. . .
"This is a stupid plan!" Clark whispered, wheeling the stretcher through the halls, "And this face mask isn't going to keep anyone from recognizing me! Besides, these scrubs make me feel dumb."
"Don't be silly!" Chloe pulled down the oxygen mask and glared up at him, "You look fantastic whether you're wearing a tux or diving apparatus. Now keep up your part of the plan! And be confident!"
"Nurse!" Clark exclaimed loudly - bossily - lowering his voice a few octaves, "I have an opioid overdose patient! I need Naloxone in a nasal atomizer right away!"
"Yes sir!" the woman disappeared and then hurried back, "You must be the specialist! Am I ever glad to see you, Dr Fresno! I'll administer the Naloxone; you go right down the hall to the eighth door on the right!"
Chloe's eyes widened and Clark stared at the woman, trying to think fast.
"Excuse me?" a woman's voice asked from behind them, "I am Dr Fresno and..."
"Lay still!" Clark whispered to Chloe as she lay on the stretcher. The moment the nurse turned around he grabbed the handful of stuff she had brought, pushed the stretcher hurriedly down the hall, turned a corner and, grabbing Chloe's hand and pulling her up, ran down to where their clothes were waiting.
. . .
"Whoa!" Chloe laughed in relief, "I can't believe you got through that nasal atomizer spiel sentence without a single pause!"
"The fact that we were pretending that your life was at stake had something to do with it," Clark admitted as they hurried across the street to her car, "I'm just glad that she didn't question my request; they usually only have nasal atomizers for use outside of a clinical facility. I'd hate to have to stick Miss Trammer with a syringe."
"She never would have noticed," Chloe shrugged, "And it probably would be easier than trying to get her to stand still for this; she's probably used to shooting up every couple of hours."
"Yes, but I'm not." Clark sighed, "I feel sorry for her; it must be terrible to need something so much that you would commit any kind of crime to get it and do anything to cover your tracks."
"That would be terrible," Chloe furrowed her brow, "Clark? If I ever get into something like that, just make me stop, okay?"
"You never would," he answered confidently, "You're too strong for that."
"No one is ever stronger than their worst fear," Chloe said slowly, shakily, "I don't know, Clark. If I let myself think about my Mom... There are some days when I would do just about anything to forget about it."
"Well, don't hold it inside," Clark reached over and took her hand gently, "Fears get much worse when they're bottled up inside of you. If you ever need to talk; I'm here. Don't ever let it get to the point where you want to give up."
"Okay," she sniffed, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill over, and then laughed softly, "Oh, come on! Let's go take care of Miss Trammer. Where do you think she is?"
. . .
"Well, she's been here since we left," Clark observed as they peered down into the storm cellar where they had spent quality time together earlier, "Look."
Sheriff Adams and the two deputies lay on the ground, sound asleep. The workbench had been swept clean, the only thing left behind was an empty syringe that had apparently been used and tossed aside.
"Clark," Chloe looked worried, "If Miss Trammer has just taken the drug, her power will be..."
"Very strong?" her voice asked, slurring the words only enough for someone who knew what was going on to notice, "Put your hands up."
Turning around slowly with her hands in the air, Chloe swallowed hard at the sight of the gun that was trained on her.
"I was going to make you suffer a little more before you died," Miss Trammer said, "But right now, I think it's time for a little nap. A permanent nap."
As the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion filled the cellar, Clark fought it off and raced over to her side, using the Naloxone at lighting speed. She sneezed and then collapsed on the floor.
Chloe, who had begun to sink to the ground in spite of herself, felt the sleepiness fade and straightened up, hurrying over to where Clark knelt next to the former dance teacher as Sheriff Adams stirred and mumbled something as she opened her eyes slowly.
. . .
"Well," Chloe sighed, glancing at her watch as they left the police station after seeing Miss Trammer locked away until her trial, "That was the longest Saturday morning I've spent in a long time. And I did it all without coffee!"
"I'm proud of you, Chloe," Clark laughed, "Now, how about if you come to my house for lunch and I'll enlighten you as to the rest of my secret?"
"That sounds great," she hesitated, "But are you sure that you want to tell me? I don't want you to feel like you have to."
"I'm not choosing to tell you because I think I have to, but because I want to," he smiled at her and squeezed her arm gently, "You're the one friend who I wanted to tell more than anyone. You're a special person, Chloe, more than you know."
"Okay," she grinned, a little embarrassed but obviously enjoying his words, "I feel better now."
. . .
Martha and Jonathan were shocked, and not entirely happy, when Clark informed them - with Chloe standing there - that he intended to tell her everything about himself and asked if they would help. They agreed, but Jonathan pulled Clark aside as Chloe helped Martha set the table for lunch.
"Are you sure that you want to do this, son?" he asked, looking at Clark searchingly, "This isn't something you'll regret? Think about Alicia."
"But this is Chloe, Dad," Clark answered, shaking his head, "I would trust her with my life."
"Good," Jonathan said seriously, "Because in sharing your secret you are trusting her with your life."
"It's the right thing to do," Clark raised his chin confidently, "And she can handle it; she's a pretty amazing person."
"It's your decision," Jonathan acknowledged, "I just would hate to see all of your years of building a 'normal life' go to waste."
"They won't," Clark assured him, "If anything, Chloe will help with that. Besides; she has known about at least a couple of my powers for a while, and I have never suspected. She's the most trustworthy person I know."
"Alright," Jonathan nodded, "But I think that you should tell her yourself; this is your secret and you don't need our help. Your mother and I will have lunch upstairs."
. . .
"You asked why I was allergic to the meteor rocks," Clark began, as they started their lunch, "The meteors didn't make me who I am."
"So you're saying you were born this way?" Chloe asked curiously.
"I wasn't born anywhere near Smallville." Clark licked his lips, considering how to state this.
Chloe raised her eyebrows questioningly.
"In fact, I wasn't born anywhere near this galaxy." he couldn't meet her eyes.
"Okay..." Chloe shifted in her seat and narrowed her eyes questioningly, "Okay, so that would then make you like an..." she paused, not sure if she could say the word.
"Yeah." he continued to avoid her eyes.
"Uh..." she looked at him with wide eyes, "But you... you look so..."
"Human?" he asked, finally meeting her eyes apprehensively, trying to read her face "I'm still the same person."
The words begged for reassurance, and Chloe tried to give it as the knowledge soaked in.
"Clark, I..." she searched for the words as she smiled softly, "I think you're so amazing! You save people's lives and take zero credit for it. To me you're more than just a hero; you're a superhero."
"Chloe..." he shook his head slightly.
"I'm serious, Clark," a note of earnestness in her voice, "If more humans were like you the world would be a better place."
A tentative smile spread over his face, getting wider as it was encouraged by the genuine one that answered him on her face. Reaching for her hand across the table, Clark squeezed it gently as his eyes warmed her soul.
The ring of her phone interrupted the moment, and she laughed as she answered it, feeling the loss of his hand on hers more than she would admit.
"What do you mean, they called in sick?" Chloe exclaimed, the smile disappearing off her face, "Don't they have backup? Yeah, yeah, I'll take care of it. No, of course I'm not mad. Yes, I understand; you'll explain when you get back. Okay. Bye."
"What was that all about?" Clark asked in concern at the look on her face.
"Oh, that was Lana," she sighed, "The caterer for tonight called in sick, her and Jason are not going to be back until Monday, and I'm in charge of the party and the dinner tonight. Do you have any idea how hard it is going to be to find someone to cater on a Saturday night two days before Valentine's day? Besides, everywhere I know of requires at least 24 hours advance notice."
"I'll go get the phone book," Clark finally took the second bite of his lunch and chewed it quickly, "We can look in the yellow-pages. And don't worry; if we can't find someone I'm sure that Mom will have an idea."
. . . .
Lol, did you guys ever see the Lois and Clark where they try to get into a certain room in the hospital by putting Lois on a stretcher with a basket ball under her shirt? Ha! That was hilarious!
Reviews?