Hello there, I'm sorry this is a little late, it's because I had a few exams this week. :(
Mega thank you to htbthomas for beta-ing!
Diverse
Part Six: Redemption
The breeze was light and warm, but still cold for early summer. A bird broke into song somewhere off in the distance, perhaps along the horizon of pine trees; it made Clark jerk out of his trance. Several hours sitting at the top of a windmill had given him a chance to think, if nothing more.
He'd come to the conclusion that he had no conclusion. He didn't know why Chloe had done it, what exact role she had played, or, if given the chance, she would do it again. All trust he'd placed in her felt shattered. She was the closest thing to a friend he had at school, in fact the closest friend he'd had for years. Their friendship felt comfortable, yet there was always that tinge of excitement that kept them both guessing.
But there was the inexcusable fact that kept popping up; she'd betrayed him. She'd gone behind his back to purposefully hurt him, friends didn't do that. So where did that leave their relationship? Did he want to salvage their friendship? Did she?
The creaking of the ladder behind him gave him his answer. Chloe quietly reached the platform of the old windmill overlooking Chandler's Field, and hovered behind Clark for a moment, who didn't turn around, though he was doubtlessly aware of her presence. She walked slowly to his right and sat down beside him, crossing her legs underneath her. The silence stretched uncomfortably for a minute until it became clear to both that neither wanted to speak. But neither wanted the silence to settle either.
They both began to speak at the same second.
"Clark, I'm sorry, I-"
"Chloe, what are you-"
They stopped and stared at each other for a moment, and neither could help smiling a little. Chloe eventually dropped her eyes. "You go first."
Clark hesitated. "What… what are you doing here? How did you find me?"
"I followed you." She answered his second question first, a little guiltily as she fiddled with a loose cotton at the corner of her shirt.
Clark looked bewildered. "But I came here almost two hours ago…"
"I know," Chloe replied, her guilt turning to embarrassment. "I didn't know whether I should come up so I waited at the bottom." Normally she would have laughed at herself in an embarrassed sort of way, but the last thing she felt like doing was laughing. Clark didn't laugh, either, just gazed at her so steadily she could feel the intensity and had to look up.
"I really am truly sorry," she said seriously, trying to force through her sincerity with her words. Clark's expression didn't change, but his eyes flickered. "I never set out to hurt you. I never imagined something like this would happen… I just… I just let my insatiable curiosity get the better of me… again," she admitted as an afterthought. Breathing out a heavy sigh, she glanced down at her lap, staring at the loose thread she'd pulled free from her top. "I don't know who made those posters, but-"
"You didn't make them?" Clark interrupted sharply, and her head bobbed up.
"No!" She shook her head quickly, eyes wide. "No, I didn't make them! I only found out the information, I don't know who used it - they must have found my files. You have to believe me, now I would never-"
"I believe you." Clark said quietly, stopping her mid-flow.
"You… you do?" Her voice held a tremor, and she bit her lip hopefully. "You… forgive me?"
Staring into space for a long moment of contemplation, Clark didn't answer her. Chloe watched him wide-eyed until he eventually looked at her.
"I didn't say that," he told her quietly but truthfully. Chloe's eyes instantly filled with tears but she nodded in acceptance of the words and blinked back the tears that so desperately wanted to fall.
Clark stood up and walked slowly towards the ladder. At the top rung he paused, watching Chloe's back shake with repressed sobs. He looked away and climbed down.
---
Contrary to only a few hours earlier, the school's brightly coloured corridors were once more lonely and empty, the students that once filled them working hard in their various classes.
Clark wandered down the halls aimlessly, taking in the blank walls with the telltale scraps of blue-tack and torn paper but letting his thoughts drift. How could he possibly fit in again? Not that he'd really fitted in before the whole world knew he was a freak; he'd always been something of a loner. Was there any point in pretending to be something he wasn't - normal?
He shook his head angrily, fending off hot tears that burned the back of his eyes. The bell signaling lunch break rang just above his head in a sudden throb of noise, and he darted away, clutching his ears. The students filing tiredly into the hallway didn't seem bothered by the sound, but Clark quickly found a quieter corridor to wander down. Only a few students occupied this hallway, and even less paid him any attention, most were too preoccupied with chatting to their friends or had their nose in a book.
A door suddenly opened at the far end of the corridor to admit a number of laughing, rowdy students and… Lana Lang.
Clark froze, heedless of the attention and annoyed shouts he was garnering as he stood directly in the centre of the hallway. Lana smiled, too, looking up at the blonde guy (also smiling) whom Clark had seen her with before.
Her smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared when her roving gaze settled on Clark. His mouth ran dry and his first instinct was to run, to get out of here before she could hurt him again.
Time seemed to grind to a halt, though Clark was still vaguely aware of people pushing past and angry mutterings in his ears.
Clark was almost grateful for the scathing yell behind him. "Hey, Kent!"
Tearing his gaze away from Lana, he looked back and saw Josh Blake filling the hallway with his three cronies. He swallowed his nerves and gathered up his courage.
"What?" He said bravely, though much more feebly than he would have liked.
Although Clark could only assume Josh had called him in hope of a reply, his lip curled in an ugly sneer at the response. He glanced over his shoulder at the three boys as if to check they were still there like the coward that he was, then gave them a nod. Apparently this must have been their prearranged signal, for they started to walk towards Clark at exactly the same instant, their steps in time. It would have been comical in another situation, but all Clark felt inside was dread.
His insides knotted with fear and he backed away a few paces, not daring to take his eyes off them. Amongst many of his fears, he was claustrophobic. Being confined to one small cell at the laboratory in Metropolis with daily tests and nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide, had made sure of that. Gradually, over the years, his phobias had lessened, but now, as Blake's gang forced him into an alcove between two lockers by their sheer presence, all those fears came rushing back.
"Just what the hell are you, you freak!" Blake's voice carried Clark back to the present, and he felt a small surge of thankfulness towards the other boy, for the first and last time grateful to him for making him focus on the here and now and not get swept up by nightmares from the past.
That small surge of thankfulness disappeared as soon as Blake's fist struck the locker just to the left of Clark's head. The next one dealt a glancing blow to his jaw. As he sidestepped quickly to the right but found his path blocked by another of the gang who's name he didn't know but didn't like the look of, he was suddenly hit by a revelation, as well as a fist. The punch had actually hurt, hurt as if his skin wasn't invulnerable, and from the looks on their grim faces, they weren't messing about this time.
He let out a grunt, doubling over to ease the pain in his stomach. He received another blow to the back of his neck that sent him to his knees, and distantly became aware of a great number of agitated voices. Most were shouting encouragement, not to him, but to Blake and his gang, though he thought he could hear a minority yelling for Blake to lay off him.
"Get him, the piece of filthy-"
"What did he ever do to you!"
"He deserves it, didn't you see the posters! He's some kind of alien monster!"
He couldn't stay here. More kicks and punches rained down on him as the rest of the gang began to join in. The pain was intense, but not wholly unbearable. Compared to the burning agony of the meteor rocks, this was a pushover.
Crouching down and gritting his teeth, he made himself as small as possible and waited for his opportunity. It was hard to think straight with fear clutching his neck and cutting off the oxygen supply to his brain, but it didn't take a genius to recognise and escape route when he saw one. He darted between two pairs of legs in an opening just big enough for him, knocking one of the guys off balance, and, panting heavily, ran at a sprint down the corridor and burst through the double doors to the front lawn.
Keeping to a hasty jog, the most he could manage in his current condition, he leapt down the stairs and hurtled down the path to the road. He heard the doors bang open behind him and more shouting as he assumed Blake pursued him, but focused on running, feeling the air wheeze in and out of his lungs.
It was a strange sensation, having to actually work hard to make himself move, to force his aching muscles to carry on. The very air seemed elusive, as if it too was trying to avoid coming near the alien freak. There certainly wasn't enough oxygen fuelling his legs, but that didn't matter, he reassured himself as the end of the path came into sight.
Six steps from freedom his head span and his protesting muscles slowed. A vague dizziness washed over him as if someone had just poured a bucket of water over his head, and his knees buckled as he sank bonelessly to the floor.
---
Chloe roused herself from the stupor she was in and stood up at the noise outside the Torch office. As soon as Clark had left her at the windmill she'd pulled herself back into her car and drove to school, not saying a word to anyone as she passed people on the way in, and promptly locked herself in the Torch. She spent the next few minutes busying herself with pointless articles and stray pieces of homework, and not once did her mind leave Clark. After a while she'd finished every scrap of homework she'd gotten, had the next edition of the Torch printed a good hour before deadline and tidied up the entire office. It was then that she allowed herself to slump into a chair and cry it all out. When it seemed all the tears had been sucked out of her, she sat and did nothing. Until a riot outside disturbed her from her very important work. Chloe stood up and poked her head out the door, just in time to see the back of a very familiar head disappear out the front doors.
Frowning, she stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind her, watching silently as three or four individuals peeled off from the main crowd and chased after Clark.
Her heart jumped into her throat and she ran blindly through the crowd, worming her way through the many people until she was outside and racing across the sunny green grass. As the figures drew closer, she could see one was sprawled on the floor, the other four skidding to a halt beside him. He shrank away from them as they stood over him, writhing in apparent pain.
Tears she thought she didn't have left to cry stung her eyes, but these tears were of pure anger rather than sorrow.
Chloe marched straight up to the middle man and spun him around before punching him hard on the nose. "Take that you selfish, evil, sadistic PIG!"
Josh Blake staggered, one hand flew up to his nose and the other released a small green rock, which skittered along the ground before it came to a rest against Clark's boot. Clark instantly recoiled and drew his legs up into his chest, at the same time trying to lift his head to see his rescuer.
"Arrgh!" Blake staggered a bit more, and luckily his cronies were all too shocked to do anything but stand and gape at the audacity of the small blonde, otherwise Chloe might have found herself in a spot of trouble.
Still shaking with anger, she reached around a groaning Blake and snatched up the meteor rock, lent back as far as she could and lobbed it away over the road and into the neighbouring field, where it disappeared amongst the corn.
"You BITCH!" Blake screamed, having recovered enough to stand upright and glare at Chloe from two black eyes. Blood still seeped steadily from his nose and down his chin. He clenched his fists, and Chloe could have sworn he growled at her before stepping slowly up to her. Chloe had enough sense to realise her situation wasn't good, Blake topped her by several inches (though he was still shorter than Clark,) and he wasn't looking too friendly at the moment. She backed away quickly, only to step on the toes of another of the gang. Looking around frantically, she noticed they'd surrounded her without her noticing.
She gulped. Blake bared his bloody teeth and reared his fist back, the fist that in any second would come smashing down on Chloe's face. She didn't close her eyes but steeled herself for the blow… but suddenly there was something blocking her view of Blake's angry face, a broad, plaid-clad back.
"Clark!" She gasped as he caught the fist with one hand, forcing Blake back with a strong grip. Chloe couldn't see Blake's face but she could hear his whimpers.
The crowd was silent as Clark took it step by step, Blake backing off with each one. Blake's hand was still being held in a vice like grip by Clark's, who's whole body appeared to be trembling with anger.
Finally, when Blake's back was pressed up against the gate so hard that he was almost bending over backwards to get away from the taller boy, Clark twisted the arm then let go. Blake slid weakly to the floor, tears now accompanying the blood on his face.
Clark blinked then turned around to look at Chloe. As his eyes slid over the shocked crowd gathered, he seemed to return to reality and realise what he'd just done, for he took one frightened look at Chloe and… disappeared.
That was it. One moment he was there, fear and doubt playing across his face to the silent onlookers, the next he was gone, only a sharp breeze ruffling a few people's clothes marking his leave.
Chloe allowed herself to breathe and sucked in a great lungful of air, then sat quickly down before she fell down. It was only then that she noticed Blake's gang had scattered, there was no trace that they had even been there, leaving Blake to make the excuses to the teachers on his own. Only a murmuring crowd remained, watching as if mesmerised as Blake moaned and Chloe rolled shakily to her feet.
Still feeling a bit shell-shocked, she walked on unsteady legs past the staring crowd and around to the back of the school where her car was parked. Once safely in, she let out a breath and rested her head on the steering wheel for a few seconds. Then she resolutely twisted the key and pulled out of the parking lot onto the road.
---
Dust floated in hazy swirls, each particle catching and refracting golden sunlight. Clark sighed and turned over on the old couch, looking away from his new loft's window. Three months of hard work had built this loft, and already the spiders were moving in. He watched one crawl along the arm of the couch, one leg after the other.
If he so wanted, he could reach out and trap that spider under his palm. End its sad little life. But he wouldn't; because he could identify somewhat with that little spider. Clark's life could fall apart any second, all it took was for the next eccentric billionaire to come along and trap him under his greedy palm. Clark was just as helpless as the spider, a feeling he knew only too well and was sure he wouldn't miss if he never encountered it again.
He was just waiting for the hand to fall… fall into the abyss of pain and relieved memories that refused to go away…
"Oi, you! Go away! Get off of my land this instant!"
Daniel Boswell made an impressive sight towering in the doorway, bedclothes still rumpled furiously and eyes alight with anger. He was the sort of intimidating figure even God himself would cower at, framed so dramatically against a backdrop of light.
Lionel Luthor didn't bat an eyelid.
"Certainly, Mr. Boswell. I was simply wondering whether your son would like to …participate… in a science project I'm planning?"
Eleven year old Clark Boswell clung tighter to the banister at the top of the stairs, his little knuckles turning white. He didn't like this strange man with a predator-like smirk. Clark thought there was something extremely sneaky about him, but apparently his Father didn't share his sentiments.
"There would be certain benefits, of course," the man added pleasantly, and Daniel opened the door wider, inviting the man in.
Clark stayed firmly in place at the top of the stairs but crouched down so as not to be seen as his father led the strange man into the living room. Father would surely be mad and punish him for getting out of bed without permission, so Clark made a point to creep down the stairs quietly and slowly, so it was that his father and the man were already finishing their discussion when Clark hid behind the living room door.
"How exactly do you know about Clark's… heritage… anyway, Mr. Luthor?" Daniel was asking a little suspiciously, although he'd started calling the man 'Mr. Luthor' instead of 'Oi you!'
Mr. Luthor offered that same sickeningly pleasant smile again. "I believe you know my son, Lex? Yes, the one little Clark rescued from the river a few months back. Well, shall we say he noticed a few abnormalities, if I may be so bold, with your son, and informed me. Naturally I thought a man of your stature would be pleased to help out the scientific community."
The compliment was blatantly false, and made Clark feel a little sick for more than one reason - what had that comment about the scientific community meant, and what did Lex have to do with this anyway?- but Daniel seemed to suck it up and swell with pride.
The deal, it seemed was in the bag.
"Just name a time and place, Mr. Luthor."
Shortly after, Clark found himself being dragged, kicking and screaming off his home. His captors soon found a length of rope to silence his protests, and he was dumped unceremoniously into the back of a navy van with little care.
Clark remembered it was navy because at the time he had thought it odd that it wasn't black as was per usual with kidnappers - as irrational and irrelevant thoughts often popped up when one was in something of a bad situation.
He could, too, remember the look on his Father's face as the doors slammed shut behind him. A sort of guilt, relief and anguish all at the same time. Still he made no effort to help Clark.
Countless hours of traveling later, Clark was shaken awake roughly and hastily transported out of the dark van, into bright daylight which made him squint, then back into darkness at what he could only assume from the needles and medicines lining the walls was a doctor's operating room.
He soon found out he was wrong.
"What's wrong, son?"
Clark jumped out of his depressing daydream and rolled over onto his back, to look up at the ceiling and-
"Dad?" he said softly, before twisting around into a sitting position.
Jonathan smiled sadly in reply, figuring his son was just thinking, and sat down next to him.
"The school just called." His voice wasn't accusing or demanding, it was just a statement to which Clark could reply to if he so chose.
"What did they say?" Clark replied instantly, covering up the fear in his voice as best he could.
Jonathan sighed. "They said there was a fight, and you'd been hurt." He left out the part about Clark giving as good as he got.
Sighing quietly, Clark looked away, out into the clear sky through the barn loft window. Once the silence had settled, he spoke. "I'm fine, really. It's just…" He sighed again and shook his head, cutting his own words off.
Jonathan watched him for several long minutes then stood up and walked away. He returned a few seconds later with a strangely shaped package in his hands, slim and wrapped in cloth.
"It's time, son."
Clark dearly wanted to reply with a bitter 'Time for what?' but reigned himself in, knowing the anger was misplaced, and settled for a raised eyebrow.
Jonathan sat down beside him and laid the package over both their laps reverently.
He started tearing the packaging at one end and motioned for Clark to do the same at the other.
He did so curiously and not a little obstinately, his father hadn't spoken a word to him since fetching the mysterious object. "What… what is it?" Clark ventured after having discovered yet another layer of material to contend with.
"A surprise," Jonathan replied easily.
"Oh," Clark said quietly. He didn't like surprises , given his past experience. He needed to know what was going to happen, where and when. Despite the fact that he knew Jonathan Kent would never purposefully hurt him, Clark couldn't repress the nauseating feeling in his stomach as the last layer rolled away.
A long, black, shiny telescope lay over their laps, folded up neatly and putting Clark in mind of a large spindly spider trying to hide itself away. Clark stared. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but this hadn't been it.
Jonathan ran his hand lovingly over the dark metal, smiling slightly. "Your grandfather gave this to me when I was about your age."
Clark's eyes snapped up to Jonathan's, frowning in a mixture of shock and puzzlement. His grandfather? Dad's Dad? It seemed odd, but he'd never really thought about any other family members than Jonathan and Martha, but now that he really thought about it, it seemed even stranger to think that he actually had more family members out there for him to meet. Grandfathers, grandmothers, uncles, aunts, cousins… all related to him in some way if not by blood.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked up inquisitively at Jonathan, who smiled.
"It's about time I passed it on to my son," he explained simply.
Clark's eyes widened, and in an instant Jonathan was catapulted to the moment he'd first met the boy. Not six months ago, but before then, thirteen years before when Clark Boswell had been just a little tot.
He and Martha, veterans of small town farm life, had gone round to welcome the Boswells to the neighbourhood. Jonathan remembered Martha had taken a basket of flowers from the garden and homemade jams from the pantry.
Daniel and Rose had seemed to welcome the gesture, for they smiled and gushed their 'thank you's' and altogether welcomed them most graciously into their home. Cardboard boxes had been strewn all over the place, but Daniel batted away the Kents' offers to help them move.
Martha had been quite taken with their little boy, and Jonathan too had been sad to say goodbye when it was time to leave. Clark had been such a happy little baby, and his parents so loving, it was hard to believe how circumstances could change people so dramatically. Then again, Clark was living proof of that. No longer a carefree baby, but a grown, troubled teenager.
His wife had been in a dream all the way home, of course, and it was only when they got back home that she'd commented that little Clark didn't look at all like his parents, with his wild black hair and olive eyes.
Jonathan had rolled his eyes and laughed at his wife lovingly, though deep down he found it odd that the boy was three but was yet to utter a single word of English. Thoughts of illegal adoption and kidnapping had danced through his head, but he'd firmly put the Boswells and their son out of mind for the next thirteen years… until now.
"Dad?"
Jonathan jerked out of his stupor to see Clark staring at him with his head tilted curiously. Jonathan smiled and shook his head. He still hadn't told Clark he'd met him as a baby and didn't plan to yet, either. The memory seemed somehow private, as silly as it was, for Clark himself had been there too, even if he couldn't recall it.
"So, where are you going to put it?" Jonathan said brightly, maneuvering himself and the telescope into an upright position and looking around the loft for a suitable home.
"If we put it over here, I should be able to move it into the window at night." Clark got to his feet and headed for the loft's window.
"Alright." Jonathan began to drag the heavy instrument to where Clark was standing, who quickly intervened and helped lift the thing into place.
Jonathan dusted his hands down, looking extremely pleased. Clark smiled too as he stared at the shiny telescope.
"Thanks, Dad," he said quietly but sincerely, feeling the lump in his throat return at the thought of receiving a gift. After his mother had died, Clark hadn't got much in the way of presents, and so this one, particularly since it was his first proper gift from his new family, held extra sentimental value.
Jonathan's smile grew and he patted his son on the shoulder, not sure it he'd be willing to accept a hug and not willing to try just yet. To his surprise, Clark initiated the hug, and they stood there for several seconds before Clark pulled away at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
Chloe's blonde head came into view, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. She paused on the top step and turned to go, saying quickly, "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to-"
"That's alright, Chloe." Jonathan grinned at his son's friend, obviously unaware of recent events between the two. "I'll leave you and Clark to it." With that he clattered down the stairs in his hobnail boots, leaving a trail of mud. Mom wouldn't be happy, Clark thought absently.
Chloe hesitated, then said boldly, "Clark, I think we need to talk."
Clark gulped and nodded. "I guess we do."
And grasping the tiger by its tail, he gestured for Chloe to sit down.
End of Part Six
I hope I made Clark's reaction to Chloe betraying him realistic. She's redeemed herself now so that's all that matters. Thanks for all the reviews, the most I've gotten so far for the last chapter:D I'll reply to them all tomorrow or at the weekend, at the moment I unfortunately have to revise for a German exam, bleargh.