******************************
The grotesque grinding sound of metal on metal pulled Clark out of his usual lull, making lunch for the family, who were at the moment, running about the house trying to find their emergency blizzard kit.
He left it all on the counter as he raced from the house. Barely a moment passed before he found the wreck. It was sandwiched around the trunk of a towering oak, the snow falling lightly on it. It was, or had been, a red bug.
"Chloe drives a red bug," He intoned, speeding forward, yanking the passenger side door from its hinges, throwing it about a foot from the wreck. Sure enough, entombed by the collapsed roof and the broken seats, lay Chloe, her arm was trapped between the seat and the steering wheel. Chloe's green toque was falling off her head, her blond hair streaked with red from the gash on her forehead.
"Chloe!" Clark cried, his voice breaking at the sight of her. He forced his way through the mangled car, using his strength the push the seat back in place. From the upward angle of the passenger side, gravity pulled Chloe's prone form forward, and Clark took her gently in his arms.
He set her down softly amongst the drifts, feeling for a pulse. He sighed out the breath he had been holding. He hadn't even known he had stopped breathing, so completely focused on her being alive. She had a pulse, and it was strong, thank god.
"Always a fighter," He managed, "that's my girl. Now to get you to a hospital," he gathered the small blonde in his arms, and couldn't help but think that she felt so fragile, so breakable, like porcelain, and so he held her closer, smoothing her bloodied hair. His breath shuddered, and he willed her to wake up. She was so small in his arms. He kissed her forehead lightly; just a feather's touch, and stood, thankful she was alive.
He set his jaw, and raced homewards.
He arrived, and yelled, "Dad! Mom!"
Both parents rushed out the front door, forgoing the need for coats. "Clark, Where were you! You know you need to tell us when you lea-Oh my God, is that Chloe?" Martha asked, her shock written plain on her face. Her features became maternal as she threw herself out of the gate, over to her son.
"Is she alright?" She asked.
"She's alive," Clark replied, his blue eyes focused on the girl he held.
Jonathan approached, and stated in a matter-of-fact way, "Get her to the hospital, you don't know how bad she's been hurt. Take the truck, Son; we don't want it looking suspicious,"
***************************
I awoke again, trying not to move. Everything hurt, even my eyelids. I blinked, allowing myself to get used to the brightness.
"Chloe?" It was Clark's voice, laced with sleepiness and concern. It was typical, and it was real, and it was the same. That was what I needed right now, for something to stay the same. It brought a smile to my face, knowing he was there, that I could count on him, no matter what happened.
"Hey Clark," I replied, as cheerfully as I could. I looked around at the brightly painted room, took in the uncomfortable mattress, and I knew I was in the hospital. Again.
"I'm gonna get your Dad, He left about a half hour ago to get something to eat. I've got to tell him you're awake, and I'll have to let Pete and Lana know, and my mom, I'll be back in a second, okay?" He announced, hurriedly, a very charming grin plastered on his face. He took two steps toward the door, and then pivoted, as if he had forgotten something. He approached the bed, and bent down, placing a soft kiss on my forehead.
"Thank God you're alright," He said, brushing away a strand of hair.
I grinned. Some things never change, even after all we'd been through, after all our blow outs, all the stupid things we'd done, and it was always going to be Clark and Chloe, best friends. That was something I needed to know right now.
"What would you do without me?" I joked, not in the least modest.
Clark's grin grew mischievous, and he threw back, "learn how to use google for myself,"
I fisted my hand into the other pillow, and hit him in the face with it.
"Obviously your strength is returning," he told me, an eyebrow raised, smirking. He stood, and with another grin, left the room.
I breathed a sigh of relief. As much as I needed him here, I was completely exhausted, physically, and emotionally.
I replayed the scene again in my head, standing outside the window, shivering. Rubbing my mittens together trying to get warm. I thought maybe she'd be-I don't know what I thought, but it wasn't that. Not happy. Not another daughter.
I couldn't tell anyone. I couldn't. I always knew my snooping would get me into trouble, and I looked forward to it, I loved adventure. But this time the trouble was different, and it hurt more than any injury any car crash could inflict.
She looked so incredibly content, sitting there on the floor, playing Barbies with her daughter...with my sister...so motherly. She'd filled out, but not much, she'd always been slim. She had been as beautiful as I remembered; shiny light blonde hair, big green eyes, and high cheekbones. I hoped my little sister was happy. I hoped she was a better mother to her than she had been to me. It looked that way.
And I hated her for it. I hated both of them for it, just a little, deep down in the darkest part of my heart. What was so wrong with me that she couldn't love me like that? What did I do to make her run, to make her leave? What was so special about my little sister that she was so much more worthy of a mother's love than me?
I don't know. I doubt I ever will, sitting there in the hospital bed, surrounded by the bright colored walls, surrounded by silence, I almost wished I had just died and saved myself the anguish that I felt. Was it selfish to feel this way? Was it wrong?
I took in a sharp breath, and forced my mind from the thoughts that ran rampant. There were footsteps out in the hall, and before anyone saw me, I brushed away a stray tear from my eyelashes.
I figured I looked at least moderately presentable, when my dad strolled through the doors, holding a Styrofoam coffee cup. He approached, setting it down on the bedside table and leaned over, pulling me close in a hug.
"I'm so glad you're alright," He told me, stroking my hair.
He sat back, and looked at me. I squirmed under his gaze. It was kind of embarrassing to know that I had one person here who loved me, and I was so hung up on one who so obviously didn't. I felt ungrateful, and undeserving, because here he was, thinning brown hair, pen in his shirt pocket, coffee in hand, telling me how Clark had to rush off to the Talon because he needed to buy me a latte, and the hospital coffee tasted like it was a week old. Dad was everything to me, endearing and sweet and completely how a dad should be, cracking jokes at the power puff girl Band- Aid that stuck to my forehead. It was pink, obviously, compliments of Lana.
I stuck my tongue out at him, and when he wasn't looking, I stole his coffee.
Gagging on its horrible taste, I mentioned, "Yuck, well Clark's right. This tastes like weak old toilet water. Ewwww...."
Dad laughed, and replied, "Well, we're not all as picky as you,"
"And look what it gets you. Weak coffee that tastes like toilet water." There was a knock on the door, and Clark stuck his head in,
"Did I hear someone say something about coffee?" he asked, walking in, the latte in hand.
I threw him my most enchanting smile, "I could kiss you Clark," I told him, taking the cup from his hands and taking a sip.
"Lana said since your toque is ruined, from getting blood on it and stuff, you can borrow one of hers-"
"I am not wearing some pink monstrosity on my head. I look hideous enough already," I told him,
"I know, I said that-" He looked at my face, and added, "Not *that*, but I said that however much you loved her hats, you'd rather have one more your style, and you don't look hideous, just a little worse for wear,"
I sipped my latte and smiled at him.
"Pete said he'd come by later on and bring by a new toque, he promises no pink, but he is threatening Sponge Bob,"
"Oh the horror," I dead panned.
"anyways," he continued, they'll all be stopping by later today.
"Oh crap," Dad said, looking down at his watch. "I have to go Honey, or I'll be late for work." He bent over, kissed my cheek, and made Clark promise to not let me search for any secret Alien Autopsy rooms, and then took off.
I felt a tear trickle down the side of my face, because I felt so embarrassed and so stupid for going down to metropolis like I had, when my Dad deserved better than that from his daughter. I wiped it away, hopefully before Clark saw.
"What's the matter?" He asked, anxious.
I smirked, and replied, "I was just in a car accident Clark."
He nodded and muttered something adorably obtuse, and suddenly, I just couldn't bear to have him there any more, I knew if I did, I'd sob the whole horrible story to him, and he'd tell me that was what I got for being nosy, that was what I deserved.
No, I knew he'd never say that, but he'd be Clark, and he'd feel terrible for me, and he'd try to protect me like he's always done, even though I never let him. There were so many times I should have listened to Clark, so many times where everything he said would have made sense, if I'd just let it.
Here he was, mumbling about jello and joking about hospital food, and I just couldn't have him in here for another moment. I didn't want him to see me fall apart, tear off my mask, show him all the cracks and chips in my brittle porcelain.
"Clark, I don't really want company right now," I told him, as gently as I could.
"Are you okay? Really?"
I nodded my head. "I just don't want anyone here right now. It's been a bit exhausting,"
He nodded, settling himself in his chair. "Yeah, I guess. I'll make sure no one comes in to visit and bothers you."
"I don't think you quite understand Clark." I told him, "I just want to be alone,"
"I know-"
"Completely alone, no Clark." I added, cutting him off.
He looked a little hurt, his brows furrowed as he stood up. "If that's how you feel," he said softly. He bent down, kissed my cheek and gave me a hug.
"I can be here in a moment; you've got a phone, just call the farm. I can drop anything," he told me, concern coloring his tone.
I nodded, said goodbye, and watched him leave.
The grotesque grinding sound of metal on metal pulled Clark out of his usual lull, making lunch for the family, who were at the moment, running about the house trying to find their emergency blizzard kit.
He left it all on the counter as he raced from the house. Barely a moment passed before he found the wreck. It was sandwiched around the trunk of a towering oak, the snow falling lightly on it. It was, or had been, a red bug.
"Chloe drives a red bug," He intoned, speeding forward, yanking the passenger side door from its hinges, throwing it about a foot from the wreck. Sure enough, entombed by the collapsed roof and the broken seats, lay Chloe, her arm was trapped between the seat and the steering wheel. Chloe's green toque was falling off her head, her blond hair streaked with red from the gash on her forehead.
"Chloe!" Clark cried, his voice breaking at the sight of her. He forced his way through the mangled car, using his strength the push the seat back in place. From the upward angle of the passenger side, gravity pulled Chloe's prone form forward, and Clark took her gently in his arms.
He set her down softly amongst the drifts, feeling for a pulse. He sighed out the breath he had been holding. He hadn't even known he had stopped breathing, so completely focused on her being alive. She had a pulse, and it was strong, thank god.
"Always a fighter," He managed, "that's my girl. Now to get you to a hospital," he gathered the small blonde in his arms, and couldn't help but think that she felt so fragile, so breakable, like porcelain, and so he held her closer, smoothing her bloodied hair. His breath shuddered, and he willed her to wake up. She was so small in his arms. He kissed her forehead lightly; just a feather's touch, and stood, thankful she was alive.
He set his jaw, and raced homewards.
He arrived, and yelled, "Dad! Mom!"
Both parents rushed out the front door, forgoing the need for coats. "Clark, Where were you! You know you need to tell us when you lea-Oh my God, is that Chloe?" Martha asked, her shock written plain on her face. Her features became maternal as she threw herself out of the gate, over to her son.
"Is she alright?" She asked.
"She's alive," Clark replied, his blue eyes focused on the girl he held.
Jonathan approached, and stated in a matter-of-fact way, "Get her to the hospital, you don't know how bad she's been hurt. Take the truck, Son; we don't want it looking suspicious,"
***************************
I awoke again, trying not to move. Everything hurt, even my eyelids. I blinked, allowing myself to get used to the brightness.
"Chloe?" It was Clark's voice, laced with sleepiness and concern. It was typical, and it was real, and it was the same. That was what I needed right now, for something to stay the same. It brought a smile to my face, knowing he was there, that I could count on him, no matter what happened.
"Hey Clark," I replied, as cheerfully as I could. I looked around at the brightly painted room, took in the uncomfortable mattress, and I knew I was in the hospital. Again.
"I'm gonna get your Dad, He left about a half hour ago to get something to eat. I've got to tell him you're awake, and I'll have to let Pete and Lana know, and my mom, I'll be back in a second, okay?" He announced, hurriedly, a very charming grin plastered on his face. He took two steps toward the door, and then pivoted, as if he had forgotten something. He approached the bed, and bent down, placing a soft kiss on my forehead.
"Thank God you're alright," He said, brushing away a strand of hair.
I grinned. Some things never change, even after all we'd been through, after all our blow outs, all the stupid things we'd done, and it was always going to be Clark and Chloe, best friends. That was something I needed to know right now.
"What would you do without me?" I joked, not in the least modest.
Clark's grin grew mischievous, and he threw back, "learn how to use google for myself,"
I fisted my hand into the other pillow, and hit him in the face with it.
"Obviously your strength is returning," he told me, an eyebrow raised, smirking. He stood, and with another grin, left the room.
I breathed a sigh of relief. As much as I needed him here, I was completely exhausted, physically, and emotionally.
I replayed the scene again in my head, standing outside the window, shivering. Rubbing my mittens together trying to get warm. I thought maybe she'd be-I don't know what I thought, but it wasn't that. Not happy. Not another daughter.
I couldn't tell anyone. I couldn't. I always knew my snooping would get me into trouble, and I looked forward to it, I loved adventure. But this time the trouble was different, and it hurt more than any injury any car crash could inflict.
She looked so incredibly content, sitting there on the floor, playing Barbies with her daughter...with my sister...so motherly. She'd filled out, but not much, she'd always been slim. She had been as beautiful as I remembered; shiny light blonde hair, big green eyes, and high cheekbones. I hoped my little sister was happy. I hoped she was a better mother to her than she had been to me. It looked that way.
And I hated her for it. I hated both of them for it, just a little, deep down in the darkest part of my heart. What was so wrong with me that she couldn't love me like that? What did I do to make her run, to make her leave? What was so special about my little sister that she was so much more worthy of a mother's love than me?
I don't know. I doubt I ever will, sitting there in the hospital bed, surrounded by the bright colored walls, surrounded by silence, I almost wished I had just died and saved myself the anguish that I felt. Was it selfish to feel this way? Was it wrong?
I took in a sharp breath, and forced my mind from the thoughts that ran rampant. There were footsteps out in the hall, and before anyone saw me, I brushed away a stray tear from my eyelashes.
I figured I looked at least moderately presentable, when my dad strolled through the doors, holding a Styrofoam coffee cup. He approached, setting it down on the bedside table and leaned over, pulling me close in a hug.
"I'm so glad you're alright," He told me, stroking my hair.
He sat back, and looked at me. I squirmed under his gaze. It was kind of embarrassing to know that I had one person here who loved me, and I was so hung up on one who so obviously didn't. I felt ungrateful, and undeserving, because here he was, thinning brown hair, pen in his shirt pocket, coffee in hand, telling me how Clark had to rush off to the Talon because he needed to buy me a latte, and the hospital coffee tasted like it was a week old. Dad was everything to me, endearing and sweet and completely how a dad should be, cracking jokes at the power puff girl Band- Aid that stuck to my forehead. It was pink, obviously, compliments of Lana.
I stuck my tongue out at him, and when he wasn't looking, I stole his coffee.
Gagging on its horrible taste, I mentioned, "Yuck, well Clark's right. This tastes like weak old toilet water. Ewwww...."
Dad laughed, and replied, "Well, we're not all as picky as you,"
"And look what it gets you. Weak coffee that tastes like toilet water." There was a knock on the door, and Clark stuck his head in,
"Did I hear someone say something about coffee?" he asked, walking in, the latte in hand.
I threw him my most enchanting smile, "I could kiss you Clark," I told him, taking the cup from his hands and taking a sip.
"Lana said since your toque is ruined, from getting blood on it and stuff, you can borrow one of hers-"
"I am not wearing some pink monstrosity on my head. I look hideous enough already," I told him,
"I know, I said that-" He looked at my face, and added, "Not *that*, but I said that however much you loved her hats, you'd rather have one more your style, and you don't look hideous, just a little worse for wear,"
I sipped my latte and smiled at him.
"Pete said he'd come by later on and bring by a new toque, he promises no pink, but he is threatening Sponge Bob,"
"Oh the horror," I dead panned.
"anyways," he continued, they'll all be stopping by later today.
"Oh crap," Dad said, looking down at his watch. "I have to go Honey, or I'll be late for work." He bent over, kissed my cheek, and made Clark promise to not let me search for any secret Alien Autopsy rooms, and then took off.
I felt a tear trickle down the side of my face, because I felt so embarrassed and so stupid for going down to metropolis like I had, when my Dad deserved better than that from his daughter. I wiped it away, hopefully before Clark saw.
"What's the matter?" He asked, anxious.
I smirked, and replied, "I was just in a car accident Clark."
He nodded and muttered something adorably obtuse, and suddenly, I just couldn't bear to have him there any more, I knew if I did, I'd sob the whole horrible story to him, and he'd tell me that was what I got for being nosy, that was what I deserved.
No, I knew he'd never say that, but he'd be Clark, and he'd feel terrible for me, and he'd try to protect me like he's always done, even though I never let him. There were so many times I should have listened to Clark, so many times where everything he said would have made sense, if I'd just let it.
Here he was, mumbling about jello and joking about hospital food, and I just couldn't have him in here for another moment. I didn't want him to see me fall apart, tear off my mask, show him all the cracks and chips in my brittle porcelain.
"Clark, I don't really want company right now," I told him, as gently as I could.
"Are you okay? Really?"
I nodded my head. "I just don't want anyone here right now. It's been a bit exhausting,"
He nodded, settling himself in his chair. "Yeah, I guess. I'll make sure no one comes in to visit and bothers you."
"I don't think you quite understand Clark." I told him, "I just want to be alone,"
"I know-"
"Completely alone, no Clark." I added, cutting him off.
He looked a little hurt, his brows furrowed as he stood up. "If that's how you feel," he said softly. He bent down, kissed my cheek and gave me a hug.
"I can be here in a moment; you've got a phone, just call the farm. I can drop anything," he told me, concern coloring his tone.
I nodded, said goodbye, and watched him leave.