Disclaimer: Many of the characters and settings in these stories are the property of others (Warner Bros., Bad Hat Harry Productions, et al.) or are used ficticiously. Some of the ideas and most of the plot points are my own
A/N -- Thank you good reader for the warm reception of this new section of the Trust Saga. No applause, don't throw money, just send reviews. A line or two is all it takes.
Chapter Four: Chloe and a Friend's Devotiion
My name is Chloe Sullivan.
I was Clark Kent's side kick long before the whole boots and cape thing, and rumors of my death have been exaggerated. But not by much.
Everyone thought I died on September 11th, 2001 covering a business story at the World Trade Center. I actually swapped that assignment -- off the books and without permission -- with a travel writer for a cruise ship story in the Aegean Sea. The ship sank, and I washed up on the shores of Paradise Island, Themyscaria, Island of the Amazons. I had no memory of anything before that day washing up on the beach: complete retrograde amnesia. I remembered how to speak. I knew that George W. Bush was the President of the United States. But I had no idea who I was. None at all. Until a few days ago when Diana, Crown Princess of the Amazons, asked me to attend the Pulitzer Prize Ceremony with her and a small honor guard of Amazons. There I saw Clark Kent in a tux. And it all came rushing back to me. My mother disappearing, my father raising me, Clark, Lana, Lex, Oliver, Watchtower, Boy Scout, Superman; everything came back in one moment of crystal clarity. No wonder I hadn't formed in serious relationships with any of the Amazons: some part of me knew I was still in love with Clark Kent.
I'm currently fighting a Superman clone with swords. No, no. I've got the swords; and it has, well, all of Clark's powers and a cheap costume shop imitation Batman cape and cowl over an older version of Clark's Superman uniform. No, I'm not taking on the one in Upstate New York, where the Space Cop and the Bat are waiting on Steel and the Manhunter from Mars for back up. No. Not me. I'm way out in Lowell County, Kansas. I'm fighting alone, just me and my swords and my Amazon Battle Armor, outside my old stomping grounds in Smallville.
Thrust. Perry. Block. Bring both of the swords around and…no wait. It's trying to focus its eyes and concentrating very hard. Heat vision must be coming! I toss one of my swords high into the air and bring up a highly polished gauntlet. I hope this works out like when Diana does her thing with bullets. Heat beams are bouncing off the gauntlet!! Now if I can just twist it right. No! Not the power pole!! Let me just move the gauntlet a little bit more.
The clonething shouts, "AAAACCCCHHH!! That no am tickle. Girl am bounce me eye lasers back in face. That do it. Now me am take off gloves." The clone actually pauses and begins to remove his black fanged gloves, gloves that look like a costume shop imitation of the ones the Bat wore in Upstate New York. "Me am no more mister nice…." The clone drones on, but I saw Jor-El before I jumped out of the Invisible Jet to knocked the clone over. Catching the sword, I glance behind me and see Jor-El flying off with a truck over his head, carrying Martha and her friend and a small boy who takes after Lois, but has Clark's eyes. Jason.
Jason.
I'm not here because my cousin, Lois Lane, Jason's mother, called me. I'm not here to prove anything to myself or to my Sisters. I'm here distracting this Batzarro Imposter, to let Jor-El get them to the Portal in the Kowachee Caves. I'm here for doing this for Clark, the one man I have been in love with since the eighth grade.
The day I met him, Clark was a little bit awkward, a bookish type. He hadn't had his growth spurt yet. He certainly couldn't outrace speeding bullets or change the course of mighty rivers. But he was kind and considerate. He showed me around the school like I was the only one in his world. And yet he seemed to know everyone. The jocks somehow didn't push him around at lunch or make him carry their trays. The garage band stoners flipped him a CD. The theatre people wanted him to run the sound board for their next play. Even the popular girls, and the cheerleaders greeted him in the hallways. He was the friendliest guy in school. The sweetest, most sincere guy on the planet, the one who always saw the good in people, who saw and believed in qualities they didn't even recognize in themselves. He even read my articles and introduced me to the newspaper sponsor. I don't know where the milquetoast who tripped over his own feet at the Daily Planet came from, but that's not the guy I knew in high school.
I loved him from the first day I saw him, before cape and boots, before he lead the Smallville High Crows to win the State Football Championship, back when he ran a slow 40 yard dash, and could hardly long jump five feet much less leap tall buildings in a single bound.
Oh, God! Girl, get back to the present! That clone has gone and ripped a road sign right out of the ground. He's swinging it. Duck. Let it go over my head. Now! Palms flat on top of the swords and whip those legs around while he's off balance and take his legs out from under him. Yes!! And back up in fighting stance: Both swords at the ready, pointed at him: one low, the other high.
In a flash he's back up on his feet. This must be how Neo felt the first time he fought Smith in the subway in the first Matrix move. Dodge the subway train and Smith just steps right out, hair combed, new glasses and full magazine in his sidearm.
The monster is drawing in a huge breath, even sucking the air out of my lungs. Oh, Heaven help me! Now it's blowing it right at me. I can't stand against this. I'm flying backward. Swords gone. Shield flying away. Cape blown off. Helmet bouncing down the black top. All I've got left is my Amazon battle armor and my black leather jacket. Queen Hippolyta would really be impressed with me now. And Atremis my swordswomynship instructor.
Here goes! I'm getting back up for some just plain kung-fu. Get my legs under me. Try to stand up. Oh. No. That thing is leaping right over me. It's got the metal pipe the with the road sign. It's ripping off the road sign. Thwack!! I'm down on my back looking over at the sign sticking right out of the black top next to my head. Kansas Rout Nine. Imagine that. Oh! Shiiii! Crack!!! Why am I bothering to wipe the concrete dust off my face from where the Bizarre Imposter wearing Clark's old uniform under some kind of costume shop Batman outfit just smashed the bulb of concrete off the bottom of the signpost? Oh womyn! There it goes up in the air. The end of the signpost is coming straight down for me. My life is flashing before my eyes. My finger tips brush past that lantern shaped lapel pen the Space Cop gave me. I hope this qualifies as sanctioned combat! OurFatherwhoartinheavenhallowedbethyname. Try to roll. Sch'maIsraelAdonai-ElohanuAdonaiEcha—AAAAAAAA!!!!!
My eyes swim back into focus. Short dark hair, and black sunglasses, a long black trench coat over black shirt, black pants and black boots. Very tall, about six foot four. A tear in his eyes. He's dressed like Neo, but that face, it's Clark. It's Clark! I'm not Dead! I'm Alive!!
"Hey, Clark, are you going to get back down here and pull this pole out of me or do I have to do it myself?" I can barely speak through cracked and blood stained lips.
His face begins to brighten. I can see in his eyes that he's processing something. Now relief and joy flood his face.
The Last Son of Krypton again kneels next to the Newest Amazon and looks over me with joy and pain fighting for control of his face. "How?" was the only word he could get through his lips.
I slowly raise my left hand to the black leather lapel of my jacket and fingered a lapel pin that resembled Green Lantern's Ring. "Green Lantern Express." I say weekly. "Don't leave home without it."
"What?" Superman asks, confused.
"It's a Lantern Corps reserve charge," I whisper through cracked lips with a bruised face. "It protects the bearer against mortal injury while engaged in sanctioned combat." I struggled to smile and reached up tentatively to take his hand.
"Oh," the Man of Steel says as though he understands completely. His face speaks volumes though his voice says very little: He is sure it will make sense later. Right now all he knows is that his friend and confidante is alive and feelings of relief and gratitude to that Highest of Powers who worked in mysterious through alien science to save his …friend. Somehow the word friend doesn't do justice for the feelings he has right now. He looks sure that this, too, will sort itself out later.
"Clark, how about a hand with this pole, huh?" I ask.
"Oh, right." He blurs for an instant and hands me a popsicle stick. "Here, bight down on this." Then he takes the pole and yanks it out of me. I collapse in a heap, faint from the pain. Then Man of Tomorrow gives me a hand up.
"Fire up the portal, Son of Krypton." I say, "Let's go see your family."