At first there was only the pain of the current slamming through his body. Then power, unbelievable, virtually limitless power, flooded through him in a torrent that threatened to consume him. He saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing, except for that sweet agony.

The instant he was able, he wrenched his arm from the metal casing and he and Eric crumpled to the floor, gasping. Immediately the stone in his hand sent sharp pains shooting through his arm and he hastily returned it to its protective lead container. Then Eric began to laugh.

"Have a nice life," he said, his voice giddy.

"Don't!" As fast he was, he wasn't fast enough. The semi-automatic Colt that Eric had taken from his coat fired cleanly, driving the bullet through his chin and into his brain. Clark watched the recoil, the puff of gunpowder, the path of bullet, helplessly. He drew back in horror as it exited the top of Eric's head, spraying everything around him with globs of blood and brain matter.

An unnatural stillness settled over the room. Clark could only sit and stare at Eric's glazed eyes.

"My God, Clark. Are you okay? Clark? Clark!"

He tore his gaze away from the corpse to regard Chloe, who knelt by him, trembling as she eyed the blood on his face and chest. He reached up and wiped some of it away. The skin beneath it was unbroken. He stared absently at the sticky red fluid on his fingers.

"Clark, what happened? Are you okay?" Her voice and hands trembled as she cupped his face in her hands and searched his eyes with her own. "I came early. When I saw him attacking you I thought…I called the police, but I had to do something…Clark, what's going on?"

He felt like he had just woken from a dream. It was like he had been asleep for six years, whiling away the hours in a pleasant fantasy that he was only now recognizing.

You wanted it!

He turned and looked at her. Chloe. His Chloe. He had enjoyed the years he had spent with her, being just himself. He had almost tricked himself into pretending he was human. Now he would have to face it again, have to fight it. But she was still there, just as she had always been, right in front of him even when he was too dense to see it. Constant. He eyed the nasty-looking bump on her head.

"Come on, let's get you some ice," he said as he rose smoothly. The strength was back, the energy, but also the need for control. Always control. But he had lived with it before; he could live with it again.

"I'm fine," he said to her puzzled expression, trying to keep his voice steady. They both avoided looking at Eric, as if somehow they could erase the image from their memories. Even Chloe, stiff and aching from the vicious blow she had received, could not get away from the gruesome scene quickly enough. But Clark knew he would never forget the madness in Eric's eyes, or the sight of the bullet tunneling through his soft tissues.

But for the grace of God...

The police arrived a few minutes later to take over the building and sort out what had happened. Chloe held an ice pack to her head while they answered questions. The officer's look was sympathetic as Clark quietly detailed what had happened, leaving out the part about transferring alien powers and carefully skirting the mystery of the ruined circuit breaker. The story of a troubled former classmate breaking in and committing suicide was gradually but easily accepted. Slowly the activity died down, the coroner took away the body, the police closed their notebooks and left. Alone in his apartment, Clark and Chloe sat in a kind of stunned silence. The emptiness of the apartment seemed to hold itself around them, at once fragile and iron-strong.

"You want some coffee?" Clark asked after a while. It was the only thing he could think of to say.

Chloe shook her head and looked at him carefully. He seemed different. It was more than the shock of watching someone die, more than the emotional exhaustion of mentally replaying the day's events a thousand times, more than the emptiness that violence leaves in its wake. His eyes warned her that something significant had occurred, a change for which he had not been prepared. He did not look as if he could stand to spend the night alone.

There were questions, of course. She had catalogued them chronologically. Why had Eric come to Clark's apartment? What of the blood she had seen? What were they doing in the basement and what happened with the fuse box? She could have sworn she saw them both electrocuted.

"Eric seemed pretty messed up. I wonder what happened to him."

"He was just a kid," Clark said, his eyes staring sightlessly at the dying western light that was creeping across the carpet. "He didn't…he never got a chance. I wouldn't have wanted that for anybody…I wouldn't…"

Questions could wait. For the first time in her life, she put her curiosity on hold. He would tell her on his own time, when he could. She touched his neck and gently nudged his head down into her lap. He gratefully folded himself onto the couch and snuggled down into her warmth as she wrapped herself around him. She felt his muscles relax a little, though he still clutched the fabric of her shirt in one large fist. She saw him squeeze his eyes shut, as if to block the world out. She stroked his hair and touched her lips lightly to his face. After a time his breathing steadied as he drifted to sleep. She felt like Androcles, cuddling a lion. She only wished it were as simple as removing a thorn.

She stayed awake for a while, watching him, but eventually the night caught up to her and she slipped into sleep as well. When she woke, dawn was stealing through the curtains and breakfast sounds were coming from the kitchenette.

She was lying on the couch with a blanket over her. It was the blue woolen one that his mother had given him as a housewarming present. She crawled from under it and stood, yawning and blinking at the early hour. Clark was bustling about, cracking eggs into a skillet and rattling silverware around. His movements were tight with underlying tension, controlled. She walked over and took a place at the table.

"I thought you guys had a 'microwaveable only' rule here."

"It gets waived when we're trying to impress girls," he replied with a grin.

"Where is Pete?"

"I think her name is Wendy. They were going to the symphony last night."

"Ah." The easy smile on her face faded as an uncharacteristically long silence stretched between them. He seemed okay; he seemed normal. But she knew him too well to be fooled by how he seemed. He was too good at dissembling, at hiding what bothered him.

It hadn't always been that way. There had been a time when what was in his heart was written plainly on his face, but as the years passed she had become the only one who could always see what he was really thinking.

After a time the eggs were done and the toast popped up. Clark grabbed some plates and set everything out on the table with a sweet smile that was heartbreaking for the turmoil it hid. Chloe responded in kind while she inwardly searched for the right words. It never ceased to amaze her how different the simple process of stringing words together to make a sentence could seem depending on the circumstances. Give her a topic with a deadline and she was a regular wordsmith. Give her a hurting loved one and she forgot what a noun was. After some inner debate, she decided that, as usual, the direct approach was best.

"You can't pretend everything is normal," she said with a sad, humorless smile, trying to keep her voice from breaking as she plowed ahead. "You can't just push it down and hope it goes away."

He stopped chewing and looked her in the eyes, hearing what she had left unspoken, what she was offering him. He realized that he was in a precipitous place. What he did now could very well affect the rest of his life, of their lives. If he started to shutting her out, he might not be able to stop. Deception could only drive distance between them. But maybe that was as it should be. Maybe some people were meant to be alone. Didn't she deserve better than what he could give her? Didn't she deserve someone…human? Someone who could give her a normal life? He didn't know what his life would be like with his powers returned, but it sure as hell wasn't getting any simpler. Part of him screamed that it was selfish to drag her into that, to let his need for her override what was really best for her. Another part whispered that it was her decision to make. He wavered and wished with all this heart that things didn't have to be the way they were. But wishing didn't help anything. Things happen as they happen. You can't change the past.

He swallowed hard and took the biggest emotional risk of his life. Over fried eggs and orange juice, he told the woman he loved his greatest secret.