More Than Human
What Chloe could not stand was the unfairness of it. Frequent brushes with death were understandable. She was never thrilled to be in mortal danger, but she accepted it as an unavoidable risk of her journalistic style. It was also, she admitted, a risk of living in Smallville. But the unusually high percentage of her close calls which involved dates did not seem at all just to her. Lana never seemed attracted to her stalkers. In her more whimsical moments, Chloe worried that Clark would sprout horns and a tail and try to eat her liver or something, but fortunately her curse applied only in the event of reciprocated attraction. She felt reasonably sure that Clark would not be shedding the affable farmboy persona any time soon.
Which was a shame, because she wouldn't mind one of her best friends displaying freaky meteorite powers if it meant he'd be able to stop Ian. She and Lana edged closer to one another, cornered by not one, but two Ian McAllisters. The odds looked even, but Chloe wasn't about to underestimate someone who had been changed by the meteorites. They tended to be freakishly strong in addition to whatever unique abilities they developed.
The two Ians advanced confidently. "I told you to keep things between us a secret," one of them said.
Chloe was preparing herself to kick and punch and scream like her life depended on it (since it kind of did) when the air between her and Ian shimmered like summer heat. For a moment, she was dizzy, disoriented. She had a strange sensation, like gravity reversing itself for the briefest fraction of a second, and then someone was standing in the space where the air had rippled. It was a woman in simple, loose-fitting black clothes. There was a sword strapped to her back and dark hair clung to her neck in an intricate braid. Chloe shared a dumbfounded look with Lana.
Ian appeared just as confused. "Who are you?" he asked, hesitating.
The stranger answered him in a language which, judging by the facial expressions in the room, no one else recognized. It sounded like cold, empty beauty, like cathedrals of diamond and ice. For a second, the room was silent. When the stranger spoke again, it was in precise, but oddly accented English. She addressed Ian as if he were a puppy who had just piddled on an expensive pair of shoes.
"I am sa'retha. In your tongue, a guardian. I serve Araes'El. These de'sao are under my protection. You will retreat to a distance of no less than two hundred feet or your life will be forfeit. This is your taia, your fair warning."
Uncertainty flashed across Ian's face, quickly replaced by customary arrogance. "Look, you don't know who you're dealing with. Get out of my way," he spat as he continued his threatening advance.
Nearly quicker than sight, the sword flashed from its scabbard and neatly severed Ian's head from his body. Lana screamed and buried her face in Chloe's shoulder. Chloe put her arms reflexively around her friend, but her brain seemed to have stopped. Arterial blood spurted from the razor-straight stump of Ian's neck, while his skull bounced with a few revolting thuds, slinging strings of gore across the room.
Casually, as if she were doing nothing more interesting than chopping wood, the woman moved in the second Ian's direction. His confidence was gone; only fear showed in Ian's expression now.
"I'm sorry, look, I'll go, I'll leave, I'll do whatever you want..." His pleading faltered when he looked in her eyes and saw no mercy there.
"One warning. That is the law."
The sword whistled as it cut the air.
Clark reached the door of the Torch office first and stopped dead in his tracks. Pete rushed up next to him to see what he was staring at and nearly lost his lunch. He had seen a lot of gross things growing up in Smallville (even some dead bodies) but this was...horrific. He followed a white-faced Clark into the room, trying to keep his stomach from revolting as he stepped between the spreading pools of blood. Lana and Chloe were standing against the far wall looking as shocked as he felt.
"Pete! Clark!"
Pete wasn't sure who grabbed who for support, but he found himself with an arm around Chloe's shoulders while she clutched his waist. Meanwhile, Lana collapsed into Clark's arms, sobbing softly.
"God, let's get out of here," Chloe blurted, pulling Pete towards the door.
The four of them sunk to the floor when they reached the hallway. "It's okay, Lana, it's okay," Clark cooed. His voice was steady, but his expression betrayed as much distress as Lana's weeping.
"What happened?" Pete asked, looking to Chloe. She turned her head towards him, but didn't meet his eyes. Instead, she stared at a spot on the floor ten feet away.
"I'm not really sure," Chloe offered finally. "Ian came after us. I think...I think he was going to kill us. And then this woman just appears out of nowhere and...and kills him."
"We better call the police," Pete said, grasping at the chance to do something, to move past the moment. Chloe nodded absently. The hall echoed with the sound of labored breathing and the dialing phone. While Pete talked to the 911 operator, Lana's breathing steadied and Clark's gaze shifted to Chloe.
"What did she look like?" he inquired.
"She looked like..." Chloe scoffed softly at herself, as if reconsidering what she was about to say. "She had dark hair, an athletic build. Blue eyes. Very blue. She was speaking a foreign language. I didn't recognize it. Then she spoke in English. She said something about...serving someone...protecting us. She told Ian to leave and when he didn't she just...killed him. Both of him. She said it was 'the law.' Something about only getting one warning."
Chloe laughed softly, humorlessly. "Then she turns to us and asks us if we're okay and I said something about being in a bit of shock and she said she wasn't instructed to look after our 'psychological well-being.'" Chloe made one of her I-know-it-sounds-weird-but-that's-what-happened faces, only slightly ruined by her quavering voice. Clark frowned thoughtfully and turned back to Lana, who was wiping at her face with her sleeves.
"I'm okay," Lana assured him. "I'll be okay."
"The police will be here in a few minutes," Pete informed them. "They said we should just sit tight."
Chloe stared at her coffee cup to avoid the sight of the police scurrying in and out of the Torch. Her Torch. She wondered idly if the bloodstains would ever come out and even if they did would she be able to work in there again, knowing what had happened ten feet from her desk? That office was her home, her space. And now there was a dead body in it. Two dead bodies. Did it count as two?
She looked down the hall and watched Clark talking to the sheriff with open, honest eyes. A responsible teenager (an oxymoron in any town but Smallivlle - that must be Clark's freaky meteorite power, she mused, his utter lack of teenage rebellion) doing his civic duty, telling the police what he saw and looking a bit freaked out. He looked like a kid who had seen something terrible and was trying to deal. He looked like she felt.
But he hadn't seen the killer. He hadn't seen the way she just...executed Ian like it was nothing. He hadn't seen the coldness in her eyes or the terrible grace of her movements. That stranger may have saved their lives, but Chloe had a hard time feeling gratitude for someone who could take a life so casually. It was hard to imagine someone like that always understanding the difference between friends and enemies. Not that crazy psycho woman had seemed particularly friendly...
Clark's eyes drifted to hers and she put on her bravest smile, tipping her cup towards him a grateful gesture. He'd made a coffee run while the police were taking her statement and she'd offered to give him a ride home in return, since Pete had already been carted home by his formidable mother. Clark grinned briefly at her, understanding her meaning. He turned away when the sheriff's eyes tracked his momentary attention lapse, but Chloe kept her gaze on him, thinking.
"What did she look like?"
"She looked like..."
"She looked like you, Clark," Chloe muttered into her styrofoam cup. She could have been his sister. Same strong jaw, same large eyes, same dark hair and perfect complexion. Having seen the face such beauty could wear, she marveled again at Clark's sculpted features. The potential was there. He was as preternaturally beautiful as the woman who murdered Ian. If his eyes were to freeze as hers had, if his nervous fidgeting were to be replaced by a deadly singularity of purpose, he would look the same: like one of ancient Rome's pitiless, capricious gods come to life. Beauty without humanity. Chloe shivered at the thought.
She knew it was impossible. It should have been laughable. Clark didn't draw stares wherever he went for a reason. He had his share of distant admirers around school (a fact obscured to his sight by his customary obliviousness) and God knew he had the body of someone ten years older (a perk of growing up with hard farm labor, she supposed) but his attractiveness was blunted to the eyes of the world by his innocence. The divine features were submerged in a young boy's earnest compassion, hidden from all but the most careful eyes. Where Clark was concerned, Chloe's eyes were very careful. So careful, in fact, that she knew (even if no one else did) that it was the way he wore that perfect face, and not the face itself, that made him so gorgeous.
Congratulations, Chloe. You've turned your life into a Nora Roberts novel.
Yet, as ridiculous as it seemed, she couldn't shake the image of those Clark-like features drained of all empathy, looking down on humanity from a height of untamable strength and grace.
Clark finished with the sheriff and walked over to her, shoving his large hands into the pockets of his jeans as he approached. "Well, we're free to go," he said ruefully.
"Did you get the overcaffienated, hallucinating teenager treatment, too?"
"Well, since I didn't actually see anything, I got off pretty light," he replied. A soft, half-smile drifted across his features, but she could see the concern in his eyes. She smiled back as bravely as she knew how. Funny how near-decapitation could mend fences. It was like they'd never been fighting.
Lana approached them, then, her long hair looking frayed in the too-bright hall lights. Clark's gaze (of course) shifted to her with magnetic swiftness. "You okay?" he inquired.
"Yeah, just not sure I'm going to sleep tonight," Lana responded. It seemed they were all full of rueful smiles tonight. Tune in tomorrow for angst-riddled sighs.
"You want to ride with me?" Chloe offered as the three of them started for the stairwell. "I know we brought separate cars but I have a feeling you don't want to go home alone any more than I do."
Lana treated Chloe to a grateful smile. "Yeah, thanks."
"Clark," Chloe began when they reached the parking lot. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you about Ian."
"Me too," Lana admitted reluctantly.
"Good," Clark said.
Chloe blinked. Whoa. Puppy got teeth.
Lana stopped a few feet from the car and turned on Clark. "Excuse me?"
"I said, 'good,'" Clark reiterated. After a moment he added, "You should be."
"Clark," Chloe intervened. "You have to admit, things looked a little strange from where we were sitting."
"No. I don't. Look, I know we've all had our differences, but...don't you understand that I would never let anyone hurt you? You don't get to treat me like the jealous boyfriend and then blow it off with a facile apology when I just happen to be right. I don't understand why anything I have to say is automatically written off like I'm the crazy ex. Especially since none of us have ever actually dated. Frankly, I expected more of you both."
Chloe stared at Clark. "Did you just use the word facile?"
"Well, we expected more of you, Clark," Lana insisted, crossing her arms defiantly.
"Lana," Clark sighed. "Are you listening to a word I've said?"
Chloe's jaw suddenly felt very, very heavy. Clark was...angry. At Lana. She surreptitiously checked the asphalt under her car for meteorites.
Lana seemed to be taken aback by this uncharacteristic show of annoyance. Her mouth opened and closed a few times. "I can't believe you," she said finally with every scrap of righteous anger she could gather. She turned away from Clark and stalked to the other side of Chloe's VW Bug.
"I'll catch a ride with the sheriff," Clark told Chloe, his eyes still on Lana's back. Chloe tried to think of something to say, but she found herself uncharacteristically speechless as Clark turned around and went back into the school.
To Be Continued...I guess. If I feel like it.