luthor, let alone hear his Nazi theories. Apparently, the business tyrant had not finished his "fatherly" lesson. Turning towards his son and taking him by his frail shoulders, the man continued:

"You're a Luthor, son, you must…"

"Strive to become master over all and to extend my will to power and to thrust back all that resists my extension," completed the boy sullenly. "I know, Dad."

"Ah… But that's not all, you continually…"

"Encounter similar efforts on the part of others and must end up by coming to an arrangement with those that are sufficiently related to me, so we can thus conspire together for power," Lex finished once again, with a little more irritation. "I've read it like five times since you gave it to me for my 10th birthday."

Lionel smirked at that complaint. "Well then, for your next birthday, I shall get you a book even more enlightening. I think I know just the one."

At the mention of Lex's birthday, Oliver let out a light chuckle, remembering the one time Lex had invited everyone in their year, and out of spite, he had made sure to throw a big bash at the manor the same day, so that not one lost soul would wander into the lion's den.

There was something unsettling about the Luthors, and it was not just the fact that they were one of those things intricately tied with those dark childhood memories. We just can't trust him anymore, his father's words from that night echoed in his head. He was involved in some business with Lionel that summer, instead of staying home and spending time with him. Admittedly, it was petty to pick on the bald son for some sort of catharsis, but he made it all too easy. Unfortunately, having let that chuckle out got him the unwanted attention from the Luthor household. Lionel dropped one hand from Lex's shoulder and with the other led his son a few steps towards Oliver.

"Oliver," he greeted calmly, but with an undercurrent of hatred. Well, he must be aware of the trouble I've caused his "noble" son. Good. "It's good to see you," he claimed, although his tone indicated otherwise. "I haven't had a chance to talk to you in years, but I was in the audience for that last school play you starred in. You seemed to have inherited your father's charisma, although I don't remember him using it to intimidate his peers."

Hearing him allude to his father had Oliver grinding his teeth, and the older man seemed glad to have that effect on him, savouring the same reaction he had gotten from the boy at the funeral, when he had offered his heartfelt condolences. Not only was the young Queen an excellent actor, but he appeared to be able to smell one in a hundred mile radius.

"Mr. Luthor," Oliver acknowledged, his voice not letting anything on about his inner turmoil. "Lex."

Lex simply nodded, glaring at his tormentor. His hands firmly squeezed the comic book he was holding, the gesture drawing Oliver's eyes towards it. He immediately saw red, as he was hit by the flashback of his old Warrior Angel and Devilicus figurines, that of the plane crash he was enacting in the hallway that night…

"It's been 5 years today, hasn't it?" inquired Lionel, somewhat absently, but to Oliver, it seemed there was an ominous certainty in his statement passing for a question, as though he was marking the date of some historic athletic accomplishment.

Not trusting his voice this time, Oliver simply nodded, but pinned Lionel with a quiet glare at the reminder.

"Again, I'm terribly sorry for your loss."

At that moment, Alden and Geoffrey called out loudly to Oliver from the stairs underneath the sword dude, and never was he more grateful for his companions. He hastily excused himself from Lionel, brushing by without a word to Lex, and then slowing down as he made his way towards the stairs in order to get a grip on his nerves.

"Hey," said Alden when he was within hearing range. "What's with Gloom and Gloomier?"

"Nothing, the old man thought he'd scare me out of torturing Baldie this year."

The two boys burst out laughing, falling into a familiar routine.

"So, you're ready to sneak out?" asked Geoffrey.

"Yeah, let's get the hell out of here."

*The Will to Power, Nietzsche

Smallville, KS, September 15th, 2000

Chloe stared out blankly through the passenger side window of the speeding car filled almost to the roof with all of her and her father's belongings. For the last 45 minutes or so, all she could see was cornfield after cornfield. One would think the bright sun might uplift her spirits a tad, but it only cast light on how deserted this place seemed to be. The journalist in her - that might actually constitute the whole of what Chloe encompassed - fed on mysteries, had accustomed her nostrils to remain flared for the unexplained, the unjust and corrupt, and was currently mourning the dry patch she was about to hit in this godforsaken land of corn.

As she was cursing corn in all the possible ways she could think of, the car passed by the welcoming banner for the town:Welcome to Smallville, Kansas. Population, 45.000. Wow, goodbye civilization, she thought. Meteor capital of the world, huh? Didn't dad himself allude to the failure of his relationship with mom in terms of a "meteor shower"? So, he chose to transplant us to the meteor capital of the world… Very wise, dad. And she didn't even want to broach the subject of his employer, who, from what she gathered from the Business section of the Planet, could not care less about the rights of the proletariat and was merely an expert at handling his public image.

OK, so it was not exactly fair to turn her seething mood against her father, because his pay as plant manager would be considerably higher, but really, they were getting by just fine in Metropolis. This move had to be motivated by something else than monetary gain. Maybe the lulling call of nature and dairy cows had encrusted itself in his heart with age… No, that was hardly plausible; her father was as much of a city man as she was a city girl.

"So what's with the meteor capital title?" she asked a little harshly, breaking the silence that had shed its cloak on them during the last hour, prolonging her father's distress at her reluctance to accept the move. "Creamed corn capital of the world seems much more suitable."

"That actually used to be the title the town claimed on its banner prior to '89," her father explained with a tone a bit too lively for the topic, glad to grasp at any subject of conversation as he was unused to uncomfortable silences between him and his daughter. He usually filled it with easy jokes, and she responded with wit and sarcasm. There was always love and acceptance in their relationship, even if he was feeling increasingly at loss at how to deal with the subjects a mother should tackle with an almost teenage girl. That, combined with the fact that Chloe had the uncanny ability to normally hide any grief running in her veins. "That's when the meteor shower happened; the biggest humanity has ever seen. A lot of people died, even more were injured. Some still feel the post-traumatic effects, and no amount of calming hot showers can help them."

Chloe rolled her eyes at the bad joke, before asking another question. "So have you been here before? And I mean, not for the interview, but before the meteor shower?"

She noticed her father hesitated before answering, and it prickled her instincts. Maybe she should check into this meteor shower, not that she held out much hope in finding anything interesting in these endless, almost uninhabited fields, but still, it never hurt anyone to do a little digging. "Yes. Yes, I have. With you and your mother." Oh, that was probably what the hesitation was for. Darn it! "There was this cottage we rented for the summer when you were two, right by Crater Lake, as they call it now, also a vestige of the whole meteor debacle. They do say the meteor rock fragments have mostly been extracted out of the water, though. It's a nice place to soak up some sun and take a dip. You should go when you meet some people at your new school..."

Ignoring her father's not so subtle urging to get out of her head and to engage in some real social interaction, she chose to stretch the subject a bit more, since he slipped her that hint about her toddler years. "You said when I was two years old… Were we anywhere near the area when the meteor shower happened?"

Gabe shifted uneasily in his seat. He did not particularly enjoy taking a walk down memory lane where Moira was concerned, especially since everything went downhill after said natural catastrophe occurred and since he could see how burned Chloe had been by her reiterated departure from their lives. He remembered all too well trying to make waffles that first morning when a 5-year old bewildered girl could not understand why they were, all of a sudden, alone. He remembered even more clearly finding said girl crumpled in a fetal position on the floor of their living room 5 years ago. Their house in Metropolis was haunted by too many ghosts of her lonely childhood, so when he got the job offer, he figured, what better place for a renaissance than the one where their previous era of happiness, for all intents and purposes, had ended? Chloe, while always full of spark and energy, never afraid of speaking out loud, seemed to have become a lone wolf these last few years, never bringing any friends home, sometimes mentioning acquaintances in passing but rarely did the same name come up twice. A small town where everyone knew each other and stuck together would maybe make her feel more comfortable about bonding with fellow classmates.

Chloe had observed with narrowed eyes her dad's awkward movements, and when he phased out, leaving her question unanswered, she decided to press on. "Earth to Dad?" He jumped upon hearing her voice which put an end to his musings. She would probably strangle him if she had an inkling about some of his motives to move to the country. "You still haven't answered my question, Dad."

"Right, the meteor shower…" He might as well be honest with her, when she was willingly making conversation. Besides, she would see right through him if he dared attempt to lie. "I was back in Metropolis for a job emergency, but you and your mother were making your way back."

"You mean we were driving through Smallville during the incident!?" she exclaimed, surprised to find out only now, angered even - it would have made a great article.

"Yes." When he caught sight of the saucer eyes Chloe was directing at him, he hurried to put her at ease. "Relax sweetheart, you were lucky. You drove off the road, crashed into one of the fallen rocks, but did not have any serious injuries. According to your mother, you had inhaled a lot of the powder that came off with the impact, so we had you tested, just in case, but there were no side effects."

"Well, I guess since I was one of the victims, I should go to the library and look into the bulk of knowledge on meteor rocks. I'm disappointed, Dad," she started mockingly, "you have deprived me of a killer piece for the school newspaper by withholding information. If you know what's good for you, it won't happen again."

Gabe laughed at that, happy to have found his footing with Chloe after the bout of bitterness surrounding the move. Not long after, they arrived at the quaint little house he had bought for them. It was surrounded by others that were similar in size, but different in architecture, and Chloe was glad that they had not landed in some Midwest suburb filled with cloned buildings glued together. After unloading her clothes on the floor of her bedroom, she quickly took out her books to make the count again. After counting them and coming up with the same missing item, she bent her head, resigned. How appropriate! The Tales of the Weird and Unexplained got spooked out of Pleasantville… She just prayed there was no crazy censorship at the library, at once impatient and unwilling to find out tomorrow.

"Okay, you can do anything you want with me for the rest of the day. I don't care if we go cow tipping or if we have to gather corn grains for the cafeteria, but what you absolutely need to tell me is where I can buy a copy of the Daily Planet so I can keep in touch with civilization because as far as I am concerned, Smallville is just a dusty pit stop on my way to the big leagues of journalism. I'm Chloe, by the way."

Clark blinked at the blonde girl who had just rammed her demands into a barely ten second long rant, finishing with her name. His hearing had no problems whatsoever and his memory was foolproof, but he had rarely encountered someone of his age who belted out words so animatedly. When he had been assigned to show the new pretty girl around, although shy, he had not given it a second thought. Usually, he kept up with people easily, and mostly, he freaked them out when he started talking about astronomy and philosophers. But now, looking at the 13-year old girl that wanted nothing but a newspaper, he was a bit stunned.

"Euh… I'm… I'm Clark."

"Nice to meet you, Clark. Now, on with my pressing request. The newsstand?"

"Right, the closest one to the school is down the street, just by the old movie theatre."

"Great! How about we head over there, and then I'm yours for the day."

Not even waiting for his answer, she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the school for the break. He almost forgot to suppress his strength and let himself be dragged along as he was completely at loss at how to act. His experience with girls amounted to looking at Lana Lang through his telescope and falling to his knees whenever he was in her vicinity. Really, not much to go by. The green-eyed blonde seemed gentle enough from afar, but she was evidently a fireball. And so, it went on...

"Don't get me wrong, I'm sure cows and corn have their charm, but put yourself in my shoes. I'm undergoing a major case of culture shock here, think Gulliver's Travels." He opened his mouth to provide some reassurance, but before any words got out, she continued, and he just stared at her fast moving lips: "That's it! I should write chronicles assembled in a book titled Sullivan's Travels. Even if it doesn't turn out to be a best seller, I'll get to leak my frustrations out with the ink. I mean, really, you worry about rain for crops; I worried about the metro flooding. You herd the cattle and eat them; I heard Weezer at the Metrodome and ate it up."

"Well, I live on a farm, and it's not as boring as it may seem. There is always work around, and I'm pretty sure the sunsets from my barn beat those you can see from a building in a crowded city." He smiled at her, satisfied to have managed to get a few words in edgewise.

"Really!?" she beamed at him, and he nodded, his grin growing wider in response to her contagious smile. "The simple life, plain clothes, rejection of modern technology kind of farm? It would be wonderful if I could see it for myself. I have never experienced anything remotely related to a farm firsthand."

"I didn't notice," he mumbled sarcastically, and Chloe burst out laughing. Clark was definitely the nicest person she had ever met; usually people ran away when she started babbling on without an end in sight, which was pretty much always, or looked down at her when she threaded her speech with what they deemed to be obscure references, but Clark, although still bewildered by her fast speech and maybe a bit uncomfortable because she was a girl, had not once cast a judging glance at her and listened carefully to her every word. "If you would like to, I'm sure my parents would not mind if I brought you along for dinner."

Chloe delightfully accepted his invitation, but there were alarm bells ringing in her head that she should not bank on having a loyal friend in the young farm boy. For all she knew, he was just being kind to the new girl as he handled the responsibility of introducing her to his school and town.

A few hours later found them climbing the stairs in his barn, and she had to admit, if there was ever a Fortress of Solitude on Earth, this had to be it. And, as a lonely thinker herself, she could really appreciate the cosy room.

"Wow. Sweet setup, Clark." Walking up to the telescope turned downwards instead of towards the sky, she decided to tease him a bit: "Spend your nights spying on any unsuspecting neighbors?"

Clark swallowed at that, and when she was sidetracked by the sight of his well furnished bookcase, he took his chance to turn the instrument skywards. "No, I like… looking at the stars."

Listening to the birds chirping outside, Chloe had to hand it to him: "I guess you truly are a gentleman farmer. Emerson and Thoreau have nothing on you." Suddenly feeling self-conscious about all of the bookworm remarks with which she had coated their interaction today, with a self-deprecating tilt of her head, she lightly admitted one of her sins: "I spend way too much of my time reading." No need to tell him that it's not only because I have an insatiable thirst for knowledge, but to escape a reality in which people always leave.

"Actually… I love reading." Chloe looked up at that, and looking into the baby blues of the sweet farm boy, she felt a warmth that had been extinguished in the last few years slowly light up in her chest. "I don't have that much time to make a lot of friends. My dad keeps me pretty busy with chores."

Since he was being so open with her and accepting, she figured she'd risk returning the favor: "My mom left when I was really young. After that… I was afraid to make friends because… I just thought they'd all end up leaving, too. So I buried my nose in books," she finished with a little smile. Now would be a good time to switch to a more neutral topic. Walking up to the window again and turning, she remembered her aborted trip to the library due to Clark's amiable company. "Although, I think I lost one of my favorites when we moved: Tales of the Weird & Unexplained. Something tells me I won't find much of the weird or unexplained here in Norman Rockwell's neighborhood."

She heard a sudden whoosh of air behind her, and when she turned back, Clark was pointing at his coffee table. Walking up to it, she saw the item she had just been longing for. "Smallville's more than just dairy cows. We have a pretty good public library."

Overwhelmed by Clark's gesture and his whole welcoming aura, she impulsively walked up to him, and without stopping to think about it, kissed him. It was not her first kiss, but the other one was done on a dare, so it did not count. When she backed away, he was even more bewildered than she'd seen him look all day, and it made him that much more adorable.

"What was that for?"

"I know you've been thinking about it all day. So I figured we'd just get it out of the way and be friends," she offered lightly. Sure, it was part of the explanation, but the full truth was that she might just start harbouring a flame for her new friend.

"Clark!" a male voice called from downstairs. A few moments later, a young black boy carrying a basket-ball had made his way to them. "Oh! I didn't realize you had company," he said a bit awkwardly, looking wide-eyed at Chloe. She smiled at him, and extended a hand.

"I'm Chloe, pleasure to meet you."

"Pete… So… You guys want to go out and shoot some hoops."

Chloe raised an eyebrow at him. Kickball, football, basketball, any kind of ball really was not up in her alley since… well since then. "I could watch you guys and provide enlightening commentary, but I neither play nor cheer."

The boys chuckled, before Clark came up with a more inclusive plan: "How about we go to the house for dinner; I think Mom made some apple pie for desert. And then, we could head down to Crater Lake, since you mentioned wanting to take a tour earlier."

"Sounds like a plan", Chloe agreed cheerfully, happy, once again, that he had been listening.

"Yeah, I'm down."

"All right then, let's get out of here."

Note: I incorporated references from several episodes, including Obscura, Reaper, Memoria, Wither, Reunion, andAbyss. Since the first installment had a longer focus on Oliver, I figured I'd give Chloe more of the spotlight in this one. And although it may seem that Oliver's pre-teen years are much darker (and they are, in a sense), if you squint, you can see that they have the same issues - trouble opening up - but sometimes diverging, sometimes overlapping ways of coping. Their shared hate for the Luthor dynasty will of course become a bridge between their lives later on.