I do not own Smallville.
So I think this is the end of the AU of Bride part of this drabble series
Exhilaration
The doctor's office smells like disinfectant, clean and fetid of latex and medication, the sharp steel and plastic of needles. Chloe flips through a magazine, slender fingers turning pages, the crisp, sharp sound of moving paper. It lazes apathetically in the corner of his mind, unwillingly dormant, sustaining itself off the raw meat and blood digesting in his stomach, the sour taste of stale copper on his tongue. White walls and white linoleum and a white coat, blindingly colorless as he enters the examination room with Chloe. An internal conflict rages within him while Chloe undresses, clothing sliding gracefully to the floor, golden skin exposed to florescent lighting for a brief moment, then covered by thin material.
"Good to see you again Miss Sullivan." It protests darkly when the doctor smiles at Chloe, touches her, glove covered hands skimming across supple flesh. "You must be the father." He nods, a robotic movement, it beams triumphantly within him, a crooked smile of elongated teeth. "How about we take a look at your baby." Chloe's still flat stomach is smeared with gel, he watches, transfixed, waiting for the image on the screen to appear, inhuman and vicious, all claws and fangs visible on the sonogram. Instead, there are two peanut shaped forms, barely recognizable as an embryo, little more than a three month old cluster of cells. "Would you look at that." A congratulatory grin. "You're having twins."
The constant concern in the pit of his stomach doubles.
Another month goes by, a bump forms beneath Chloe's shirts, small, almost unnoticeable. A tedium of false happiness settles over his life, a routine of work and worry and Chloe. Nights grow increasingly troublesome, terrifying dreams, rivers of blood gushing from between Chloe's legs, flooding the hospital floor crimson, inhuman infants held in latex covered hands, miniature replications of it, feeding off doctors and nurses for nourishment. Cold sweats and tears on his skin in the darkest hours of the night.
"I….I don't understand." The doctor stares at the blue screen in disbelief, melancholy lines in the corners of his mouth.
"What is it?" Chloe sits up, glistening emerald eyes, trembling pink lower lip.
"There's only one embryo." A sympathetic glance; open mouth full of explanations. He listens to words, to medical scenarios, knowledge he's learned, facts he knows are untrue. One of the babies within Chloe had been his, and now its offspring has devoured it, consumed his green eyed, dimpled, chubby cheeked child.
He holds Chloe as she cries; hot tears burn his skin, searing liquid sadness.
Consternation
The exuberant sparkle in Chloe's green eyes returns as her stomach grows, a pronounced swell beneath cloth. Time is his enemy, his lover, his friend, his fear. Sun rises and sun sets, light and dark, the dreaded day fast approaching. Midnight runs for Chinese and ice cream, chicken nuggets and pickles; food for the offspring of it. Lois throws Chloe a baby shower, happiness and laughs and gifts, tiny clothes and tiny toys, pink and blue and white. He and Clark build a crib, sullen, quiet, awkward, the dry scent of freshly cut wood, splinters in his skin.
"You have to tell her." Clark growls, sawdust on flannel sleeves, chips of wood in dark hair, cold, judging blue eyes.
"She doesn't need to dread it too." It growls back, it takes every modicum of self-control he possess to keep his hands at his sides, from wrapping themselves around Clark's neck, squeezing until life vanishes and anger flourishes, a violent, aggressive flower.
"How are you going to explain to her when her baby comes out a monster? A mother's love is supposed to be unconditional, but there's a limit Davis." He continues to sand the wood, automatic movement of muscles, wearing away layer after layer.
"Would you want someone to tell you what you have growing inside you?"
"Yes, I would." White paint splashes onto wood, dripping, running over sides, smearing into an even coat, a glossy sheen. "What if it kills her?"
"It won't." He'll share his body with it for eternity if its child will only spare him Chloe. His dreams of fatherhood and domesticity are ruined, shattered glass on the unrelenting pavement, crunching beneath fate's feet.
"And if the baby is….like you?"
"You'll have to kill it." It won't let him take the thing's life, but if Clark cares for Chloe, he'll do it.
"It's beautiful!" Chloe cries, a warm kiss on his cheek, his jaw, silken press of lips and wet slip of tongue. She hugs Clark, slender arms around broad shoulders. He stares at her stomach, seven pounds of future death and destruction and doom lurking just beneath the skin, feeding and living and growing. Three weeks until Chloe's life is ruined forever. Suddenly, emerald eyes widen, a hand moves to her abdomen, another grips his shoulder.
The destruction of his happiness is coming sooner than anticipated.
Expectation
"We can't take her to a hospital." He says to Clark, exigent tone, a harsh whisper.
"Lois is already taking her to the car." Clark responds, heated breath across his ear, hot, unpleasant, redolent of honesty. "Drive on the side road, I'll take care of everything." A rush of wind and when he turns Clark is gone.
"Get in the car dad before I drive the damn thing myself." Lois puts hands on his shoulders, shoves him into a leather seat.
"For a paramedic, you don't seem to understand the gravity of this situation." Chloe laughs, a forced sound, irritation and dry amusement. "That baby won't drive itself to the hospital after it's born."
"Sorry." He strains to smile, white teeth and aching cheek muscles. Clark climbs into the backseat beside Lois, nods at him. "I love you." He kisses her, tastes frosting and apple juice, chocolate and sweetness. "So much."
"I love you too, drive." He grips the wheel, absorbs the flavor of leather and plastic through his skin, mouth dry and acerbic with worry. Six miles of road, blur of trees and cornstalks, then there's a loud pop, hiss of escaping air, the car skids to a stop, Chloe smacks the dashboard with her hand and curses loudly.
"Shit, there's glass in the road, all your tires are flat." Lois holds up a gleaming shard, Clark meets his eyes, solemn, guilty.
"Clark, maybe you should run back to the farm, get your truck?" There's an urgency and secret understanding in Chloe's voice, one he doesn't understand.
"I'll do it Chloe, Clarky here may be muscular, but he isn't built for long distance." Lois darts off, sprinting towards the house far off in the distance. Chloe screams, short and mournful, it must be tearing her apart.
"Davis, I don't think the baby is going to wait for Lois to finish her cardio." Chloe's nails dig into his arm, drawing blood, a warm trickle down his bicep.
Ten minutes and five curse words later, crimson stained fingers and a soiled red jacket, it comes into the world.
Misinterpretation
The baby in his hands cries loudly, shrilly, pink skin and human features. Awe and unconditional love are powerful emotions, weights on his shoulders he's powerless to remove, crushing and debilitating and utterly wonderful. Chloe laughs, light and mellifluous, hands outstretched; strands of golden sunshine plastered to a sweaty forehead; exhausted jade eyes that sparkle with eagerness and adoration. She cradles their son close, bares her breast, exposing supple skin. He waits for a painful cry from Chloe, sharp teeth and little claws, instead there's only content sucking noises, soft, breathy swallowing, tiny fingers.
"Good job Chlo." Clark praises, Davis lets his eyes fall to Clark's hands, surprise flitters through him briefly, because Chloe was holding Clark's hands hard enough to draw gallons of blood and the flesh is unbroken. "He's beautiful."
"He is." Tears of joy sting his eyes and his throat tightens; unbridled happiness. He kisses her cheek, tastes salt and sweat and physical weariness, ten minutes of arduous effort. Chloe only takes a little hand in hers, nuzzles round, chubby cheeks. His mind is still reeling, turning in endless circles, because the baby is his, his son is actually his. It may control him and it may terrorize the city but it will never be the father of his and Chloe's child.
"Crap, don't tell me I'm too late." Gravel crunches beneath tires, Lois rushes over to examine the infant wrapped in Clark's jacket. "Look at him Chloe, half of Davis' DNA and he's actually adorable." It is angry at the loss of offspring and it wants to wring Lois' neck until the life drains from her brown eyes, then tear her flesh away in a warm mist of crimson. "Does he have a name yet?"
"I just gave birth four minutes ago Lois." Chloe smoothes wispy strands of blond hair down with her fingers, covers a small forehead in light kisses, showering the world's newest occupant in well deserved affection. "You can name him Davis." He doesn't have a name, is…was thoroughly detached from the life that was intended to be an extension of it.
"Eli." He whispers, voice soft, esophageal muscles tightening with emotion. He has a son and all the atrocities he's committed don't seem to matter.
"Eli." Chloe repeats, approvingly, switching their child to her right breast now. "As much as I've loved playing doctor with you Davis, I'd like to go to the hospital now."
Realization
Two and a half weeks of domestic bliss whirl by, diapers and crying and sleepless nights, dark circles under eyes and the clean, sweet smell of baby shampoo. Adjusting to happiness is a difficult, arduous task, it wants to feat and pillage and destroy; he wants to hold Eli and sleep. Conflicting interests and conflicting minds dwell within a single body, during the daytime he works, stopping bleeding and saving lives, and at night blood runs in red rivers of copper and death follows it like a morbid shadow.
Darkness permeates their bedroom, complete blackness, silence for the first time in seventeen days. Soft, content gurgles and peaceful sighs drift through the baby monitor; the most beautiful noises he's ever heard. A hot, silken body curls against his, redolent of perfume and breast milk and coconuts. He's half asleep, drowsy and warm beneath the covers, when Eli whines, close to crying.
"Mmm, the baby…" Chloe yawns, heated breath on the side of his neck.
"I'll get him." Eli doesn't need to eat for another hour, he needs to make up for hours when it stalks the city and Chloe's left alone. His son grows quiet in his arms, cooing, staring up at him with big green eyes. He sits with Eli in the rocking chair, a steady creak of wood, humming low in the back of his throat.
The tranquility and parental bonding is shattered like glass when Eli starts to cry. He rocks harder, with a desperate exigency, but the infant continues to scream, loud and shrill, small mouth a perfect circle. Little muscles tremble and tiny hands contort, he knows the signs, comes to a horrifying realization. He clutches his son close and watches baby-soft skin transform, fangs sprout from a toothless mouth, sobs of incredible, agonizing pain that is already engraved into his own memory. Love and tears sear his heart and face as he holds what is and isn't his son, it has passed on a dangerous allele but it hasn't won because he loves Eli. In the morning, sunlight shines in through the window; the dawn brings about the infant's return to human form but doesn't instill relief.
His son is just like him, and the world faces perpetual destruction.
Fin?
Reviews would be nice.
