"Ahhhh. The set of 'When Skanky Ho's Attack,' I assume?" Chloe was looking over the magazine that Pete hadn't hidden in his backpack quite quickly enough.
"It's a publication for the male who appreciates beauty."
"Isn't that what I just said?" Chloe flopped down on the sofa next to him. "What's up? Or is that a tactless question under the circumstances?"
"Fortunately, my grade in Pol Sci." Pete got up. "So in honor of that--" He raised his eyebrows questioningly at her.
"Oh. Thanks. Small latte." As he reached to place his backpack on his shoulder, her eyes widened. "What? You don't trust me with your magazine?"
"I *know* you, Chloe." He returned a few moments later with his hazelnut cream and her latte, hoping she wouldn't notice that he'd gotten her a large one instead, knowing she'd asked for the small in deference to his wallet and currently no student-job status. No, that wouldn't be a problem, she'd distracted herself. Just in the few minutes he'd been in line, she'd whipped out the draft proof of the latest student paper and was poring over it. He liked the way she'd not let it bother her, going from managing editor of the Torch to lowly newbie proofreader and dauntless reporter of what movies were playing at the Metropolis U. student center. But then, there wasn't much that he didn't like about her.
Except for a very different torch she was carrying. In a way he wished that Clark had said goodbye in person and so delivered the kick to her teeth with his own foot, instead of courtesy of the USPS. That way, she'd have no reason to keep thinking, somewhere, in the back of her mind, that Clark was somehow a victim of Smallville weirdness, a meteor-transformation, rather than a Common Midwestern Asshole. They'd finally agreed to stop arguing about it, especially after she'd once said, with an especially angry expression, that he ought to know that meteors and such can make people do what they'd never do otherwise, but then shut her mouth firmly. She'd even tried digging through his adoption records again, thinking there might be a clue there, that somehow Clark's biological parents had something to do with it.
He had to grimace at the way that it looked like he himself hadn't quite established residence in Moved On Land. Fortunately, she hadn't really emerged from the semi-coma that only improper use of semi-colons could cause her to enter.
"Just a sec." He reached into his backpack for his cell phone, nearly answering it with "Hey, hot baby," as he was expecting a call from Tamara. Fortunately, he saw the Kent Farms on the caller ID, nearly swallowing his "hello" in the mental image of his having said that to Martha Kent. Or Jonathan Kent. That kind of experience could scar him for life, he mused.
"Pete. This is Martha Kent. Clark's back."
"What?" Chloe dropped her red pen at the sound of his voice, and he reached out to grab her hand, not sure if it was for him or for her. "Back? What? Where was he? What was he doi--" He couldn't feel anything other than shock.
"He had a brain tumor--no, he'll be fine, it was benign, it's out, but that's why he...left like that."
"He thought he was...terminal?" He felt the tears make his eyes feel ten sizes too big for their sockets. Idiotic, well-intentioned, DOPEY Clark, thinking he'd make things easier for everybody by creeping off to die...
"No, no, it was pressing on his brain. It caused personality changes and amnesia. That was why he-"
"Okay." He breathed a long, slow, breath, still clutching Chloe's hand. He met her concerned, *gorgeous* eyes and mouthed a "Clark. He's okay" at her. "So what happened?"
"He doesn't remember much, but we're kind of piecing it together. He finally ended up in a hospital. They found it was a brain tumor, got it out, and while he doesn't remember anything much that happened after he left, he...remembered everything before that."
"So he came home. Is he-"
"He's asleep now, he tried calling earlier but you weren't answering."
"I was in class, had the phone turned off."
"So he asked me to try again."
"Is he...would it be okay if Chloe and I came to..."
"He'd love to see you. But he's a bit shaky still."
"I can believe it. Poor guy."
The conversation had slowed to the point that he could stop and summarize to Chloe, who probably had been planning to grab the phone to see if she could get some sense from the one side she could hear. He finished explaining and returned to Martha Kent. "If it's okay, we'll drive down now."
"It will be great to see you again, Pete."
"Thanks again, Mrs. Kent." Chloe grabbed the phone and almost shouted, "Give our love to Clark!"
Chloe was grinning like an idiot and crying at the same time. Both teens got up and wrapped their arms around each other, rocking back and forth.
Chloe whispered something in his ear.
"What, love?" He couldn't believe he'd said that.
She repeated herself shakily, red-rimmed eyes looking right into his, "Told you so."
"It's a publication for the male who appreciates beauty."
"Isn't that what I just said?" Chloe flopped down on the sofa next to him. "What's up? Or is that a tactless question under the circumstances?"
"Fortunately, my grade in Pol Sci." Pete got up. "So in honor of that--" He raised his eyebrows questioningly at her.
"Oh. Thanks. Small latte." As he reached to place his backpack on his shoulder, her eyes widened. "What? You don't trust me with your magazine?"
"I *know* you, Chloe." He returned a few moments later with his hazelnut cream and her latte, hoping she wouldn't notice that he'd gotten her a large one instead, knowing she'd asked for the small in deference to his wallet and currently no student-job status. No, that wouldn't be a problem, she'd distracted herself. Just in the few minutes he'd been in line, she'd whipped out the draft proof of the latest student paper and was poring over it. He liked the way she'd not let it bother her, going from managing editor of the Torch to lowly newbie proofreader and dauntless reporter of what movies were playing at the Metropolis U. student center. But then, there wasn't much that he didn't like about her.
Except for a very different torch she was carrying. In a way he wished that Clark had said goodbye in person and so delivered the kick to her teeth with his own foot, instead of courtesy of the USPS. That way, she'd have no reason to keep thinking, somewhere, in the back of her mind, that Clark was somehow a victim of Smallville weirdness, a meteor-transformation, rather than a Common Midwestern Asshole. They'd finally agreed to stop arguing about it, especially after she'd once said, with an especially angry expression, that he ought to know that meteors and such can make people do what they'd never do otherwise, but then shut her mouth firmly. She'd even tried digging through his adoption records again, thinking there might be a clue there, that somehow Clark's biological parents had something to do with it.
He had to grimace at the way that it looked like he himself hadn't quite established residence in Moved On Land. Fortunately, she hadn't really emerged from the semi-coma that only improper use of semi-colons could cause her to enter.
"Just a sec." He reached into his backpack for his cell phone, nearly answering it with "Hey, hot baby," as he was expecting a call from Tamara. Fortunately, he saw the Kent Farms on the caller ID, nearly swallowing his "hello" in the mental image of his having said that to Martha Kent. Or Jonathan Kent. That kind of experience could scar him for life, he mused.
"Pete. This is Martha Kent. Clark's back."
"What?" Chloe dropped her red pen at the sound of his voice, and he reached out to grab her hand, not sure if it was for him or for her. "Back? What? Where was he? What was he doi--" He couldn't feel anything other than shock.
"He had a brain tumor--no, he'll be fine, it was benign, it's out, but that's why he...left like that."
"He thought he was...terminal?" He felt the tears make his eyes feel ten sizes too big for their sockets. Idiotic, well-intentioned, DOPEY Clark, thinking he'd make things easier for everybody by creeping off to die...
"No, no, it was pressing on his brain. It caused personality changes and amnesia. That was why he-"
"Okay." He breathed a long, slow, breath, still clutching Chloe's hand. He met her concerned, *gorgeous* eyes and mouthed a "Clark. He's okay" at her. "So what happened?"
"He doesn't remember much, but we're kind of piecing it together. He finally ended up in a hospital. They found it was a brain tumor, got it out, and while he doesn't remember anything much that happened after he left, he...remembered everything before that."
"So he came home. Is he-"
"He's asleep now, he tried calling earlier but you weren't answering."
"I was in class, had the phone turned off."
"So he asked me to try again."
"Is he...would it be okay if Chloe and I came to..."
"He'd love to see you. But he's a bit shaky still."
"I can believe it. Poor guy."
The conversation had slowed to the point that he could stop and summarize to Chloe, who probably had been planning to grab the phone to see if she could get some sense from the one side she could hear. He finished explaining and returned to Martha Kent. "If it's okay, we'll drive down now."
"It will be great to see you again, Pete."
"Thanks again, Mrs. Kent." Chloe grabbed the phone and almost shouted, "Give our love to Clark!"
Chloe was grinning like an idiot and crying at the same time. Both teens got up and wrapped their arms around each other, rocking back and forth.
Chloe whispered something in his ear.
"What, love?" He couldn't believe he'd said that.
She repeated herself shakily, red-rimmed eyes looking right into his, "Told you so."