She sat quietly after he had finished, when the words stopped coming, when there was nothing left to say. The food lay forgotten on the table, long cold. They spent a few moments in relative silence, with only the sound of Pete's basketball clock ticking and the distant rush of traffic on the street below.
Nothing could have prepared her for the look in those large, expressive eyes after she had pushed him, the blind fear that was almost panic, the moment of pure agonizing indecision before he started talking.
There were questions. She had felt like she wanted to ask questions, a hundred of them, but his voice had frozen her in the adamantine ice of revelation, so that she could only sit and watch as he laid his soul bare to her, as he handed his life over into her hands. It never occurred to her to doubt his words. She supposed it should have. But everything fit. And actually, his story inspired more credulity than some of the things she had told him.
He had spoken with his eyes on the table, as if something poisonous were being extracted from him and now his gaze was empty with the emotional drain. He sat as if awaiting judgment.
What do you say to something like that? What do you say when the love of your life reveals the secret he has guarded since childhood, a secret so dangerous that he fears to tell anyone, a secret that tore apart another's life and unexpectedly shattered his world after six years of thinking he'd never have to worry about it again? What do you say when the man you've been dating since high school tells you he isn't human? She didn't know. So she did what she had always done, what she had been doing since they were both kids: she looked at him, read what was in his heart and told him the truth as she saw it.
"I know what you're afraid of. Your afraid that I'll be mad at you for lying all this time, for not telling me right away. You're afraid that I won't want to be with you now that I know. You're afraid that you were wrong to tell me. You're afraid that Eric was right, that you are responsible for what happened to him, and that you'll wind up the same way. You're not and you won't." Her face broke into a sudden grin as she fought the tears that he refused to shed. "And I can't believe that you think I'm shallow enough to care about something as inconsequential as what planet you're from. God, Clark, what do you think I am, a specist?"
He attempted a weak smile at the joke, his eyes flooded with sudden hope, hope that was tinged with the tiniest bit of reserve, of fear that it might not be true. He was fifteen again; six years of emotional progress had been stripped away in an instant. All that he had found about himself, what he had learned, was gone. Everything had changed; his entire world had been turned upside down and inside out.
The kitchen table was small, barely big enough for three people. She reached across it and gripped his hand in her own. He looked at their clasped hands with the expression of one who fears that he will wake up at any moment and find it all a dream.
Chloe cursed herself as she felt hot tears rolling down her cheeks, then angrily gave in. If he wouldn't cry for himself than she would cry for him. He was looking at her tears in curiosity and alarm, so she quickly rose and closed the distance between them, calling his name as she did so. She clutched him as she had the night before, only more fiercely, and he slid his arms gently - so gently - around her, as if afraid she might break. With a start, she realized the truth of that fear.
"Clark, I love you."
The words didn't seem like enough. They couldn't possibly be enough. There weren't words enough in the entire English language…or the French…or the Spanish…
But his relieved exhale, as if he'd been holding his breath, told her that he understood. He got to his feet and picked her up effortlessly, cradling her against his chest as if she were the most precious thing in the world. She could feel his strength, different from before, more powerful, but it wasn't strange or frightening. It was a natural part of him, a part of what she loved. She felt as comfortable with it as if she had known all along. It felt…right with him.
She snuggled closer and wrapped her arms around his neck, wishing that they could stay that way forever.
He didn't know why he had just done that, why he felt compelled to scoop her up and hold her to him. But it felt good and she didn't seem to mind. He made his way back over to the couch and settled down into the fuzzy blanket that was still draped across it. She lay half on top of him while he sat at one end, a reversal of their positions the night before. But she was still comforting him, still making him feel safe, making him feel loved. If her actions the previous night had soothed his wounds, those of the morning had washed them away. He was still reeling from the sheer enormity of what he had just done. He couldn't believe that he had actually told her everything, every last scrap of the secrets he kept.
It was strange to talk about it. Before his first confrontation with Eric, it hadn't been, of course. His parents had known before he had known; for a long time they were the only ones that could really understand him, in a sense. But long years had passed since the Kents had even discussed what Clark had lost. He had gotten used to not having to hide, not having to worry about hurting anyone. He had still felt responsible for the people around him, but it wasn't the same when his life was just as fragile as theirs.
There had been times when he'd felt like there was something he'd forgotten to do, times when he felt like he should have been helping more than he could, times when he couldn't stand how powerless he was. But overriding it all was the guilty pleasure he took from being able to live his life the way he wanted it lived. Playing sports, pushing himself to his limits, rather than always holding back, not having to look over his shoulder all time.
Being free.
But he still had Chloe. Whether he could dodge bullets or not, Chloe loved him. He didn't understand why, perhaps he never would, but she had passed every kind of test the universe could have devised. She loved him and he clung to that like a lifeline.
She would have questions. He knew he would, if he were in her position. He owed her that much and more. So he bade her ask away and together they slowly explored the mystery of his power and the events of the night before.
"Did you ever think that maybe he wanted it?"
Clark looked up and regarded her curiously. She sat cross-legged by his side, her fingers rubbing his gently where they rested in his lap. They had been talking for hours and the morning was fading, giving ground slowly to a cloudy afternoon. A light breeze drifted through the open window, smelling of rain.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, if what he said is true, then there was a definite pattern in Smallville that we were missing. I mean, think about it. All the people who were affected were affected in different ways. There was no connection between them. But there was a connection between their personal situations and what happened to them. Coach Walt had a temper, hence the pyrotechnics. Jodie wanted to be thin and got the ultimate diet solution. Tina had low self-esteem so she literally tried to become someone else. It makes a certain kind of sense."
"So what did Eric want?"
"Power. You know how his dad was. Something in him wanted the strength to stand up to him. It may not have even been conscious, but it was there. And just like all the others, it didn't turn out to be as advantageous as it seemed."
"It wasn't his fault."
"No," she said softly. "But it wasn't yours either. I mean, there's no evidence to suggest that you could influence the effects of the meteorites that way anyway. Eric may not have intended it, but he caused all his own problems."
She didn't understand. "But I did want it," he whispered, head down.
"Is that something to be ashamed of?" He looked away from her.
"Eric couldn't handle your abilities because they're yours, not his. You were born to this." She smiled lightheartedly. "As your dad would say, the best people to hold power are the ones who don't want it." She paused to let him mull that over for a minute. "Now, if we're finished with this little pep talk, how about some coffee?"
He tilted his head self-consciously and laughed, as always heartened by her matter-of-fact bravado. She gave him a knowing grin in return as he rose to wash the dredges of the previous day's brew from the pot.
Pete came in then, looking a little worse for wear, but beaming nonetheless. He still had on his tux from the night before, but it looked like it had been through a tornado.
"I had an excellent evening, thanks for asking," he proclaimed as he proprietarily examined the untouched remains of breakfast. His nose wrinkled and he went to the fridge for the ever-present and vastly more edible cold pizza. "Come to think of it, I had an excellent morning as well," he added as he picked pineapple off his meal.
Clark said nothing as he put a fresh filter in the machine. Chloe started clearing dishes off the table.
"What? Did I miss something?"
The apartment was silent as Chloe and Clark looked at each other.
Finis
