Well, this chapter is only slightly late. Blame school it you have to blame something, just don't throw things at me. ;)

Mega thank you to htbthomas for betaing!

Diverse

Part Seven: Intervention

Chloe shifted under Clark's scrutinising glare. She dropped her gaze and began to play with the corner of her top, fervently wishing she'd had a better idea to apologise to him than dropping in like this and then dragging him all the way to the Torch.

"So," he said, looking around the office as if expecting her to continue. When she didn't he glanced at her and added, "What did… what did you want to talk about up here?"

Chloe could have laughed aloud. Clark was just as nervous of her as she was of him.

Sighing fondly, she forced a small smile to put him at ease and began: "I owe you an apology." She put up a hand to stop him. "No, please just hear me out before you throw me out."

Clark started to protest again, either against throwing her out or hearing her out, Chloe didn't know, but she didn't let him continue to find out.

"I've been a complete jerk, and I realised that as soon as I'd found out that stuff about you, and by the way, no it doesn't matter to me whether you're from… from the moon or not, though I don't suppose that matters now since you'll never want to see me again after I've finished." Here she paused for a fraction of a second to gauge Clark's reaction. He was frowning and looking a little puzzled, but she didn't know if that was a good or bad sign, so she carried on.

"I initially searched for that stuff on you because I thought I recognised you, but I wasn't really 100 sure, and I just wanted to satisfy my curiosity. I guess you could call me something of a nosy tabloid reporter." She paused long enough to chuckle nervously at herself. "I… wanted to show you something."

She waited for his consent then led a confused Clark through into a backroom off the Torch main office. It was pitch black for a second until Chloe fumbled with the light switch and the dusty old bulb above their heads flared to life, illuminating a huge wall facing Clark. Chloe stepped forward and motioned to its expanse. "I call it the Wall of Weird." She announced, a little quietly.

For a while she watched Clark take all the clippings in, every last one of them. She wasn't sure but she thought she could see unshed tears in his eyes in the dim light.

Clark swallowed. "Why did you show me this?" He eventually asked hoarsely, eyes still darting over the numerous pictures.

"Because I thought you needed to see it. And you need to know it's not your fault," Chloe replied bluntly. Clark flinched and stared at her in astonishment.

"How did you…?"

"Know?" Chloe finished for him. "I can tell. Friends are meant to look out for each other, right?" She answered and bit her lip anxiously, wondering if she'd been too presumptuous in describing their relationship as 'friends.' Clark didn't seem to notice as his eyes flicked back searchingly over the wall.

"There was nothing you could have done about it, Clark. You were just a baby. The meteor rocks caused this, not you," Chloe said kindly. Clark swallowed again and nodded.

The trance broken, Chloe strode briskly to the door, switched the light off and waited for Clark to follow. He did so a minute later, rather reluctantly.

For a moment they stood outside the door and looked at each other awkwardly.

"Clark, I know I've said sorry before, so I'm not holding out much hope for you to forgive me now. I just… I just don't want to give up on this. You're a great friend, Clark. I don't want to lose that." Chloe said eventually, unable to prevent her voice from cracking on the last word.

Clark quirked a shaky smile. "You haven't lost anything, Chloe."

Relief spread across Chloe's face like wildfire, lighting up her eyes and provoking a wide smile.

"Thank you," she told him sincerely, then reached out to give him a hug a little gingerly. To her surprise he didn't flinch and back away, but hugged back with just as much fervour.

They pulled apart minutes later, both their eyes oddly bright. Chloe sniffed and looked at the clock.

"Um, you know I… I better get back to the farm…" Clark said awkwardly, noticing her preoccupation with the time.

Chloe whirled around quickly, making Clark jump a bit. Her eyes softened. "Oh no Clark, that's not what I meant…" She trailed off, looking at him with something of a glint in her eye. "I was just thinking the school dance is in a couple of hours…"

Clark nodded, hiding his disappointment well. "I should have realised you'd want to get ready, I'm sorry… see you Monday?"

Chloe had to force herself not to roll her eyes. It was clear Clark's skin was thicker than a rhino's… both metaphorically and literally… she would have to do this herself, carefully if she even stood a chance of him accepting.

"Well, there's not much point in me getting ready without a partner, is there?" She watched Clark's eyes widen with the implications and was glad she'd deliberately avoided the word 'date'. He was already backing away towards the door.

"Please Clark, it'll be good for you, I promise… and… and I really had my heart set on going…?" Chloe added, squashing her conscience as it reminded her that was a low blow. It worked though. Clark crumbled and nodded a little miserably, though he brightened up when Chloe gave him a huge smile and another short hug. She was practically bouncing off the walls.

"Alright! So I'll meet you…" She checked her watch. "Argh, running low on time… meet you at the dance at 7:30?"

"Ok." Clark replied, on the surface perfectly calm. Inside, butterflies were already chasing each other around his stomach. He'd become good at hiding his emotions over the years - to show fear was to encourage pain.

---

A dull sort of mist had begun to blow across the car park from the cornfields. Anyone other than Clark at that particular moment would have been at least a little intimidated by the eerie atmosphere as the clouds slid across the moon, dimming the slight light left.

Clark, however, noticed none of this; his head was up in the clouds beside the moon. Someone had actually asked him out! Chloe Sullivan had actually asked him out!

The butterflies churning in his stomach were nothing to the overjoyed pounding of his heart as he made his way across the front of the school to the road home. True, he was very nervous and worried as to how his classmates would react to him, the alien freak, attending something so normal as a school dance, but the happiness in his heart to be going with Chloe overrode that. He hesitated to call it a date, though. After all, it seemed to him that Chloe had only asked him because she had no one else to go with, that and she was still feeling guilty for betraying him.

That was another thing that puzzled Clark. Both Chloe and Lana had betrayed him. He felt sure he could never look Lana in the face again even if she continued to apologise him every day for the rest of his life, which incidentally would never happen, but Chloe, on the other hand, he felt at ease with. Chloe's apology was sincere, but with Lana, no matter how beautiful and alluring she was, he had the distinct feeling that she was laughing at him. Laughing at the disgusting alien for trying to be like a human, for trying to be like her.

Still, he wasn't going to waste any more of his time wondering about Lana.

"Hey, Boswell!"

Clark froze, one foot still hovering over the pavement. His instincts screamed at him to run, but he held his ground from a mixture of fear and curiosity. Nobody had ever called him by his old name since coming to live with the Kents.

Slowing his heavy breathing, Clark turned around. Squinting into the darkness, he could pick out the dirty blonde hair and angry blue eyes that were trademarks of Lana's boyfriend, Whitney, he thought his name was.

Whitney strode up to Clark, fury emanating in every line of his body. Clark decided it was a good time to back away but found himself unable to, for the crippling pain of the meteor rocks had seared through his body.

He dropped to one knee, the labour returning to his breathing as he fought for control. Whitney's feet appeared in his line of vision. One foot struck at his ribs, knocking him onto his back and a punch came from nowhere onto his cheek, sending green spots dancing across the insides of his eyelids.

"Congratulations, Clark. You're this year's scarecrow." Whitney's snarling voice penetrated his thoughts and he clung onto consciousness by blindly kicking out with his leg. Whitney easily avoided the blow and leant down, holding Clark close to his face by the scruff of his collar.

"What's going on with you and Lana?" he demanded in a strangely calm voice. Clark didn't reply, woozy and confused by Whitney's question. Did he think Clark would hurt Lana or something?

All façade of calmness gone, Whitney yelled: "Answer me! I saw the way you looked at her!"

Ah. Now there was jealousy in Whitney's tone. So he thought Clark liked Lana? That Lana liked Clark? He didn't know but he knew Whitney was wrong.

"Nothing's… going… on." Clark spat, tasting coppery blood in the inside of his mouth.

"The Hell there isn't!" Whitney roared, forcibly reminding Clark of the time Daniel Boswell had caught people trespassing on his land. That had certainly been a sight to behold, all 200 pounds of angry shotgun-wielding man yelling into the night as the youths fled for their lives.

Whitney had no shotgun, but the tiny sliver of meteor around his neck was just as effective, if not more so. The little green stone set so prettily into a silver clasp swung back and forth before Clark's eyes as Whitney shook him, and he found himself mesmerised by the stone.

"Like Lana's necklace?" Whitney demanded suddenly, apparently noticing Clark's fixation with the meteor rock. "Good. 'Cause this is as close as you're ever going to get to her." He told Clark venomously, and ripped the jewelry from his neck.

Clark tried to resist as Whitney knotted the chain roughly around his neck, but he was like a fish out of water. Gasping for breath through the pain, he became vaguely aware of jeering voices and being picked up and carried, but when he hit the bottom of Whitney's truck unconsciousness took him.

---

The school hall pulsed with music and laughter, clear signs that the party was in full swing. Cars were crammed into the parking lot and still more were arriving.

"Clark should be here by now," Chloe muttered, squinting into the darkness. All she could see were other happy couples piling out of cars, smiling and laughing.

"So he chickened out - you did say he was nervous," Pete reasoned from beside her, also peering about him in the gloom.

Chloe elbowed him in the ribs with a scowl. "He did not chicken out, Pete!"

"Ok, ok!" Pete held up his hands in a gesture of peace. Chloe gave him one last scowl before turning back around to scour the parking lot for any sign of her date.

"I've got the feeling something's gone wrong..." Chloe said a few minutes of silence later, biting her lip uncertainly.

Pete glanced at her with hesitation, then took her arm. "Come on Chlo', let's go inside, you're freezing."

Chloe reluctantly allowed Pete to lead her into the cavernous hall, throwing one last sad look over her shoulder before stepping inside with her friend.

---

It was cold. Dark, as far as he could make out through closed eyes. And wet, too. How odd.

Clark forced his weary head up and winced from the cramps in his neck. He really didn't feel like opening his eyes yet.

Shifting his feet, he found numerous shards of wood in the toes of them, and thick, scratchy ropes bound his ankles to yet more splintery wood. His eyes flew open and his breath began to come in quick, short gasps, panic blooming inside him. The realisation that he was unable to move, to flee the enemy, hit him hard and he struggled desperately against his binds.

It was no use. The innocent green stone still twinkled innocently at his neck. Agony lanced from the points that touched his bare skin, fading to a dull, painful ache along the rest of his body. Not in the best position to fight back against his captors.

A rustle to the right of him made Clark start and his head cleared back to reality. No scientists in white coats, no smirking face of Lionel Luthor… just a crouching figure half hidden in the swaying corn.

Clark opened his mouth to call to the man, but only produced a croaky rasp. He coughed and tried again.

"Help! Help me!"

The figure froze, then turned and straightened up, locking eyes with Clark over the heads of corn. For a second he hesitated, and Clark wondered if he was just going to run off and leave him there, when the man began making his way towards him.

Relieved, Clark let his head sag back down against his chest, conserving his strength.

"It never changes." The man had moved much faster than Clark had thought, for his voice was coming from directly in front of him. Clark grunted and pulled his head up enough to see him. He was an average looking guy, dull blue eyes and brownish hair. The grey hoodie he was wearing was grimy, though something in the way he spoke and held himself told Clark it would be wrong to underestimate him.

"Help me." Clark said, not even noticing that his voice was something of a cross between a whisper and a desperate plea.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" The man replied cryptically, bypassing Clark's request. Clark thought he could see a flicker of a smile on his face and frowned. The man's blue eyes seemed to spark with a hidden excitement, almost like electricity dancing across the surface. A memory suddenly flashed through Clark's mind, he saw Chloe showing him the photo of a suspected meteor freak and could immediately reconcile this face with a name.

"You… you're… Jeremy."

The flicker of a smile grew stronger at Clark's words in recognition of the name. "I thought if I punished them it would stop." Jeremy continued, apparently oblivious of Clark's side of the conversation. "But it never stops." His voice hardened and his fists clenched in anger. With that he spun on his heel and walked away.

"Wait… where are you going?" Clark gasped after him, fear knotting his stomach again.

Jeremy paused and threw a look over his shoulder. "Homecoming dance. I never made it to mine."

"Get me down. Please." Clark panted, for all the good it did. Jeremy carried on walking away, but threw back a cryptic reply:

"You're safer here."

"Clark, you're safe here. You need to trust me. You are safe." The strange man from before told him patiently, the pleasant expression of a father watching over a young child on his face. Clark felt sick to his stomach, and his face must have reflected this for the man's lip curled and the pleasant expression quickly vanished.

Six or seven men dressed in lab coats so bright they appeared fluorescent appeared behind him, and Clark shrank back from the thick glass partition even further, balling himself up in the corner of the metal room.

He had the repulsive sensation of being an animal caged in a zoo, closely scrutinised by a gaggle of curious kids with sharp tools.

The scientists began to mutter and talk in low whispers amongst themselves that Clark couldn't make out. The man, for all intents and purposes, ignored them and focused on Clark, his eyes boring into the boy. At length, he resumed the conversation as if no time had elapsed.

"I suppose you're wondering what will become of you?"

Clark held his tongue. The man stroked his bearded chin thoughtfully.

"The first test will begin tomorrow. I expect you to get some rest and be ready for it. Dr. Dawson will be here to… collect you. Do not attempt escape, I assure you the consequences will be most unpleasant. Understood?"

Clark nodded vacantly, agreeing but not really understanding what he was agreeing to. His gaze was fixed on a point above the man's right shoulder, where Lex was drawing closer. Lex's face was pinched and closed; eyes dim and distant as he stared down at Clark in the small cell with horror dawning inside him.

He couldn't meet Clark's eyes, but let his gaze stray across the cell and some of the disgust he felt pushed through the image of calm he possessed. His shields were weakening as he took in the situation, and fear and guilt showing strongly.

Slowly, he halted just behind the man, jaw clenched and eyes closed, fists trembling as he tried to calm himself.

"Ah, Lex. You're just in time for the demonstration, son." Clark's breath caught at the revelation. He was being held captive by the legendary Lionel Luthor. Lionel made as if to motion to the two burly security guards but Lex interrupted him hastily.

"What demonstration?"

"Just a display of a few of the subject's various abilities." Lionel smiled benignly, choosing to ignore his son's frustration.

"He's not a subject," Lex disagreed before he could stop himself. Hope rose in Clark. Lionel turned irritated eyes upon his son with a snarl.

"What do you mean by this, Lex?"

"I mean," Lex continued in a shaking voice, "that Clark is my friend and I will not allow you to do this to him." The hope that had been creeping up Clark's chest blossomed into full-blown joy. If he could he would have hugged Lex at that moment. He'd save him. He had to, because there was no else to play the hero anymore.

But suspicion and dread began to creep up inside him to join and override the hope and joy as Lionel leaned in to whisper something to Lex that Clark couldn't catch. When Lionel pulled away he was sporting a satisfied smirk, and Lex a grimace. Lionel flicked his head back at the guards and they instantly approached the door, fumbling with many keys hanging off a long chain attached to one man's belt.

Clark kept his eyes fixed on his friend, willing him to do something, anything, even if it was only to look at him.

His wish was granted as Lex's head came up and silvery grey irises locked with olive blue. Lex's eyes filled with tears but he did not let them spill, nor did he wipe them away. And slowly, subtly, Lex shook his head in a sign of defeat.

---

Pete didn't remember much after his first couple of drinks from the punchbowl, which according to a sober and irritated Chloe, was spiked. And if going by Pete's wild dancing and hysteric laughter was any way to judge, there was some pretty serious alcohol in that thing.

"Hey, Chlo', come dance already!"

Chloe just scowled and shook off any attempts Pete had at getting her to dance the Macarena. Pete, however, was more persistent.

"Aww, come on, E.T ain't here yet is he?" Pete tried again, dancing his way up to his friend and around her to the punch bowl.

Chloe's scowl disappeared momentarily then returned in full-force as she realised what Pete had just said.

"Pete! Will you shut up for just one second?" she hissed angrily. For some reason she was feeling protective of Clark, even though Pete really hadn't meant any harm. That punch was toxic.

One second of silence greeted her command then Pete began humming out of tune again. Chloe sighed and rolled her eyes.

After ushering her tipsy friend off to dance with a girl a year older than Pete whom he'd been too scared to ask out when sober, she grabbed her purse and strode quickly outside. As much as she liked school dances, the air was hot and humid in the hall, and going stag wasn't all that fun either.

Outside was oddly quiet after the wild noise of the hall. Chloe could still faintly hear the 'thump, thump' of the bass guitar filtering through its walls, so she moved off across the empty car park to the solitary tree beyond. There she settled down to wait.

The bark was rough and cold on the back of her neck, the grass damp and the air more than a little chilly, but Chloe was grateful for it. It soothed the pounding headache and sadness that threatened to overwhelm her.

A great swell of disappointment suddenly rose up inside her. It was clear, even to her, that after two hours of waiting and wondering, Clark was not coming. The question of why remained behind, flitting across Chloe's conscious thought until she was about ready to scream.

It was obvious to anyone else that Clark had simply 'chickened out' as Pete had so kindly put it. All the clues pointed that way, (for Chloe had decided to treat this as a crime scene investigation), but something rang off with Chloe. Call it a feeling, woman's intuition or a nagging at the back of her mind, call it whatever you wish, but the fact remained that Clark was not there and there was a bigger reason for it than his nerves, although they were admittedly pretty big.

Chloe pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut tightly, feeling blood rush to her head. She refused to cry. Boys weren't worth crying over. Normally that would be true, but still Chloe couldn't help but feel Clark Kent was something more than an ordinary boy, and not in the extra-terrestrial sense either.

With a sudden return of determination, she struggled to her feet in the fluffy black dress, dusted herself down and turned towards the road to the Torch. Pete had driven her and she had no wish to either steal his keys or be driven by a drunkard in a battered old mini, so she set off on foot, walking close to the cornfields beside the road.

She let her hands brush the stems of the fresh green corn, taking in its texture and scent rather than dwelling on her disaster of an evening. Positive thoughts to prevent herself from breaking down. She'd prepare the next edition of the Torch and return home at midnight, a perfectly happy face on the outside to present to her Dad, no matter how lousy she was feeling on the inside.

Yes, she'd do that and everything would be fine.

End of Part Seven

Thanks for the kind reviews people! Now strictly speaking review responses aren't allowed in here, but I can't reply to people who weren't logged in when they reviewed. Sohuge thanks to Annonie, ForeverTom and Veronica. Shhhhhh!