By the way, this story requires a certain level of suspension of disbelief... in other words parts of it may not be too realistic but then neither are super powered aliens. ;) I'll explain when I have time.
Mega thank you to htbthomas for beta-ing!
Diverse
Part Four: Evolution
Raised voices were not a common occurrence in the Kent household, but lately it was becoming less rare to witness Martha and Jonathan 'discussing' things loudly with each other. Clark hated it when they fought. Even worse, he hated it even more when he knew they were arguing about him. Despite their protests that everything was fine, Clark knew 'fine' didn't consist of their conversation abruptly ending when he entered the room, and continuing in louder tones as soon as he left it.
Martha watched Clark warily as he forced a smile and quickly headed out the door to complete his morning chores, before rounding on her husband. "Jonathan, he's hiding something, I know he is-"
"He'll talk to us when he feels he's ready."
"But what if he goes and does something stupid before then?"
"Like what?"
"Like… Oh, I don't know, Jonathan!"
"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
Martha jumped at the knock on the door and whipped around to find Lex outside. Jonathan breathed a sigh that told of both his relief and frustration.
"Uh, no, Lex, come on in." He said wearily, shooting Martha a Look which told her he'd continue their conversation later.
Lex, however, wasn't fooled. "Is everything alright?"
Martha promptly ignored this unspoken transaction between herself and her husband and said in a matter of fact way, "It's Clark."
"Ah." Lex replied, the tone put into that one word saying it all. Jonathan frowned.
"He's been much more distant lately… more than usual, I mean, and well, I'm worried." She threw a look over her shoulder at her husband to draw him into the conversation.
Lex surveyed them for a moment, weighing up the situation, before stating, "I told you he'd be hard work. You're not… thinking about giving him up?" He voiced his suspicions cautiously, hoping against hope that he was wrong.
He'd never found himself hoping he was wrong before.
"Oh, no!" Martha jumped in immediately to lay his fears to rest, horror creeping over her features as Jonathan's frown deepened and he moved to stand beside his wife in agreement.
"No, it's nothing like that, Lex," he said calmly, but with a sigh.
"We just wondered if you could perhaps… talk to him?" Martha added hopefully. Jonathan's surprised glance at his wife told Lex they hadn't agreed on that beforehand.
Still, Martha was looking at him with such hope he couldn't say no. "Please, Lex, he'll talk to you, you're the one that got him out of there…"
Lex's jaw tightened and he looked away. Yes, he'd gotten Clark out of that hellhole. He'd also put him in there in the first place. What kind of friend betrays another's trust like that? He owed Clark, big time.
"I'm not promising anything." He relented, trying not to get their hopes up. "He doesn't trust me as he used to," he added quietly, but still Martha was beaming up at Jonathan like she'd won the lottery and he was smiling hesitantly back for her benefit. Lex sighed with the realisation that they'd already put their hope in him, but this time he was going to do his best to make sure he didn't let them down.
---
Clark tried his best to focus on the task at hand and not the voices floating through the kitchen window, but it wasn't easy. A third voice had joined in shortly after he'd departed, and though the volume of those voices had quieted considerably; Clark still caught snippets of conversation.
He savagely dug the pitchfork into the hay as if spearing an invisible enemy and tossed it carelessly over his shoulder. Aim, thrust, throw. Aim, thrust, throw. Aim-
"I didn't know shoveling manure could be so fascinating."
Ordinarily Clark would have replied with something akin to 'You'd be surprised,' perhaps with a cheeky grin for a good measure. Instead Lex received a startled deer-in-the-headlights stare, followed by a submissive duck of the head before Clark went back to work a little less dreamily.
Lex suppressed his sigh, shoving his hands deep into his expensive pockets and strolling lazily closer to his oldest friend. He ignored the surreptitious but calculating glance from beneath Clark's dark eyebrows and leaned casually against a stable door. Casual. Non-threatening. Nothing to worry about. Lex was used to schooling his posture and expression into a blank mask. If he hadn't learned to conceal his true thoughts and emotions he suspected he'd have been booted out of house and home by dear old Dad long before.
"Need a hand?" Lex asked, seconds later. Clark glanced up again.
"I'm just about finished, actually." He gave Lex a hesitant smile, becoming used to his presence, and with that dug back into his work.
"Ah. Then the least you could do is take me up on my offer of a ride to school."
Clark paused again, then straightened, brushing the last wisps of hay into the heap as he considered. Lex waited much too patiently as Clark leaned the fork against the wall, then surveyed his rich friend with an unwavering gaze.
"Did my parents put you up to this?" He eventually said shrewdly, eyes narrowing in a look of consternation that Lex hadn't seen on his friend for a good five years.
For his part, Lex didn't miss a beat at the unusual question from Clark and hid his surprise at the accusation with practised ease. "No, I concocted this deviously brilliant plan all by myself." He let Clark know he was kidding by flashing him an impeccably timed smirk at the end of that statement.
Clark glanced away with a sheepish half-smile and followed Lex out to his car, an iron-grey Porsche this morning, in thoughtful silence.
They were halfway to school when Lex next spoke, carrying on the conversation as if no time had elapsed. "They are worried about you, though."
Clark threw Lex a sharp sideways glance but said nothing. When Lex looked back, Clark was staring stonily ahead at the road.
"I'm no psychiatrist, but I've been told my listening skills are unrivalled." Lex decided to let that settle for a while as Clark weighed his options. Lex could almost hear the cogs clanking into place in his head.
Clark finally looked over and said, "Is that supposed to be a hint?"
Lex simply smiled quietly, but it quickly faded. He looked back to catch Clark's eye.
"Seriously Clark, what's bothering you?"
Clark's smile faded much more rapidly than Lex's and he pulled his gaze away, out to the green fields flying by. He didn't speak for the remainder of the journey, and Lex didn't ask. He just pulled smoothly over to the curb outside Smallville High and cut the engine.
Clark was still staring out the window, head turned away. Lex was just about to break the silence with a reminder that he'd be late for school if he didn't get a move on when Clark spoke. His voice was soft, wistful, almost regretful.
"Have you ever been hurt for no other reason than because of who you are?"
Lex knew better than to answer, he could tell he had more to say. Clark finally looked him squarely in the eye, though imprinted on the insides of his retinas all he saw was the disgust and rejection in Lana's eyes, an unknowing mimicry of his father from over seven years ago…
The room was dark, silent, the stifling air oppressive and punctured only by the occasional flicker of the TV screen and raucous laughter. Clark left his father to his late night film gladly, instead retreating upstairs to his mother's room.
Rose had been diagnosed with bone cancer just two weeks ago, and her husband Daniel was taking it hard. Rose had quietly told five year old Clark that he was in denial, and had explained patiently to him what that word and its consequences meant. She'd said that later he'd deal with it and come to accept it, but for the moment they'd both have to deal with and accept his reversion to teenage habits such as getting completely smashed and watching adult movies throughout the night.
Clark pushed the door open carefully, not wanting to wake his weakening mother from what little sleep she could glean from restless nights. The room was dark in here as well, though only the soft breathing of deep sleep accompanied the flower-scented silence.
He padded barefoot over to the bed and sat cross-legged on the floor, content to simply watch his mother sleep. After a while, when it became clear Rose was fast asleep, Clark turned his head to gaze around the small bedroom. The walls were pale pink, the carpet a deeper shade of magenta, the dresser and wardrobe a buttery cream.
A vase sat on the bedside table, devoid of water and containing two roses, one pink, the other cream, as Clark had said happily when he'd presented them to his mother, to match her bedroom and her name. Rose had smiled a tired smile, but one telling of her pride in her little boy, before Clark had darted off to put the flowers in water for her and returned a split second later with most of said water slopped down his front.
Daniel had scolded him sharply for the spillage and casual use of his abilities, and in the ensuing argument between husband and wife, Clark had slipped away, tears now soaking his t-shirt. The vase which needed refilling had promptly been forgotten about.
This time, Clark vowed not to do anything wrong. He stood and carefully stretched up to grasp the glass vase between two small but very strong hands. He laid the roses on the floor temporarily and walked slowly to the bathroom, returning a good deal longer than a split second later with the vase full to the top.
After making sure he hadn't spilled a drop of water, he replaced the vase in its previous position and dropped the flowers in. The added volume caused the already brimming vase to overflow, and water splashed across the table and onto the bed. Rose awoke with a loud yelp as cold water was dashed across her face and downstairs the TV was muted. Clark cringed and froze as he heard Daniel yell and start up the stairs as Rose wearily pushed herself into a sitting position, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
Daniel appeared in the doorway, filling the space remarkably for someone so short, yet his frame still towered over little Clark's shaking one. Over the last couple of weeks his normally irritable temper had become volatile.
Daniel took one look from Clark to the vase to Rose, and opened his mouth angrily. The ensuing argument was one of the worst ever to be heard in the Boswell household.
Beside him, Lex stirred, and Clark focused on the present with some difficulty, shoving the memory into the deepest crevice of his mind that he could find.
"Yes," was Lex's quiet reply. "Yes. Everyday. Everyday, some unknown face looks at me with hatred because of who I am." His voice was incredibly bitter, laced with remorse.
Clark hesitated. He'd never asked anything so probing in all his life, but he needed to know. "And who are you?"
Lex forced a half-hearted chuckle in an attempt to lighten the mood and take some of the pressure off him. It fell flat as Clark's serious expression didn't lighten one bit.
Lex grew sober quickly, looking away from Clark's penetrating gaze as he spoke the words he'd been trying to deny for most of his early life. He'd given up denying it when he'd sold Clark to his father, or was it his soul to the devil? He didn't know anymore, but the one thing he did know was that he was going to spend the rest of his life compensating for that moment of madness which had led him to trust his father and betray a friend who had grown to become something of a brother.
"I like to think I'm my own person, but when it comes down to it, I'm still my father's son."
Clark's silence after that statement told him just how much ground they'd lost in that one moment of madness.
---
Mechanical whirrs, the ticking of a clock and sporadic cursing covered his tracks.
The man didn't hear a thing until Jeremy was in position. Practically within striking distance, he waited, watching the man much as a puma would watch its prey. Though Jeremy's body was not tense, he was ready to spring like a predator. His body language oozed casual confidence, so perhaps there was something cat-like in his languid pose.
It didn't take long for the man to notice his presence. Not as long as Jeremy would have liked. He wanted this moment to last, to stretch on as long as his own pain had lasted. Twelve seconds of pain for twelve years of complete, utter agony. There was no comparison.
The man was looking at him now, wiping his hands on an oily rag, blissfully unaware of what was to come. "Jeez, kid. You scared the crap out of me!"
Kid. Such a… tasteless… term for someone only a year the man's junior, no matter how young his physical body appeared. Jeremy let some of his anticipation creep out onto his face in the form of a small, superior smirk that definitely didn't belong on just a kid's face.
The man was squinting at him now, striding lazily up to him. "Don't I know you? You look like that scarecrow kid. Where the hell you been?"
'You of all people should know. You should be begging at my feet, pleading forgiveness…' Jeremy bit back the instinctive response, and settled for widening his smirk in an aggravatingly arrogant fashion.
The man was frowning now, but grinning patronisingly at the same time. "Hey, freakazoid. Wake up."
He reached out a disgustingly oily hand to poke Jeremy sharply in the chest. It was funny to see how the thirty-something year old man still hadn't outgrown his I'm-better-than-everyone-star-of-the football-team school days, Jeremy mused idly as the man soared back to knock over a metal table full of odd bits of machinery with a satisfying crash. The electricity was still arcing over his body delightfully when he pushed himself up.
The man scrambled backwards, the arrogant jocularity shoved aside by shock and terror. "That was twelve years ago, man. It was just a game. What do you want?"
Jeremy's eerie smirk returned in full force. Of all the things to say, he'd said exactly what Jeremy had hoped he'd say in his dreams. And in his dreams, he'd savour the moment and then reply as if the answer was obvious:
"To play."
---
The only bad thing about being freakishly tall when you wanted to blend in was that you were kind of hard to miss.
Clark had encountered this problem increasingly ever since he'd started Smallville High and met a few of its less-than-pleasant students, but today it was even more important unusual that he stay inconspicuous. Otherwise, Lana would spot him, and Lana knew his secret, and that was not good. Not good at all.
So, he skulked down the row of lockers, staring at the floor and hunching his broad shoulders to try to become shorter. But it seemed fate, or some malevolent higher power that wanted to see Clark Kent's fragile heart stamped on, had other ideas.
"Clark! Hey, CLARK!"
Clark's head shot up in unison with about a dozen other students' and… Lana's. He only met her eyes for a millisecond, but even that length of time was too long for Clark to bear the rejection written across her closed face.
Unpleasant tension held the air as they stared, until a guy wearing a Crows jacket behind Lana scowled and wrapped a protective arm around her, claiming her as his. Clark dragged his gaze away immediately, instead focusing on the small blonde he'd met the day before and ignoring the smaller bolt of pain shooting through his heart. The malevolent higher power had won, and was free to reap the benefits.
Chloe was oblivious to all of this as she bounced up to Clark, careful to stop a good few metres away to give him ample personal space. If her back hadn't been to Lana and her boyfriend, she would have seen Whitney shoot Clark another venomous scowl then steer his girlfriend forcefully away to safety.
As it was, Chloe smiled up at Clark with reams of paper in her hands and excitement in her eyes.
"Hi, Clark," she repeated, a lot more quietly now that he was close enough to hear.
As usual, she hadn't expected a reply so wasn't surprised when one didn't come, though this time the reason was not one of fear. Clark's thoughts were preoccupied elsewhere.
"… so I was wondering if you'd like that? I mean, you haven't participated in any extra curricular events so-"
Chloe's chipper and hopeful voice brought him back to the present.
"Wait, how do you know I haven't participated in any extra curricular events?" The response was automatic, something he would have questioned years ago perhaps, when all was right with the world, but not now.
Chloe seemed taken aback for a second and Clark instantly wanted to retract the words.
"I just figured…" She said vaguely, then plunged ahead before he had time to contemplate her answer. "So do you want to or not? We could really use the help at the moment, the Torch has kinda been running low on staff lately. Something about a mad editor." She added as an afterthought, her eyes twinkled mischievously as she smiled. "I can't imagine why."
Clark stared at her for a few seconds, eyes narrowed unconsciously as he weighed her and tried to take in the rush of words. She seemed very nervous, he noted, reading the signs. The panic to get her words out, the stiff posture, the anxious bite of her lip as she awaited his answer. He'd become used to working out how people were feeling from their body language. Back at the lab in Metropolis it had given him some warning of what was about to come. Sometimes if the scientist was in a bad mood he'd take it out on Clark, if he was in a good mood he might be a bit more lenient.
Still, there was that innocently hopeful smile on her face. Not the smile of someone with a sinister ulterior motive. Perhaps she was naturally shy? But no, that didn't fit, he'd seen her around the corridors on occasion and she'd been positively outspoken then. Besides, she was the editor of the school paper. A hard-bitten reporter.
"Ok." He didn't know why he'd agreed, just that it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Chloe needed help, he provided it. He smiled a little self consciously as her whole demeanour lit up and she relaxed. Something about her just spoke of trustworthiness, understanding. Or perhaps he'd banged his head harder than he thought this morning when he forgot to duck through the doorframe.
"Ok," Chloe repeated, her soft smile widening. For another second they stared into each other's eyes, until Chloe jumped and cleared her throat. "Well… if you have some spare time now I'll show you around the Torch… then we can get to work." She turned and carried on chattering away happily as she walked, Clark trailing a little way behind her.
She glanced back briefly to make sure he was listening. "This is just a preliminary article, you understand, sort of a test-"
Cutting off abruptly as Clark's easy going smile shrank into nothing and he stood stock still, Chloe desperately berated herself for letting such a careless mistake slip out. Clark's heart rate had sped up, his eyes were darting in full panic mode around the room. His whole posture spoke of fear.
Chloe slid up to him slowly and quietly. "Clark?" She whispered softly.
His eyes snapped back to hers and she noted with some apprehension that he was shaking. People had started to notice the statue partly blocking the corridor.
"Come on, let's get you out of here." She said under her breath, gently but firmly taking his arm to lead him away. At the contact he jumped and hissed as if he'd been burned. Chloe jerked her hand away quickly, and he looked around for a second as if in confusion before taking the initiative and leading the way to the side of the corridor.
Chloe followed him quickly. "You ok?"
He gulped, once more flicking nervous eyes about him and nodded. Chloe could tell he didn't want to talk about it and didn't press him, instead putting a bright smile on for his benefit and steering the topic back to safer waters.
"So this first article we'll be working on, there was a guy hanging around the ambulance yesterday when it carted off some girl who'd been electrocuted - the computer's over there, you know how to use a computer, right? Find out everything you can about that accident, I'm going to dig up some info on the previous one so we can compare notes afterwards, ok?" Chloe finished her sentence all in one breath then waited expectantly as Clark reeled from the speed of it.
"I guess. Then… then we'll write it up?" He agreed a second later, and Chloe smiled appreciatively. She needed someone who could interpret her instructions and follow them with their own fresh style.
"Yes, next edition's in about three hours. We'll have to work quickly, I've got to cover the gym mats story as well 'cause Pete hasn't turned up…" She turned to dark mutterings about the absence of Pete as she switched on her computer and Clark followed suit, suppressing a smile.
Clark was surprised to find that he could work well with Chloe - there was something about her chirpy-eternally-busy nature that put him at ease. She took up the role of commentator and kept up a constant chatter that was so different from the aching silence he'd known in the lab that he found he didn't even mind her coming too close to him when she read over his shoulder. Chloe was leaning over Clark on one such occasion to look at his computer screen when the door banged open loudly and Clark jumped. Chloe pulled back quickly and the pair turned to face the newcomer.
"Hi there, who are you? Did you want to apply for a position at the Torch, because I hear there's a spot open." Chloe said, her voice loaded with sarcasm.
Pete just shook his head, sporting an enormous grin, and dumped his bag on the floor. "Ha-ha, Chloe." He replied with a roll of his eyes. Pete strode further into the room, nodding to Clark as he passed him. "Hey, Clark. So Chloe's sucked you into the reporting world already? Nice one."
He nudged Chloe with an elbow as he passed her, obviously longing to wink suggestively. Clark smiled nervously.
"Well if a certain staff member had shown up on time I wouldn't have had to." Chloe shot back, waving some sheets of paper about for emphasis. "Where were you?"
"Only chatting up the hottest girl in school." Pete answered, the enormous
goofy grin surfacing again. He flopped into the nearest chair and started up a computer.
Chloe decided the battle to get through to Pete wasn't worth fighting, left it at a derisive snort and went back to her computer. Clark looked from Chloe to Pete anxiously, not quite sure if they were having a real argument or only 'joking around', as someone had told him they did all the time. Neither Pete nor Chloe seemed to notice his attention.
"Bingo!" Chloe suddenly exclaimed, and Clark was grateful they also didn't notice that he'd leapt about a foot off his chair.
"What is it?" Pete asked, walking around to stand next to Chloe to look at the pictures she'd printed off. After some deliberation and encouragement from Chloe, Clark followed.
"The guy's name is Jeremy Creek. But get this: here's a picture of him taken an hour ago, and this is a picture taken twelve years ago."
---
Silent yet welcoming, the Torch office showed no signs of life other the hum of the heating system shutting down. The curtains were drawn, the lights off, two sure signs that Sullivan had gone home for the night.
The door was shut quickly after it had been opened to admit two people, though not with much thought for the noise it would make as the hinges creaked shut.
The boy in front hissed at his companion to keep quiet, then reached round to prod him in the back to make him get a move on.
"Go on." He whispered lowly, and the other boy nodded and made his way through all the hazardous junk that cluttered the floor and various desks. His companion took his chances on a different route, each rifling through the desks one by one until one boy straightened up triumphantly with the article in his hands. He turned to his friend, who appeared to have given up on searching for the past few minutes, instead poring over some screwed up and blackened piece of paper in a bin of all places.
"Hey, Mickey! I got the article on the cheating-"
Mickey whirled around to make frantic shushing motions at his friend. "Would ya shut up Scott!"
Scott instantly shut up, and Mickey's face darkened. He sighed quietly and motioned for Scott to join him.
"Come 'ere. Look what I found."
Scott promptly forgot to step over the items on the floor and stubbed his toe on a chair leg.
"Shhh!" Mickey hissed again.
Scott looked suitably contrite, and came to peer over his shoulder at the file.
"My God…" His eyes widened after he read the first few lines, and he stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over an open desk drawer. "Is that… is that true?"
Mickey surveyed him for a critical second, debating whether punching him was worth the trouble it would cause. He eventually shook his head in irritation, and whispered fiercely "Of course it's true! Why would Sullivan go reporting something that wasn't true?"
Scott shrugged his broad shoulders apologetically. "I dunno. So what we gonna do about it?"
"We," Mickey announced, walking briskly for the photocopier, "are going to have some fun with this information."
He switched the machine on, laid the papers out neatly on the glass, closed the lid, and pressed print with a smug grin.
End of Part Four
Sorry but I don't have time to reply to reviews right now, back later! Thanks everyone!