Of Ding Dongs and Beheadings
For the next week, Chloe was too busy with her own trouble to notice Clark's moping. And if she did notice, she wrote it off as being Lana-related. She felt it was a safe bet, statistically. So, if he seemed a bit more preoccupied than usual, she was definitely not going to ask. The last thing she needed was yet another retelling of Clark and Lana's ill-fated love saga. Her own problems were quite enough to be getting on with.
She'd decided to tackle things head-on. It had proved a successful strategy in the past. When the memory of Ian's carotid artery painting the walls of the Torch kept her awake at night (and even visited her once or twice while she was still awake) she spent those nights online, running every kind of search she could think of. When she found herself hesitating to enter the office that had previously been her sanctuary, she forced herself to spend the next hour sitting on the newly-mopped floor, proving to herself that blood could be washed away and that things could go back to some kind of normal.
The problem was that she couldn't really bring herself to believe that, not until she satisfied her curiosity about that night. People who lived in Smallville got used to trauma. Well. People who investigated Smallville got used to trauma, certainly. She still had bad memories and worse nightmares about being attacked, about being trapped in an enclosed space with her air running out, all alone in the dark...
But she knew what had happened. She knew that Gary Watts had tried to bury her alive and that Clark Kent had saved her. She knew that Watts was in jail and that it was over. Ian's murder remained unsolved. Whoever (or whatever) killed him was still at large and the definition of "at large" held all kinds of disturbing possibilities, especially where killers who could appear out of thin air were concerned.
So, she did what (she hoped) she did best; she investigated. First she wrote down everything she could remember. Then she hit the net. Unfortunately, she hadn't had much luck with the physical description and a search for information on beheadings had yielded nothing more interesting than a surprising number of Highlander fan sites.
She was in the process of narrowing her search to a more specialized tier of sources when Clark interrupted her modest attempt to take back her life. It was well past dinnertime by the standards of at least three time zones, but Chloe hadn't felt much like eating recently. She was, however, dying for another caffeine fix, which made Clark's company more welcome than usual.
"How ever did you know?" she asked playfully, dumping a small forest of styrofoam cups off the desk to make room for the cup carrier he offered her. He flashed her one of those brief, bright Kent grins that had become so rare in the past year or so.
"You project an unmistakable aura of decaffeination. I could sense it all the way from the farm."
"You came all this way just to give me coffee? How did you even know I was going to be here?" She took an exploratory sip of the fresh stuff and cursed in the unique gibberish of a burned tongue.
"I called your house first. Your dad told me you were here," Clark responded, his face serious once more. He grabbed a chair from another desk and turned it around so he could rest his elbows in front of him while he looked at her.
"Why didn't you just call my cell phone?" she inquired, nursing her sore mouth. She quirked a suspicious eyebrow. "Unless you just wanted to find out where I was, not talk. Clark Kent. Are you checking up on me?"
"I'm worried about you, Chloe. You haven't spent this much time at the Torch since the Noodle Incident."
Chloe's smile was sincere as she turned her eyes back to her computer screen. Only Clark would be able to mention Pete's infamous blunder with a straight face. Once he got a bone in his teeth he was immune to humor. She had only one diversionary tactic left.
"I'm surprised you noticed, given the recent upheaval in the Lanaverse. She's been cleaning non-stop, you know. It's freaking my dad out. I don't think he knew what baseboards were, much less that we have them in our house. Come to think of it, neither did I. Can't you guys just kiss and make up?" She glanced away from her fifteen browser windows long enough to see Clark's brow furrowing, as if he was trying to decide whether she was serious.
"The ball's in her court. And quit changing the subject."
Chloe tried valiantly to hide her surprise. As long as she could remember, the subject of Lana had been a foolproof Clark distracter, even when he wasn't in full mope mode. She shuffled windows while she tried to think of a response. Was it possible that something else was bothering him?
"Clark," she asked, turning back to him. "There's something else going on with you, isn't there?"
Nice. Real subtle,Chloe. You must be a reporter or something.
"Don't try to turn this around on me," he scoffed. But she could tell she'd struck a nerve. He shifted his weight irritably. "I'm not the one spending sixteen hours a day at school. If Reynolds knew you were here this late he'd take away your key. How do you get in the building, anyway?"
"Probably the same way you do-"
"I seriously doubt that-"
"Are you feeling okay? Are you sure you don't have a temperature?" Chloe slapped a hand over his forehead. He frowned at her but did not flinch from her touch.
"What are you talking about, Chloe?"
"Look," she continued. "Don't take this the wrong way, but Lana is the most interesting thing in your life and if you haven't been mooning around because of her, then something must be seriously up with you."
"I'm telling your housemate you called her a thing-"
"Only out of grammatical necessity-"
"And what do you mean mooning around? How would you even know - you've been holed up in the Torch all week."
Chloe sighed and started bookmarking. She obviously wasn't going to get any more work done tonight. "The fact that you've made up some mysterious problem for me is a clear indication that you're not yourself."
"Oh, so it's out of character for me to pay attention to you? Why do you always act like I ignore you all the time?"
Her response died long before it reached her lips, strangled by confusion and fear and indignation. Her face felt hot. She quickly clicked off her monitor and got up to gather her belongings. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Clark's eyes tracking her for a moment. He sighed and turned his gaze to the window, but he rose with her when she started for the door.
"Look, I'll talk if you do," Clark said as he grabbed the all-important coffee she'd left behind in her haste. He handed it to her in the hallway, after she clicked off the lights and locked the office. "I'll even eat cookie-dough-fudge-mint-chip with you while watching Doctor Zhivago. We can sing "Kumbaya" and roast marshmallows and maybe shave some whales later."
Chloe accepted the coffee and snorted at him as they started towards the stairwell. "An impressive variety of references, but I believe your comfort food of choice is the Ding Dong, serving size: one truckload. Have I told you lately how inhumanly gross that habit is?"
He returned her smile with one of his own, but she saw him flinch at the word inhuman. "I'm just kidding, Clark," she added.
"I know. It's a sore subject. Hostess is no longer returning my calls."
"Well, you're just in everyone's doghouse today."
"Except yours."
She grinned at him. "Except mine. I'm a great believer in the redemptive power of coffee."
They descended the darkened steps in silence. Chloe took a few sips of her latte and edged a bit closer to Clark. She always hurried to and from the Torch when she worked this late. Smallville High had an uncomfortable reputation for after-hours violence, so she had to admit she was grateful for Clark's presence. Things never seemed to turn out badly when he was around.
Even when they fought with each other, they managed to stay friends.
"Okay," she breathed after a few more moments of the comfortable silence Clark had left for her. "I guess the idea of this psycho woman still running around possibly chopping more people's heads off has got me a little worried. I just want to find out about her, that's all."
Clark abruptly stopped walking and turned to face her, his features dimly lit by the glow of an exit light. "You're researching the woman who killed Ian?"
"Yeah," Chloe drawled uncertainly. "Is that a problem?"
"No, it..." He looked away for a moment, and when he turned back his eyes were shuttered. "I just don't think you'll find anything. I mean, she definitely wasn't from Smallville, right?"
"I don't know where she came from. I'd just like to understand what happened so that I can sleep at night. I know she saved my life and everything, but...I think I'm more afraid of her than I was of Ian."
"She won't hurt you, Chloe," Clark responded with more confidence than she felt he had a right to.
"Well, forgive me if I don't take your word for it." She paused. "Unless there's something you'd like to share with the rest of the class?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know something about this woman. That's what's got you so worked up lately."
"I haven't been worked up-"
"Clark," she said, catching his eyes with her own. "If you know anything about this-"
"I just think you should drop it," he said shortly as he shoved the back door open with a clank. Chloe followed him into the parking lot.
"Look, it's okay to keep secrets when they're personal and private, but this is about me. You can't come into my life and tell me how to do things. It doesn't work like that."
They faced each other in the empty night. Chloe could almost see the thoughts racing behind his eyes. What could he possibly know about the strange woman? And why was he so reluctant to reveal it?
"I saw her," he said finally. "After you guys left. She didn't seem…well, she is dangerous. But I'm not going to let her hurt anyone else."
"Who is she?" she asked, hardly able to speak through her astonishment.
"I don't know any more than you do, Chloe."
"I can't believe you didn't tell me this. Are you all right? Did she hurt you?"
"I'm fine," he replied uncomfortably.
Of course he was fine. Clark was always fine. No matter how dicey things got, he always managed to get by without a scratch, even while everyone around him suffered severe concussions. She'd never been to visit him in the hospital, which she thought was totally unfair because it meant she had to suffer the indignity of skimpy hospital gowns all by herself.
No, that wasn't true. She remembered Eric Summers bruising Clark's ribs once. He'd recovered pretty quickly, but he had been injured. He wasn't invincible. Nobody was.
"Well, what did she say?"
"Nothing I could make any sense out of. But I don't think you're going to have much luck trying to track her down. Just forget about it, okay? If she comes back, I won't let her hurt anyone else."
Chloe found herself slightly comforted, despite herself. Even though she knew, rationally, that Clark didn't stand any better chance against the mystery woman than Ian had (not to mention the rather obvious fact that he couldn't be everywhere at once) a part of her believed him. For some reason, when Clark Kent made a promise of protection, it was easy to believe him. She blew out a frustrated sigh.
"This isn't just about the danger of a repeat occurrence. It's about finding out what happened. I…I can't sleep at night, Clark." The words came out broken and difficult, but she forced them anyway. "I keep seeing Ian's head bouncing across the floor. I can't put this behind me until I understand it. She was…it scared me, the way she killed him…"
Clark's face softened as she talked and when her eyes started to burn he pulled her to him. She could hear the steady strength of his heartbeat as her head rested on his chest and she felt her own heart rate slowing in response.She gave herself a few moments before she tilted her head to look at him.
"I'm sorry," he said, his expression pained.
She smiled at him. She meant it to look brave, but she doubted she did much better than wan. "It's not your fault, Clark."
She sniffed a little and pulled herself out of his arms and back into reality. She was done talking – or fighting, whatever they had been doing. "Come on," she said, grabbing her keys out of her purse. "I'll give you a ride home. Save your dad a trip."
For a second, he looked like he was going to argue with her, so she added, "Oh, give me a break. I don't see any other cars in this parking lot and your dad is always the one who ferries you around when you weirdly decide not to drive. I guess your mother is too busy baking pies, which is fine by me because her pies are absolutely orgasmic."
A year ago, her choice of words would have earned her a spectacular Kent blush, but this time he merely shot her a bemused look and got in the car. The conversation on the way to Hickory Lane tended more towards Ding Dongs than strangers with swords.
To Be Continued…Hopefully Quicker Next Time…There Was Supposed to Be Some Violence in This Bit, But Chloe and Clark Would. Not. Shut. Up…