"Clark?"
Chloe woke with a start. She immediately regretted the motion, as her whole body railed against her in a dull ache. She was staring at a cream-colored wall. It was morning, or maybe evening. She couldn't really tell. Under a window-sill nearby, a pile of tattered clothes lay neatly folded next to a pile of new ones. The glass was covered up by cardboard in several places. Thankfully, the bit of glass that would have let the rising (or setting) sunlight blind her by now was one of those places. Still, she squinted, in a mix of curiosity and disbelief. Where the hell was she? The cold draft over her barely-covered form was her first clue. As she looked down for the first time, it became all to clear. The paper sheets and metal arm rails gave it all away: Metropolis Med.
Chloe's head was spinning. Her hair was in a matted mess, and she smelled awful. She felt like she had just woken from a bad dream. But, had this all been some sort of dream, she half-hoped, half-wondered. Where were Clark, or Lana? Was the world really as near-death as she last left it? Maybe Clark would come through the door and apologize for leaving her at the dance during the tornado, and sweep her off her feet all over again. Maybe he would come and tell her, even more apologetically, that he was seeing Lana, and he wouldn't leave town for a whole summer and force her to lie to her best friend. Chloe was sure: He would come through that door, any minute now, and ask her to Prom. "I still owe you from a few years ago" he would say. Maybe this had all been a dream. A very long, very bad dream. Chloe relished the thought only a little longer. The disrepair of the building across the street could be plainly seen through the half-broken window next to her. More than a little troubled by the weakening argument for her previous realities, Chloe sank into her hospital bed.
Something struck her suddenly: The silence of it all, and the cold. It was much colder than even the coldest hospital room. A very noticeable draft came through the non-window, and rustled her sheets. There was none of the familiar staccato beeping of a monitor. No drip-drop of any IV's. In the blackout she had begun to wonder would ever end, Met Med had apparently gone low-tech. The sudden light rapping on her door caught Chloe off-guard "Co-come in" she said suddenly aware of why the draft was so noticeable. She felt the uncomfortably thin paper sheet almost float on her bare skin. As she drew the "sheet up" to her au natural form, it seemed the hospital was so over-run, even paper gowns were in short supply. " And here, I thought things couldn't get any worse." She smirked.
An unassuming woman with portly features and skin the color of the dark chocolates Chloe had stashed in her desk drawer at the Planet entered with a bit of a hobble. "Oh, now. Don't mind me, missus. Just makin' sure everything's alright, is awl." The nurse glanced at the new pile of clothes near her. "Awh, we' nah ain't dat jus de swaetest thing? Ee e'ven brough' ewe clowes? Nah, ain't dat nise, mmmmmm hmmm." "Wait, he, who's he?" Chloe asked, trying to make sense through the nurse's drawl. "Well, yur boyfriend 'course. Ee's been here fur da pas' too daes. Ee e'en staid pas' visitin' ours, sleepin' in dat chair over dare. Den 'g'in; we don't 'nforce de visitin' ours quite so much a' times o' of nation'l crysis. Wha' woul' da sinse in dat be? Eniwae, I foun' 'im snuzin over in dat chur dis mornin', told'm ta go git one of dem bottles uh Starbuk's frap-somethin-er-uthas 'before the luters giet to it 'gain. Ee shoul' be bak in a few, so don't ewe wor'y, missus. Jus' set tight andure man'll be righ' bak hur fur ya." With that, the nurse slowly made her exit. "Dat is, of course, 'less de looters git ta 'em firs" She let out a cackle as the door shut behind her with a soft hiss.
Chloe's mind was racing. Clark, here? Since when did he drink Starbucks? Surely, she'd have to tease him about it when he got back. Knowing that he was here, somehow, even with everything that was going on outside and in, she felt safe, she knew she was covered, that nothing could happen to her now. Even though she knew he had to go out and "save the world" that night, however many nights ago at the Daily Planet, it felt good to have him back again, back to save her.
It was at that point that Chloe was reminded of her undress.
"Shit."
Soon, she was on her feet, a little awkward, a little unstable, sliding her foot, then her calve, and finally almost her whole leg into the simple white panties that laid in front of her. She dared not look at the other pair. Just as she was about to slide the other in, the door behind her opened. She whirled around, desperately trying to cover herself and, with one loud "thunk" lost her footing and slammed her head into the bedside table smartly. She just barely caught sight of red hair on the way down.
"Ow." The statement was simple, but Chloe thought it expressed her current mood quite well. "Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Clar-" The face that peered over her was decidedly not Clark's. It had, as she just barely caught sight of, short-cut wavy hair the color of autumn leaves and dark green eyes hidden behind thick-framed glasses. "Emo-glasses" her classmates used to call them. There was slight stubble on the cheeks, and one eyebrow was pierced. Clark definitely didn't have any piercings. At least, none that Chloe knew about. He certainly didn't wear that much eyeliner. "Wait, you're not…" Chloe stopped half-sentence. She desperately grabbed for the sheet on the bed above her, covering her exposed form. Whoever this guy was, he had certainly gotten quite the show. Clumsy-naked-girl was all laid out before him. But where was Clark? The Nurse had said, among other, less coherent, things, that Clark was here.
"Um, you…you probably don't know me."
"Understatement" just didn't quite cover it. "but, you see, well, um, I sit a few cubicles down from you at the Planet. Well, I sat a few cubicles down from you at the Daily Planet. Who knows what happened to it, now. A-Anyways, I um, I saw you in the street. You looked pretty bad. So, well, so I took you here. I figure they could do more than I could." He chuckled out a nervous laugh. "A-Aanyways, I'm Jimmy. Jimmy Olsen." For some reason, Chloe still half-hoped he'd say Clark Kent.
As, "Jimmy", or whoever the Hell this pierce'd creep way outstretched his hand in the classic American gesture, Chloe was again reminded, even through her mounting confusion, of just how little she was wearing.
"Well, Jimmy, if you'll excuse me" she said, nodding towards the thin sheet separating her from eyes that either knew too little about applying eyeliner or far too much. "I would kind of like to put some clothes on…" "Oh, right, yes. Sorry. Um,you'd probablylike me to… you know… leave, wouldn't you." "Yes, Jimmy, yes I would." As the messenger-bag toting mass of awkwardness hobbled his way out of the room, Chloe, after careful inspection out the window to make sure that no peeping-tom refugees of the end-of-the-world were peering into her half-window, slipped her other leg into the underwear that, she could only assume, her new "acquaintance" had gotten her. When she noticed the "Victoria's Secret" tag on the inside, she couldn't help but snort. Bet he got a real kick out of shopping for these. But look on the bright side; at least it isn't mesh or lace, or dental floss. Soon, she was shimmying into a pair of jeans that was just a bit too tight for her taste, especially with a bruised hip. Then, after deciding against the bra that, she was sure would either be a little too big, or a little too perfect of a fit (Chloe didn't know which outcome would be worst, unless of course, it was a bit too small) She slipped on the (obviously a man's) Death Cab for Cutie t-shirt, and laced up a pair of Converse sneakers that were a size or two too small.
"You can come in now." she said, a little dreadful of each of the five words as it was spoken. Still quite sore, she tried to find some sort of comfortable position in the very uncomfortable hospital bed. Just as she found a spot that wouldn't leave her too much sorer than when she came, she finally got a good look at this "Jimmy" he was of an average height, though a skinnier frame. He, too was wearing Chuck Taylor's, though his were old and worn-one toe was covered in duct tape, both had all sorts of little scribblings in different colored pens. He was sporting a pair of slightly faded chocolate-colored corduroys. He had on a matching black Death Cab shirt, hidden behind a partially-un buttoned army green cargo-shirt. Slung around his shoulder was a similarly military-looking messenger bag, which he held in place with his left hand. In his right, he clutched a black golf cap. Chloe noticed a small symbol tattooed on his inner wrist.
"Look, um, Chloe." Great, the creep even knew her name. Next thing you know, he'll be showing up at her doorstep at 2:00 in the morning in the pouring rain singing love songs about how he wants to just end all the pain. Did that just rhyme?Why, he could make an Emo-song out of it! "Jimmy"s mumbled voice broke her train of thought. "The, um, the doctor is here to see you, Chloe. He, he wants to talk about what happened, you know, with the um…attack and all." Chloe inadvertently glanced at the blood-stained pile sitting in the chair next to her. "So, um, he said that, you know, if you're ready to talk about, well, um, about…a-anyways… he's um, he's ready to see you." Oh, and it's a HE. Even better. And here I thought my day could only get worse. "O-Oaky, let him in." was all she could squeak out.
Trying, for reasons she couldn't explain, to look resolute and strong in front of this complete stranger, Chloe only began to remember, to un-supress the memories she had been suppressing since she woke up in the dumpster of an alleyway however many mornings ago, until after "Jimmy" left. By the time he returned, she couldn't help her sobbing.