I do not own Smallville, at all.
Warning:Character death!
Reviews would be appreciated.
Domestication
Eli gurgles in her arms, warm, tiny fingers explore her hand, skimming clumsily across her palm. Her baby coos and sighs in-between hungry, breathy, swallows; small mouth working in sucking motions, drawing nourishment from her body in an action she never knew could generate such a feeling of closeness, overwhelming affection. She wonders how the hell her mother could leave her as a child if this is what being a mother is like every single day. Eli is the little man she loves most in the world, silken blond hair and big, green eyes and soft skin that always smells of Johnson & Johnson shampoo.
"There's my boy." Davis walks through the bedroom door, lays a hand on Eli's head; an odd gleam in his brown eyes. It's been three months since Eli's birth, two and a half months of waking up for one and four a.m. feedings to find Eli cradled in Davis' arms, clutched almost desperately against a broad chest. "How'd your day go?" A warm kiss on the side of her mouth, the scent of blood and sweat and latex. "Anything unusual happen?" There's a strange inflection in Davis' tone, as though he expects Eli to do something truly remarkable despite his age.
"Eli spit up, I wouldn't call that unusual."
"Is that all?" Davis takes their son, cuddles him, nuzzles a tiny nose.
"No Davis, he wrote his first article for the Planet today, it had a few grammar mistakes, but he is only three months old." She laughs, pulling her shirt down, covering her breasts. "He sleeps, he needs his diaper changed, and he eats, a lot."
"Did someone keep mommy busy?" Eli's eyes flutter shut, a little thumb makes its way into his mouth.
They watch Eli sleep and later when the lights are off there's only heat and propinquity.
Explanation
Chloe leaves him and Clark alone with Eli one Saturday morning; the sun shines brightly outside, reflecting golden off blond hair, warm and pleasant and illuminating.
"Are you sure you don't want me to stay? Lois is capable of shopping for shoes by herself." Chloe half begs half questions, holding Eli close, kissing chubby cheeks and nuzzling a tiny nose, attached and affectionate like Eli needs. His son has a darkness lurking within his body, one he understands, and there are times when all that keeps him sane are the pleasant, smiling faces he comes home to.
"Go on, have fun." He has to pry Eli from loving arms, balancing the warm, soft toddler on his hip.
"Bye bye Eli." Chloe kisses Eli on the mouth, the chin, the forehead, receiving happy giggles.
"Bye mama!" Eli waves a little hand vigorously, shouting two of the thirty words he knows. The one year old can say good morning and good night, yes and no, certain foods and colors, dog and cat, and mom and dad. Before his son he never knew that words could sound so beautiful. "Hi oooncle Lar." Clark lifts Eli up, tickles his stomach, inciting more delighted laughter.
"Hey buddy, wanna go swimming in the lake?"
"No." Eli cries exuberantly, with a smile, embracing Clark's neck to the best of his ability. It tries to procure control, but he clenches his teeth until he tastes blood, sour copper, and watches Clark rub sunscreen onto Eli's smooth, baby-soft skin.
"Are you coming Davis?" He wonders how Clark can even ask the question. Eli is his son, not Clark's, never Clark's.
"Yes."
The weather is warm and the air is redolent clean water. Eli splashes in the shallows, droplets glistening in the sky like diamonds, jewels raining back down. Clark sits with Eli in the ankle deep liquid, and every grin directed at Clark is a sharp arrow in his heart, a stab of jealousy for it.
"It's almost time for his nap Clark." He picks up his damp toddler, and his shirt absorbs the excess moisture.
"Chloe says he takes it at one."
"I'm going to have to give him a bath before I put him to bed." He sets Eli back onto the grass when Clark scowls at him.
"Why do you hate me after all I've done for you? I'm keeping your secret; don't you think I want to tell Chloe what you are? What her baby almost was?" Clark is angry and he's angry and his hands want to squeeze and strangle until the fury in his heart fades. "I work for the Planet Davis; I know what you do at night when you can't control it."
"That isn't my fault." He growls, low and deep, he leans down for his son and the breath is sucked from his lungs when Eli isn't by his feet. "Eli!" The blond one year old is running on unsteady, wobbly legs towards the edge of the lake, dirt protruding five feet above the surface of the water, the closest thing to a cliff on Clark's farm. His blood runs cold, because his salvation is only three feet from plunging into chilly, liquid darkness. Even as he runs he can't help but think of how morbidly ironic it is that his world will begin and end with the same person.
There's a rush of wind and before he can blink Eli is cuddled contently in Clark's arms.
Fabrication
Normalcy doesn't exist, everyone everywhere is tainted. Davis realizes this as he snatches Eli from Clark, holding the warm, soft toddler in his arms, chubby hands and sticky fingers playfully tracing the lines of his jaw. Clark has always been the shining bastion of human perfection, pleasant features and a decent job, human skin and eyes that now, aren't as typical as he once thought. Clark is what he can never be but he's infected, trace amounts of green meteorite coursing through his blood, molecules of rock mutating his DNA. Clark has abilities, he's one of the people Chloe is trying to help and he suddenly understands her reason for such great compassion towards super powered beings, because her best friend is one.
"So you've been a meteor freak this entire time?" He snarls, low and primal, a deep growl of irritation in his throat. Eli whimpers at the noise, hides his face in the crook of Davis' neck. Its rage and fury are released when his own emotions run rampant, destroying inhabitations and common sense like it tears apart bodies and buildings; hot sprays of blood and the powder from concrete.
"Yes." Clark's voice is composed, steady, monotone. His muscles begin to ache and spasm, in wroth rather than transformation, bitter words and bitter sentiments on his tongue. Eli begins to cry, warm, salty years on his skin, and he gains a modicum of equanimity after a forced swallow.
"And you're the "red-blue blur"?" Clark tries to save the lives it takes and he respects him for it, hates himself and it. All the good deeds in the world will never erase what he's done, for it is said that one innocent life lost is permanent damage. His son continues to sob and he makes soothing sounds, steady, small bouncing motions, kissing a baby soft forehead and murmuring comfortingly.
"I am."
"How noble of you." Invisible venom drips wetly from his mouth; its vernacular poison. "It's good to know my antithesis exists somewhere." By day he does good and by night it hunts, feasting on tough, chewy flesh and copper blood. If Eli is his sin and his salvation then maybe Clark can be his redemption, right his wrongs and salvage from the ruins it leaves behind; scatter the seeds of life among the ashes of its deadly fire.
"Ome dada." Eli demands, one big, solitary tear rolling down his cheek, lower lip trembling.
"We'll talk about this later."
When Chloe returns his heart throbs painfully as Eli stretches his arms out to his mother, grabbing tiny fistfuls of her blouse, clinging to her in desperation, happier to be away from him then he's ever seen.
Immobilization
Clark stays with him in the apartment while Chloe goes to the Planet to review one of Lois' articles. They sip cold, bitter beer as Eli plays on the floor, clumsily stacking blocks and knocking them over, giggling with delight when the colored squares tumble to the carpet. He hates beer, the sour aftertaste that lingers on his tongue, a dull, acrid flavor, weaker then hard liquor. His experimentations to hold it in abeyance have produced strange, hopeful fruits. Scotch or whiskey or tequila every two hours are helpful. The amber liquid burns his throat, sears his esophageal muscles, a fire in the pit of his stomach when it settles, sitting in the lining like lead. When the world is slow and hazy and unfocused it is dormant, lazy and content, torpid like it is after a repast of human flesh. The alcohol destroys his liver and hinders its dominance, but it still seizes control of his muscles on occasional nights and he wakes wet and painted with red copper; a morbid, moving canvas. He needs to keep it from resurfacing for Eli's sake, his latest attempts have failed and he doesn't know what else there is to try.
"You don't have to be here." He announces, draining his bottle, watching Eli chew curiously on a red block. "Why are you here?" He and Clark are never going to be best friends.
"You shouldn't be alone with Eli." Clark waves to his, who waves back, blows a sloppy kiss. "You could hurt him."
"I would never hurt my son." He won't, it's his newest mantra, what he tells himself every time the excruciating pain begins, because Eli is his son but Eli is itsson too. It has no emotions, only a sense of possession, and Eli is so deeply wound into its mind that he has to be safe, because if Eli isn't then no one in the world is.
"Can you guarantee that?" He wants Clark to leave, grips the cool, glass bottle in his hand so hard it cracks, shards cutting into the soft skin of his palms, trickles of red dripping onto his pants.
"I think I can." He isn't sure and it laughs, a low, dry sound emitting from his throat. Eli stares at him with round, frightened green eyes, and Clark raises an eyebrow. He can feel the ache in his skin and Clark's gaze turns to his hand, where agony erupts and a spike protrudes from the bones, cracking calcium based metacarpals.
"I'm taking Eli." A rush of wind on his face and then Clark is holding Eli, tickling his son's stomach, a hand on the toddler's back.
"Don't…" His body spasms; the taste of metal is on his tongue. "I…I can…" He can't control it; he's a marionette awaiting a tug of his strings.
Clark goes out the door and the stirrings on transformation cease; it has no intention of hunting.
Manifestation
His mind is thrust from comforting darkness. Pain singes his neurons, sets them ablaze with imaginary fire. When he opens his eyes his skin is free of blood; a rarity, but cool air wafts across bare skin, raising goose bumps and causing shivers. Chloe is watching him and his blood turns to powder, stops completely in his veins and arteries. She knows now and his world is going to fall apart, and even if it doesn't, she will never look at him the same way again.
"Good, you arrived sooner than I expected." Chloe's eyes are dull, with dark circles; monotone voice.
"Chloe?" He asks, finding a pair of boxers on the floor, not entirely naked anymore but he's never felt more vulnerable.
"In the flesh, so to speak." A mechanical smile, white teeth without emotion; like the gleam of cold steel. "Get dressed, we're leaving." Chloe isn't herself, dry and stoic, green eyes a soft silver color.
"Chloe, what's wrong with you?" He puts his hands on slender shoulders, touches her face, brushing his thumb across smooth flesh.
"Chloe doesn't exist." She grips his wrist, hard, steel-like fingers, bruising his muscles, close to cracking bone, snapping his radius as though it is a pencil. Something isn't right and he can't move his feet, his body immobile, still under the steely, unflinching glare.
"Where's Eli?" He stares down the dark hallway, shrouded in blackness. He can't hear Eli crying and he doesn't know if it's a good sign or a bad one.
"The baby?" Whatever is inside Chloe grins again, maliciously amused eyes. "I'll go get him." Now it won't let him move, it is showing deference for the first time. "Say hello to your father." Eli is half asleep, groggy, rubbing sleepily at his big green eyes, trying to wrap his arms around Chloe's neck and drift back to sleep. Chloe sets Eli down on the carpet; his son begins to cry, tears rolling down his face in clear, salty droplets.
"Chloe, whatever is going on with you, I can help you. I know what it's like to have something inside you that you can't control. You just have to fight it."
"You may retain some modicum of control, but Chloe Sullivan does not. My intellect is superior." Horror dawns on him when he realizes that Chloe is truly gone, because Eli is crying and reaching his arms up for her. No mother is capable of ignoring her sobbing child if she has the opportunity to soothe him.
"I love you Chloe, I promise that…."
"Please, don't waste your breath. Your pathetic "feelings" for me, they're just part of your programming. You were created to be attached to my vessel." Chloe cups his cheeks with one hand, nails digging into his skin, blood dripping down his jaw.
"That's not true. I love Chloe, we have a son." He wants to pick up Eli so badly his heart aches.
"You have a "son" because I allowed you to. He's far more efficient than either of us. Your abilities, my intelligence, with the control over his transformations and sans the need for a human host. With the proper instruction" Chloe laughs, low and hollow, a metallic sound, electricity surging through cables. "He will do far more destruction then either of us can hope to accomplish."
"Mama." Eli's lower lip is trembling, chubby hands tugging at the leg of her jeans. "Up peas." For all the mental superiority the thing in Chloe is claiming Eli possesses, his son appears to be a normal one year old.
Chloe lifts Eli into her arms, cuddles him, places a kiss on his cheek, feigning affection.
"It's time for all of us to be going."
Procrastination
The world rushes by with remarkable speed. One of Chloe's hands is on his wrist, unyielding, icy fingers holding it tightly. He blinks and suddenly the movement is finished, he's standing in snow and he can vaguely feel searing cold on his bare feet, numb but not unpleasant. His breath crackles in the air, rising in wispy white tendrils. Eli nuzzles his face in Chloe's neck, clutching little fistfuls of her blouse, drowsy and content. White crystals shimmer above him, around him; like pieces of ice that will never melt. Chloe releases his wrist and touches one; they all turn to black, the color of ink, shining sinister.
"Where are we?" He tries to pry Eli from Chloe's arms; it resumes control of his muscles.
"Nowhere you need to concern yourself with." A dry, monotone voice; expressionless, the mechanical working of facial muscles.
"Ome mama." Eli yawns, a hand on Chloe's face, another on her collarbone, little fingers tracing patters on smooth skin.
"I'm not your mother." Eli's lower lip trembles as he stares at Chloe, understanding sparkling in big, green eyes.
"Dada!" Eli reaches for him now, straining, slaps at Chloe's chest. Chloe only holds Eli tighter; his son stiffens as Chloe kisses him in a parody of maternal affection, cool lips and unnaturally pale skin.
"Don't hurt him." He begs, pleading, his face reflecting in metallic eyes.
"I utilize my creations, I don't destroy them." Eli is shivering in fear and discomfort, still reaching for him and it won't allow him to comfort his son.
"What do you want with me?" Eli cries, long and loud, hiccuping sobs. He can't say a reassuring word and it's ironic that he only feels completely vulnerable when he's with Chloe.
"It's it obvious?" A pause, a thumb wipes tears from Eli's cheeks. "You're going to destroy the world."
It's his worst nightmare and he isn't sleeping, there's no possibility of waking up, drenched in sweat but safe beside Chloe in bed.
"I won't do it." It may have control in the night but the days are his. He'll kill himself or he'll stop himself, whatever is necessary to save the six billion people it considers prey.
"You say that like you have a choice." His feet move without his permission. "Twelve days in your pod and your human side will cease to exist."
He's enclosed in crystal and the last thing he hears before sleep overtakes him is the sound of Eli crying.
Variation
Day 1: Snow begins to build on the outside of his crystal case, frosty white that warps outside images. Fantasy and reality merge into one, because he thinks he can hear Clark and he swears he sees the blurry outline of a red jacket.
Day 2: His heartbeat changes. Slow, slow beats that become less and less frequent. He doesn't feel any different, but then the sporadic beating ceases completely and he's still alive.
Day 3: Claws replace hands; he can't stop thinking about his family, matching blond hair and emerald eyes. He's never going to see them again; Chloe no longer inhabits her own body; Eli is going to grow up without affection. It is stronger then it previously has been, growing and evolving and waiting. Eight more days and he'll vanish from the realm of the tangible.
Day 4: Bright, white sunlight shines on his skin, warm and wonderful and alive. His cage is gone and Clark is standing before him with Eli on his shoulders.
"Dada!" Eli smiles, dimples and the occasional pearly tooth.
He can only smile and hug Eli close, soft, heated, yielding body against his bare chest, small, strong arms around his neck, a clumsy, sloppy brush of a tiny mouth across his cheek.
"Where's Chloe?" He asks; the taste of metal in his mouth, a sour lump of dread in his stomach.
"In Smallville, she's back to normal."
He begrudgingly allows Clark to run them home and when the wind stops rushing by his ears and land is no longer a blur; the anger swirling in his veins resurfaces.
"It took you four days to realize something was wrong?"
Restoration
Eli cries for him early in the morning, faint, golden streams of sunlight illuminating patches of white carpet, reflecting yellow off blond hair. It's the first time since Eli is capable of vocalization that his son doesn't call out for Chloe, reach for his mother and curl strands of bullion hair around his small fingers. He kisses Eli's cheek, can smell Johnson & Johnson and bananas mingling together, fresh and sweet and a hint of stickiness. He brushed Eli's teeth before putting the toddler to bed and how banana is on Eli's skin is a mystery. Eli is warm and soft and squirming in his arms, babbling contently, chewing on his fingers, slurping cheerfully around them. His son's happiness vanishes and tiny muscles stiffen, Eli clings to his neck and hides his face in Davis' shoulder when Chloe attempts to kiss Eli's forehead, smooth down stray strands of silken hair.
"No." Eli murmurs, shaking his head vigorously, slapping exigently at Chloe's hand as fingers stroke along chubby cheeks. "No mama. Mama all gone." Eli's terrified and he can feel the frightened trembles. Chloe croons and whispers sweetly, comforting sounds and reassuring words, but Eli whimpers.
"Mommy's right here Eli." He doesn't know what occurred while he was locked away in his crystal cage but Eli won't look at Chloe, clutches him like the world is ending.
"Come here sweetheart." Chloe takes Eli without permission, Eli strains for him, reaching desperately, and Chloe only cuddles him closer, holds the wriggling one year old against her chest. "Shh." Eli goes limp, slowly sits up, staring right into Chloe's eyes, green on green, small hands resting on either side of Chloe's face. "It's me." Chloe nuzzles Eli's nose; the toddler smiles, plants a wet, clumsy kiss on Chloe's lips, his mouth in the shape of a loose O, weakly puckered.
"Lo oo mama." Eli grips fistfuls of Chloe's shirt like he used to.
Hours pass and Eli lies between them in bed, crawling and playing beneath the covers, tickling their feet and stomachs, peeking out from underneath the blankets, laughing and giggling before disappearing once more.
It's almost eleven when they finally go into the kitchen and Eli sits happily on Chloe's lap, messily eating spoonfuls of yogurt.
Assimilation
Chloe takes Eli to work with her for the first week after the incident. On his lunch break he joins them, carrying coffee and sandwiches and potato chips. Eli is always sitting in Chloe's lap, coloring on sheets of blank paper with crayons as Chloe types on the computer, green eyes glued to the screen; transfixed in a healthy, admirable way, a gleam of accomplishment rather than complete and utter understanding. Eli smiles at him, small white teeth and dimples, and he stops his son from sticking a red crayon into his mouth, gnawing on wax.
"Don't eat that sweetheart." Chloe laughs, half hearted scolding, letting Eli eat the whipped cream from the top of her latte, coating his mouth and cheeks and chin in sticky white. "How has your day been going Davis?" Chloe sips her coffee and he watched the minute contractions of her throat muscles as she swallows, the shine of gold in her hair, vibrancy in her jade eyes. The steel and mechanics are gone, flesh and blood and emotion returned.
"Fine." Blood and injuries and a warm drink of stale copper, an empty donor blood bag under the front seat. He sits in the chair beside Chloe's desk and examines Eli's scribbles, lines of red and blue and green across white, connecting and overlapping; hardly a masterpiece, but he's going to put it on one of the ambulance walls, and in the paramedic break room back at the hospital. Eli crunches on Lays potato chips and he uses a napkin to wipe the salt from his son's fingers. Normalcy is slowly creeping back into their lives. Dread hangs heavy in the back of his mind, however, because it hasn't surfaced in seven days and he knows it is stronger than ever before.
Later, he opens his eyes and finds himself in his living room. He can't remember leaving Chloe's office, can't remember anything. It is now capable of taking him over completely, without transformation. He's lost an enormous chunk of time and there isn't even the taste of blood or human flesh on his tongue.
The light on the answering machine is blinking and he listens to Chloe tell him angrily that she's staying with Lois until he apologizes for his inappropriate behavior.
Elucidation
Rose stems are sharp with thorns between his fingers. The air is redolent of flowers, fresh, sweet, tainted with apology. He can't remember what he did, what it did, but incipient heartbreak lingers in the atmosphere, entering and exiting his body with each inhale and exhale. A toy car sits lifelessly in his left palm, a gift for Eli, bright red with shiny wheels, toddler friendly, without choking hazards. His recollections of the last twelve hours are hazy, fogged, darkness and empty spaces, voids that can't be filled. He needs her back, needs his son back, so badly his chest aches and his bones feel heavy, shapes of lead beneath his skin.
"Well, what do you know, it's the jackass." Lois greets him with a snarl and it throbs with the desire to strangle her, wring hands around her neck until breathing ceases and bruises mark the unhealthily tanned skin.
"Where are Chloe and Eli?" He enters the apartment without asking, gently moving Lois aside despite the overwhelming desire to kill and draw blood and make someone hurt as much as it is hurting. It has lost its master and it is surprisingly upset about it.
"She's giving him a bath." Lois crosses her arms across her chest, indignant expression, as though she is somehow personally involved in his and Chloe's personal life.
"Wawa!" He can hear Eli babbling, soft splashes of water, mellifluous laughter.
"Water Eli. Wa-ter." Chloe explains slowly; Davis can almost see her smile.
"Wa-er." Chloe chuckles, he doesn't have to look into the bathroom to know she's placing a kiss on Eli's cheek. "Dada!" Eli waves to him from the bathtub, droplets of water glistening on his skin, Chloe's sleeves are soaked up to her elbows.
"Roses, somehow I don't think thorns and cellulose and chlorophyll is going to make me feel better." She brings the flower to her nose to hide a half smile, a tiny flash of white. There's a bruise on the lower left side of Chloe's jaw, a spot of purple. He hopes he isn't the one who's caused it. It has always been enamored with Chloe but if what not-Chloe said is true, then its attachment to Chloe has vanished.
"I can buy you something else." Chloe laughs, faint amusement gleaming in green eyes.
"I imagined you'd be better at apologizing."
"Knowing what I did would help." He settles to his knees beside her, rolls up his sleeves and tickles Eli's stomach, splashes warm water at the toddler.
"You don't remember?"
"I told you that I have black outs, I can't even remember leaving your office after lunch." Confessing and exposed and vulnerable, his heart in his hands.
"Oddly enough, that explains everything. You weren't yourself." Chloe hugs him, pressed flush against him. He can't imagine what he did to her that she would consider leaving him for.
"What did…" A smooth, water warmed finger presses to his lips, a mouth touches his cheek.
"It doesn't matter."
She kisses his mouth, his chin, a heated line down his neck.
Termination
He loses chunks of time with an increasing frequency. When it finally retreats to the recesses of his consciousness and he is once again aware of the world, minutes and hours and occasionally days have passed. Blood is never on his skin and the taste of copper is absent from his tongue. Chloe and Eli don't appear to notice, he's always greeted with kisses and hugs and little hands tugging at his pant legs. He's rapidly losing control, entering a downward spiral, after the incident with who Chloe called Brainiac it is more powerful than he's ever imagined.
"Try convincing the hospital not to schedule you to work on Saturdays." Tousled, early morning blonde hair and sleepy green eyes, half open robe with one of his t-shirts beneath it. "Eli might not be able to play catch with you yet, but generally children should spend time with their fathers." Chloe scrambles Eli's eggs in a bowl, pours them into a pan, they hiss and sizzle and simmer.
"I know, I'll talk with the shift supervisor today." A brush of smooth lips across his, teasing dart of warm tongue. "Bye Eli, be good for mommy." He leans down to kiss his son and Eli stuffs a Cheerio up his nose, giggles happily.
"Bye dada." Eli waves to him, a chubby hand and little fingers. Saturdays are going to be something to look forward to, hours of time with his family, moments it is incapable of stealing from him. It has robbed his life of an ambiguous amount of time that accumulates roughly to a year.
-
A miasma of excruciating pain, the crackling of cartilage and bone, the flavor of stale copper. He opens his eyes and the world slowly comes into focus, black asphalt, grey garbage cans, and crimson blood. He pushes himself up on unsteady arms, a deep ache in his thoracic cavity, splintered solid calcium and phosphorus poking spongy lungs.
"Clark?" Red bubbles from his mouth, splatters wetly on the ground. Clark is on his knees, bruised and broken, a deep cut in his abdomen, exposed muscle. "What…." It hurts to talk; he braces himself against the pavement on his palms. "What happened?"
"You were destroying the city. I had to stop you." Clark coughs; the gash in his stomach begins to heal.
"I can't be stopped." He spits blood, hot, bitter tasting metal. "How many people did I kill?"
"Sixty-eight." His heart cracks into pieces and there is no amount of good in the world he can do to set this right.
"You have to kill me Clark." He begs, gasping for air, bone piercing alveoli.
"No." Clark is completely healed, he shakily stands upright."I won't do that to Chloe and Eli."
"Please." An arm wraps around broken ribs. "While it can't fight back."
"No." Clark attempts to pull him to his feet. He shrugs away the contact, growls low in the back of his throat.
"I don't know how much longer I can fight it Clark." If Clark is a good man he'll do what is necessary to save the world, to save Chloe and Eli, give his son a future. Clark only stares at him, apologetic blue eyes. The shard of glass is cool between his fingers. "Tell Chloe and Eli I love them."
One smooth jerk and superheated then cooled sand severs his jugular and trachea.
Please review if you read.
