~*~

…five…

~*~

May 13th, 2009

As he strode down the tunnel, Clark couldn't shake the feeling that he was that same, naïve, thirteen year old boy again. Tensed and frightened of where the tunnel would lead. It was a ridiculous feeling. Clark himself couldn't be more different. He was a lot closer to the ceiling, for one, and a fully aware of his strength and abilities. The tunnel itself didn't match his memories.

A string of bright halogen lights had been inserted just below the lip of the ceiling. The floor was graded smooth and offered barely an echo as he walked. He rounded a slight bend, and then he saw her.

Standing near the spot where she so nearly lost her life all those years ago. She had her back to him, with her head bowed. She was staring at the floor. Clark frowned. The hole had been replaced with another trapdoor, standing open. Chloe's eyes were fixed on it. Clark knew she was reliving that experience, plunging into darkness with no way of knowing that her friend would catch her.

"Chloe?"

She stiffened, but didn't turn around. Clark closed the distance between them and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Chloe," he said, again, gently turning her around.

When he saw her face, it was like the image blurred… the older, more hardened Chloe superimposed on the younger, slightly more-freckled face of the girl she once was. Then, as now, a streak of wet tears ran down her cheeks. Her lips pulled back in pain.

Clark drew her to him, wrapping his arms around her – desperate to transfer his own strength into her slender frame. To offer some comfort. Some hope.

"It's okay," he crooned… "I'm here."

Still, Chloe didn't speak. But she grabbed the lapels of his jacket, twisting her fingers into the fabric and burying her face in his chest. Clark could feel the sobs bubbling up inside her, and just held her.

"Let it out," he urged.

And she did. She cried like he'd never known her to cry. Great, wracking sobs that shook her whole body. Eventually, she pulled away, composing herself with a strength that surprised him.

"Thanks for coming," she said.

"I'll always be there when you call me, Chlo," he said, "You know that."

She nodded, "I wanted you to see this," she said.

She pointed at the hole. Clark didn't move.

"Why?"

"LuthorCorp built it. It's another one of their facilities. Like 33.1 and Black Creek."

"I don't care about that, Chloe," he said, "What happened to you? Davis… did he hurt you?"

"Not physically," she answered, "He wouldn't do that."

"Where is he?"

"Star City. We were holed up in a motel in the bay district."

"Why did you go with him? You know how dangerous he is."

"I don't care!" she yelled, suddenly fierce, "I don't what he does to me! I care what he does to you!"

"That's not your problem, Chloe. It's mine. Davis is a Kryptonian! That makes him my responsibility!"

"Not anymore."

Clark was confused. "I thought that's why you came back," he said, "Why you sent me that message. I thought you finally came to your senses."

"I came back to let you know that I meant it."

"Meant what?"

"What I said that night. The pact we made. We're best friends forever Clark. And that carries responsibilities on both sides. If you fight Davis, he'll kill you. I can't let that happen."

"Chloe, what are you…?"

"Just look in the hole," she told him.

Clark studied her and, for a moment, it was like he didn't recognise her. Her face was drawn into a cold, blank mask. Her usually expressive eyes were clear, but devoid of any emotion. It scared Clark more than anything ever had. Again, Chloe pointed at the trapdoor. Clark decided he wasn't going to make any progress until he did what she told him, so he crouched down and peered into the cavern.

Only, it wasn't a cavern anymore. The walls were whitewashed, and a bright red carpet covered the floor. In one corner, directly below, was a large bed. In the other, a sturdy desk. There was a refrigerator, a table, a set of chairs and a couch. It looked like an apartment. But Clark noted the complete absence of a door and knew immediately that this was no apartment… it was a cell.

Clark rose to his feet, "Chloe, I don't…"

His words died in his throat as soon as he turned to face her. For long, long moments his brain couldn't register what his eyes were telling him. Chloe had her arm extended and in her hand… was a gun. Clark just stared. It made no sense. Why the hell would she be pointing a gun at him?

"I meant it, Clark…" she said, barely a whisper, "I'm sorry…"

She pulled the trigger.

Later, Clark would tell himself that he should have ducked, moved, something… used his speed to get out of the way. But years of taking bullets on the chest, only for them to bounce off had eroded that all-too-human sense of self-preservation. He just stood there.

That's why he was so surprised when he felt the bullet slide into his shoulder on chains of fire. Pain whipped through his body like an electric current dancing along the path of his veins – all the way to his heart – which skipped a beat. His eyes flared, his mouth dropping open in a scream that never came. Unthinking, he took a step backward, and fell into nothingness.