Notes: Thanks toTest of Faith and Banu for the feedback!
Ruby Truth - Valentine Michel Smith
The Ferrari split the highway at a respectable (if illegal) 90 mph.
Clark cranked Marilyn Manson, turning his head to smile briefly at Gwen whose fingers lingered atop his own on the gearshift.
The sports car purred contentedly as halogen beams forced shadows into retreat.
Clark noticed the trunk was ajar, not much, just enough to catch his eye.
Clark barely avoided putting his foot through the floorboard as he mashed the brakes and downshifted. Contained by the seatbelt, Gwen still bucked violently as the Ferrari swerved to an angled stop.
Clark exited the vehicle hastily and yanked open the trunk lid. He stared angrily into the meagerly lit darkness, exchanging enigmatic glances with Martha. She knew she shouldn't be surprised to see him, but she was. Clark popped her again in the forehead and ripped the trunk release cord from the interior, using it to bind her.
No more excitement.
Well, not unless it fell within certain welcome parameters.
Chloe pulled to a stop in front of Lana's house. "Thanks for the ride," said Lana. "Chloe?"
The blonde's gaze was fixed on the Kent Farm. "That's ten shades of weird."
"What?"
Chloe turned to Lana. "Have you ever seen Clark's house dark?"
Lana turned to her neighbor's home. "No," she said. Not even a porch light. Her face twisted quizzically. "I hope everything's okay."
"I'm sure it is," Chloe offered lightly. "I mean, why wouldn't it be?"
Lana's nose crinkled. "You're going over there, aren't you?"
"I – "
Lana climbed back into the car. "- I'll come with."
Chloe pulled the car into the Kent drive. The headlights provided illumination in the nick of time, revealing a barely conscious Pete sprawled on the gravel before them. Chloe slammed on the brakes, halting the car inelegantly.
Both young women hurried from the car.
"Jesus... Pete?" Lana put a hand to her mouth. She'd never seen so much blood.
Chloe glanced her companion's way. "It probably looks worse than it is. Head wounds tend to bleed a lot." Chloe flipped open her cell phone. "Yes, we need an ambulance. Right away."
"Don't worry, Pete. It's gonna be alright."
Pete cast a hazy eye in Lana's direction. Things would never be "all right" again.
The underground parking would prove both blessing and curse.
The Ferrari drifted to a stop. Clark handed keys to Gwen. "I'll be right up. Penthouse."
Clark waited what seemed like forever. He had to give Gwen enough time to get upstairs, and he didn't want to be seen strolling in with an unconscious woman. That meant he'd have to move quickly.
He actually found himself hoping Martha Kent wouldn't be damaged.
Dead woman equals less of a bargaining chip.
Seconds ticked into minutes. Clark popped the trunk and removed Martha Kent. Gwen was placing the keys on the coffee table as Clark entered. He deposited Martha on the sofa, untying the release cable.
"Nice place."
"Belongs to a friend."
Clark headed immediately to the bar and poured himself a scotch. He took a lingering pull, then swallowed the rest before pouring a second for himself and one for Gwen.
Gwen didn't notice Martha as she stirred. Ignoring the throbbing in her head, Martha squinted, absorbed the surroundings and picked a target.
The target was Gwen.
The farmer's wife lunged, searching for purchase -
snatching a handful of Gwen 's hair -
pinwheeling the younger woman into the coffee table.
Shattering glass, Gwen landed hard, back first.
The sound got Clark's attention.
Grimacing, Clark sped to his mother. As blue eyes connected with green, Martha Kent saw something she'd never seen in the face of Clark Kent: fury barely contained. She'd seen her son angry, yes, but this... this was absolutely horrific.
The stillness made things worse.
Finally, the words came, sliding through clenched teeth. "Big mistake." Clark grabbed Martha's shirt, lifting her harshly and plucked her from the floor.
A beige flat dangled from one toe, falling, the sound jarring as the shoe thudded heel-sole to wood.
Eerie silence returned. Clark's nostrils flared as he pulled Martha close. If she had been afraid before, that fear now seemed more generic. This was what it was like to know firsthand the world was indeed a scary, bad, evil place.
Martha felt the warmth of Clark's breath upon her, said a prayer, and closed her eyes. This was not a time for reason.
There might not be time for anything anymore.
She noted absently he didn't smell like Clark anymore. There remained a sweetness to the aroma, but something muskier churned beneath it, compounding the terror that promised to devour her.
Martha sailed across the room, landing brutally on the far wall. She slumped unconscious immediately.
Clark took a step in Martha's direction, then stopped. He stared unknowingly at the woman, the maker of apple pies, the relater of bedtime stories, with malice unbefitting the situation. He took another step toward her, halting only after he heard Gwen shift on the glass.
He turned back to Gwen. "You need to be more careful," Clark said, his gruff tone a sharp contrast to the delicate handling of the downed woman.
"You need to be careful," she said. "There's glass everywhere." Gwen winced.
"Yeah," Clark said, absentmindedly removing a jagged fragment from Gwen's hair, "including you."
Clark lifted Gwen gently and carried her to the bathroom. Inside, he removed the remaining shards, adding antiseptic to the minor wounds, kissing attended gashes gingerly.
Clark monitored one cut as red warmth slicked Gwen's back.
Tongue met salty flesh as Clark licked away the sticky crimson stain.