Chloe's green eyes were alight as she sat back in a worn arm chair. Silently, she sipped on a steaming mug of strawberry tea Martha had been kind enough to make after the group had arrived, though Chloe was the only one who had taken a glass. Now that she knew Clark was alright, she was thoroughly interested by the whole situation, but also incredibly frustrated by the fact that no one was telling a thing about what was going on. Not that she was showing it, naturally. Chloe knew that she hadn't proved to be the most trustworthy person after the whole Lionel incident, and she had no doubt that the Kents would be entirely unwilling to tell her even a half-truth. She didn't blame them at all for it nor would she ever look into the incident unless Clark asked. She knew her place in protecting Clark, it was something that she took great pride in doing. If the family wanted her out of it, she would stay and choke the questions from her mind. But she couldn't help her natural curiousity, reporters instincts, and the thrill she got out of a good story, the high it gave her that she doubted any drug could top. Yes, she'd squelch it down and accept whatever lame story the Kent's cooked up this time, but even she, with all her practice, couldn't stow away the gleam of interest from her bright, keen eyes. Not for lack of trying, though. She was certain Clark could see the inner-battle waging to trying and snuff it out. He always saw through her.
Just a half hour ago she'd been a wreck. Clark had lay crumpled on the couch, out-sizing it in all dimensions, with a warm, cranberry wool blanket draped over his sleeping form. While undoubtedly worse off then she, she envied the fact he'd momentarily escaped the onslaught of questions from his parents. Chloe had spilled her guts, out-lining everything she knew and even producing the three stray tranqs from various pockets of her tattered coat. It had taken all of twenty minutes for Jonathan to be satisfied, most of which Martha spent next to her son, straightening already perfect blankets, fluffing already fluffed pillows, and stroking his peaceful face, tracing the curves of his jaw just as Chloe had in the woods. Chloe wished she could do the same, guilt overflowing her concious, yet she dared not move from her chair pinned there by Jonathan's stares and pointed questions when she paused her story. He was incredulous, seemingly with her, his body language saying more than the few words he spoke. He paced across the room, back and forth, back and forth, driving her out of her skull. The he'd stop and stare at her, a look of distrust, before motioning for her to continue.
As he was almost vibrating with a so-far untapped rage, Chloe did all she could to keep it that way. She now knew Jonathan Kent was not a man to be messed with in any capicity. Sitting in front of him, she had no misconceptions about what he would do to protect his family. She realized in a terrifying moment he would kill, perhaps already had. It wasn't the gentle man she was used to, and the transformation was frightening. She knew he wouldn't lay a hand on her, but she also found that quite a bit of that quiet rage was aimed at her, a surprizing result of her betrayl. Chloe had known she'd betrayed Clark, but through out the week she'd found that she had somehow gotten into Pete's black books as well, and now Mr. and Mrs. Kent were angry as well. 'This goes deeper than I assumed,' she thought, saddened by how awful it felt to have wonderful, kind Martha thrust a mug into her hand with a bitter coldness that she hadn't even experienced in a Kansas winter. It only deepened her remorse, solidified it, and ensured that it would subside in no short order. For now, it was here to stay, and not even the determined curiousity she'd aquired with that knowledge could shatter it.
Then, blessedly, Clark had roused. Disoriented and nerve-wracked, the trip back to the real world had been a long one for him, taking all of forty-five minutes since they'd arrived home. His mind was obviously cloudy as he had first spoken, talking about Chloe herself, whether she was alright, whether she knew...something. A undetermined something that had jolted her from the landscape of her thoughts where she'd been prodding at various questions in her mind. Though she was sure she hadn't visibly showed her return, she must have stiffened, as the turn in conversation had pulled Pete from the shadow he was lurking in at the far end of the room. He'd hustled her into a back room of the house while the family conferred, in no more mood to talk than he had been all week despite proddings that Chloe had administered. Ten minutes later, when they'd returned, Jonathan's anger had intensified, Martha had an ominous look of worry etched into her delicate features, and Clark wore a look of bewildered determination she recognized but couldn't place.
Chloe had returned to her seat, picked up her mug, and gauged the crowd in the room. The reactions to the Kent's discussion only aroused more interest in her, and surpressing it was becoming a chore. Clark sat, more rumpled than ever, on the couch in all his mud-splattered glory, watching her with a keen eye, probing her. She had the odd feeling of being tested for something, but for what she was unsure. So Chloe returned his gaze full force with no idea what was going on and just sat there, drinking her tea and watching Clark. He broke the silence, an act that startled her from slipping back into her thoughts too deeply.
"Chloe, I want you to tell me exactly what you saw from the time we left the school to the time we got here." She nodded, set down the cup, and opened her mouth. Clark, however, knew what she was going to say and beat her to it. "I know you already did, and you're probably totally confused, but I'll clarify later. Now go on."
So she she did, carefully repeating almost word for word what she'd told Jonathan minutes ago. When she was done, he seemed satisfied enough for her to go on.
"So now I'm left wondering." She glanced at him before continuing. The veil he'd drawn over his eyes flickered out momentarily with those words and it struck her subconciously how old his eyes looked, how tired and omnipotent, as though they were reading her thoughts. Yet at the same time so innocent and overwhelmed and terrified and helpless and so many feelings he'd long ago banished from his persona. Clark was a paradox, that much she knew, but it still startled her when he displayed it so openly, his eyes telling one story and his body another. It was uncanning and surreal, a picture of who he really was, but such truth is not meant to last. And it didn't, appearing only for a moment before he drew the veil across his eyes once again and prompted her on, away from her thoughts.
"What are you wondering." A statement, not a question she noted, a little hesitant and extremely weary in the delivery.
"Lots of things. Mainly, what just happened? Since when do manics go shooting a kids in the woods...in Smallville? And why was he using tranqs, no bullets? He wasn't shooting to kill, so why bother to make sure there weren't any witnesses? What was he going to do with us when he'd drugged us? Why'd he run afterwards, if it had been important enough to even try? He could have just reloaded and shot again, but he didn't. Was it even a he? Why us? It wasn't random-" Now, she knew she was babbling slightly, but all of the questions overtook her at once. Sighing, she mentally kicked herself but had little control of her mouth. It seemed to have a mind of its own today. It wasn't listening to her at all. Chloe didn't even realize she was till talking. Clark had to cut her off.
"Whoa, okay, Chloe. One at a time." Again, the paradox eyes slipped through, now salted with a pain she couldn't identify. It was a look she'd often seen in Clark, right before he tried to explain something weird that had happened, like what had happened when he'd saved Lana from the tornado. In short, it meant he was going to lie, and Chloe knew it right away. Mental sigh.
'Not less than I deserve, just less than I expected,' she reminded herself, keeping her mounting disappointment in check so he wouldn't see it. 'Maybe he'll tell the truth this time...' It was a false hope, but she needed it nonetheless. "Well...Why don't you tell me what the hell is going on?" Her eyes glittered again, ready to absorb his answer into their unfathomable depths, like a mental tape recorder for her near-photographic memory.
Clark saw it and knew to tred carefully with this one. There were some questions he just couldn't answer for her right now, and her first was one of the hardest to navagate. With a deep breathe, he began to explain.
Thoughts? Feelings? Rant on.
Just a half hour ago she'd been a wreck. Clark had lay crumpled on the couch, out-sizing it in all dimensions, with a warm, cranberry wool blanket draped over his sleeping form. While undoubtedly worse off then she, she envied the fact he'd momentarily escaped the onslaught of questions from his parents. Chloe had spilled her guts, out-lining everything she knew and even producing the three stray tranqs from various pockets of her tattered coat. It had taken all of twenty minutes for Jonathan to be satisfied, most of which Martha spent next to her son, straightening already perfect blankets, fluffing already fluffed pillows, and stroking his peaceful face, tracing the curves of his jaw just as Chloe had in the woods. Chloe wished she could do the same, guilt overflowing her concious, yet she dared not move from her chair pinned there by Jonathan's stares and pointed questions when she paused her story. He was incredulous, seemingly with her, his body language saying more than the few words he spoke. He paced across the room, back and forth, back and forth, driving her out of her skull. The he'd stop and stare at her, a look of distrust, before motioning for her to continue.
As he was almost vibrating with a so-far untapped rage, Chloe did all she could to keep it that way. She now knew Jonathan Kent was not a man to be messed with in any capicity. Sitting in front of him, she had no misconceptions about what he would do to protect his family. She realized in a terrifying moment he would kill, perhaps already had. It wasn't the gentle man she was used to, and the transformation was frightening. She knew he wouldn't lay a hand on her, but she also found that quite a bit of that quiet rage was aimed at her, a surprizing result of her betrayl. Chloe had known she'd betrayed Clark, but through out the week she'd found that she had somehow gotten into Pete's black books as well, and now Mr. and Mrs. Kent were angry as well. 'This goes deeper than I assumed,' she thought, saddened by how awful it felt to have wonderful, kind Martha thrust a mug into her hand with a bitter coldness that she hadn't even experienced in a Kansas winter. It only deepened her remorse, solidified it, and ensured that it would subside in no short order. For now, it was here to stay, and not even the determined curiousity she'd aquired with that knowledge could shatter it.
Then, blessedly, Clark had roused. Disoriented and nerve-wracked, the trip back to the real world had been a long one for him, taking all of forty-five minutes since they'd arrived home. His mind was obviously cloudy as he had first spoken, talking about Chloe herself, whether she was alright, whether she knew...something. A undetermined something that had jolted her from the landscape of her thoughts where she'd been prodding at various questions in her mind. Though she was sure she hadn't visibly showed her return, she must have stiffened, as the turn in conversation had pulled Pete from the shadow he was lurking in at the far end of the room. He'd hustled her into a back room of the house while the family conferred, in no more mood to talk than he had been all week despite proddings that Chloe had administered. Ten minutes later, when they'd returned, Jonathan's anger had intensified, Martha had an ominous look of worry etched into her delicate features, and Clark wore a look of bewildered determination she recognized but couldn't place.
Chloe had returned to her seat, picked up her mug, and gauged the crowd in the room. The reactions to the Kent's discussion only aroused more interest in her, and surpressing it was becoming a chore. Clark sat, more rumpled than ever, on the couch in all his mud-splattered glory, watching her with a keen eye, probing her. She had the odd feeling of being tested for something, but for what she was unsure. So Chloe returned his gaze full force with no idea what was going on and just sat there, drinking her tea and watching Clark. He broke the silence, an act that startled her from slipping back into her thoughts too deeply.
"Chloe, I want you to tell me exactly what you saw from the time we left the school to the time we got here." She nodded, set down the cup, and opened her mouth. Clark, however, knew what she was going to say and beat her to it. "I know you already did, and you're probably totally confused, but I'll clarify later. Now go on."
So she she did, carefully repeating almost word for word what she'd told Jonathan minutes ago. When she was done, he seemed satisfied enough for her to go on.
"So now I'm left wondering." She glanced at him before continuing. The veil he'd drawn over his eyes flickered out momentarily with those words and it struck her subconciously how old his eyes looked, how tired and omnipotent, as though they were reading her thoughts. Yet at the same time so innocent and overwhelmed and terrified and helpless and so many feelings he'd long ago banished from his persona. Clark was a paradox, that much she knew, but it still startled her when he displayed it so openly, his eyes telling one story and his body another. It was uncanning and surreal, a picture of who he really was, but such truth is not meant to last. And it didn't, appearing only for a moment before he drew the veil across his eyes once again and prompted her on, away from her thoughts.
"What are you wondering." A statement, not a question she noted, a little hesitant and extremely weary in the delivery.
"Lots of things. Mainly, what just happened? Since when do manics go shooting a kids in the woods...in Smallville? And why was he using tranqs, no bullets? He wasn't shooting to kill, so why bother to make sure there weren't any witnesses? What was he going to do with us when he'd drugged us? Why'd he run afterwards, if it had been important enough to even try? He could have just reloaded and shot again, but he didn't. Was it even a he? Why us? It wasn't random-" Now, she knew she was babbling slightly, but all of the questions overtook her at once. Sighing, she mentally kicked herself but had little control of her mouth. It seemed to have a mind of its own today. It wasn't listening to her at all. Chloe didn't even realize she was till talking. Clark had to cut her off.
"Whoa, okay, Chloe. One at a time." Again, the paradox eyes slipped through, now salted with a pain she couldn't identify. It was a look she'd often seen in Clark, right before he tried to explain something weird that had happened, like what had happened when he'd saved Lana from the tornado. In short, it meant he was going to lie, and Chloe knew it right away. Mental sigh.
'Not less than I deserve, just less than I expected,' she reminded herself, keeping her mounting disappointment in check so he wouldn't see it. 'Maybe he'll tell the truth this time...' It was a false hope, but she needed it nonetheless. "Well...Why don't you tell me what the hell is going on?" Her eyes glittered again, ready to absorb his answer into their unfathomable depths, like a mental tape recorder for her near-photographic memory.
Clark saw it and knew to tred carefully with this one. There were some questions he just couldn't answer for her right now, and her first was one of the hardest to navagate. With a deep breathe, he began to explain.
Thoughts? Feelings? Rant on.