Warning: There's a violent attempted rape and a murder in this part, so anyone not comfortable reading about such things should steer clear. You have been warned.
A/N: This is the second part to a Chlark story, and it's told in the third person from Chloe's POV. It takes place in a future AU. In season 8, Clark took Davis to the Fortress and planned to send him to the Phantom Zone, but Chloe stopped him. In this verse, Clark grabbed Davis and carried him at superspeed into the portal, sending both of them to the Phantom Zone before Chloe could remove the crystal from the console. Over a decade later, Clark emerged from the Phantom Zone a very different man.
Feedback is welcome. And as always, enjoy.
Her vision blurs from lack of oxygen as the hand around her throat squeezes tighter. Still she struggles against her attacker, scratching and clawing, kicking and punching. Her efforts are rewarded with a punch to the face which doesn't quite knock her out but effectively ends her struggling as her body goes limp.
Taking advantage of her dazed condition, her attacker begins ripping at her clothes.
Aware of what's happening and the fate that awaits her, she cries out for help, though, in her weakened state and with a hand around her throat, it comes out as nothing more than a pathetic whimper.
Tears begin streaming down her cheeks as she feels the cool night air on her exposed breasts. Her mind goes blank and her body numb as her attacker unbuttons her pants.
She's resigned herself to the reality that she's going to be raped.
Suddenly, the hand around her throat is gone, and she begins gasping for much needed breath.
Her attacker is no longer looming over her. In fact, she hears a struggle, followed by a series of agonized screams and a loud crack...then silence.
Choking and coughing as her breath returns, she clumsily makes her way to her feet, swaying unsteadily as her vision continues to swim.
She knows she has to get out of the alley and find help, but a strange sense of calm descends upon her. It's almost as if she instinctively knows she's out of danger, that she's perfectly safe.
Still, she refuses to stand here and do nothing, so she grabs what's left of her top and holds it closed as best she can, giving herself at least a shred of dignity after such a brutal assault, and begins looking for her attacker. It's a foolish endeavor to be sure, but she has to know what's become of the bastard.
Pushing away from the wall she's been leaning on, she staggers forward, searching for answers.
Her vision is still blurry, and she can hardly see out of her left eye, but she spots something lying on the ground a few feet away.
Moving cautiously toward it, she begins to recognize the object as a person, perhaps even her attacker.
The light is dim, but as she nears her target, she can see that it is indeed a person.
Leaning over for a better look, she nearly loses her balance and falls but manages to right herself in time. The action causes her vision to distort, and she has to wait a moment for it to clear.
Once she's recovered, she peers down at the man who nearly raped her, and she's sure that it is him, because his pants are undone and there are several scratches on his face. She's unable to tell if he's alive or not, but he remains unmoving.
Her eyes scanning over his body, she notices that his arms are both broken. Probably why he was screaming, she thinks.
Continuing her perusal of his body, she nearly vomits when she sees the unnatural angle of his neck, his head twisted so it rests 180 degrees from its normal forward-looking position.
Definitely dead, she thinks, with no small measure of horror and more than a little satisfaction.
Knowing that the monster who attacked her won't be able to hurt anyone else gives her some measure of comfort and closure, but she fears she'll be forever scarred by this incident.
A fresh stream of tears begins to flow as the weight of what nearly happened to her starts to sink in.
Suddenly, she's very tired, most likely the result of the adrenaline wearing off and shock setting in.
She knows she has to get out of this alley before she passes out, but her legs feel like rubber.
Her vision blurs as she wobbles unsteadily on her feet. Unconsciousness is in her immediate future, and she can't do a thing about it.
Saying a silent prayer that nothing happens to her while she's out, she surrenders to the inevitable, her body falling limply to the ground.
But, before she hits said ground, a pair of strong arms wrap around her, catching her and lifting her up.
She should be panicked at the thought of someone touching her while she's out of it, but she's not. In fact, she feels that same sense of safety and comfort she had after her attacker was pulled from her, only magnified.
Somehow, she manages to open her eyes the tiniest crack to look up at the person rescuing her.
Her vision goes in and out of focus, but she manages to get a brief glimpse of his face.
She says in a hoarse whisper, "Clark," and passes out with a small smile on her lips.
Slowly awakening, she attempts to open her eyes when she notices something wrong with the left one. Bringing her hand up to rub it, she immediately winces in pain and notices that her eye is swollen.
Confused as to what could've happened to it, she moves to sit up, only to find her entire body stiff and sore, especially her neck.
Bringing her hand up to touch her neck, her memories of last night come flooding back.
She remembers the alley. She remembers being attacked. She remembers nearly being raped. She remembers the body of her attacker lying twisted, broken and lifeless. She remembers everything.
She remembers...Clark.
He was there. He saved her. He killed a man.
That last thought brings everything to a halt, and a cold chill runs down her spine.
Clark killed someone.
She can't quite wrap her mind around it, but she knows it's true.
Immediately, her mind switches gears to a less dangerous line of thought.
Clark is back.
He must have escaped from the Phantom Zone.
He's back, and he's alive, and...he saved her.
Her thoughts are interrupted as her one good eye catches a glimpse of movement.
Looking up with alarm, she's at first shocked then slowly relaxes at the sight before her.
Standing on the other side of the room is...Clark.
He's dressed in all black, from his head to his feet. It's quite the departure from his normal primary colors, but she pays the change little mind.
His hair is longer than she remembers. Nearly coming to his shoulders, it's curled at the ends and looks wild and unkempt.
He's sporting a full, dark beard which makes him seem older and menacing in a way she's never seen. She's not sure she likes it, but the part of her that's purely female finds it masculine and sexy in a roguish kind of way.
And his eyes... They're cold and distant, lacking the warmth and life she remembers from their youth. He looks...haunted, as if he's seen things no one should have to see, things that changed him, things that darkened his soul.
She's so caught up in taking him in, she's startled when he speaks.
"I'm sorry." His voice is low and sullen but familiar in a way that causes her whole body to tingle.
Not sure what he's sorry about, she opens her mouth to reply, but he cuts her off.
"I should've been there sooner. I was..." He trails off, his eyes dropping to the floor in shame before he continues in a voice barely above a whisper. "It doesn't matter."
Her heart aching for him and wanting to comfort him, she gets out of bed and takes several steps toward him only for him to take several steps back.
Confused and a little hurt by his actions, she stops her advance and looks at him, willing him to meet her gaze.
After several long moments, he finally looks up and what she sees in his eyes makes her want to cry. In fact, her eyes begin to well with tears.
He looks so lost and broken and her heart breaks for him.
His voice is much stronger and more resolute as he says, "I failed you, but I promise, I won't fail you again. As long as my heart beats, I will protect you. No one will ever hurt you again."
The conviction behind his words stuns and scares her, but also fills her with a warmth that touches the very depths of her soul.
Giving her one long last look, he turns and heads toward the balcony.
Hesitating briefly, she moves to follow him. There's so much she wants to say and ask, and she's afraid she won't get another chance if she lets him leave.
As she nears the balcony door, she calls out to him. "Clark, wait!"
Already on the balcony, he turns to her, and she stops dead in her tracks.
She sees so many conflicting emotions in his eyes, and all the questions and thoughts she had flee her mind.
Her hand, seemingly of its own volition, reaches up to touch his cheek.
He flinches at the contact, as if she's just slapped him, but remains where he is.
Her fingers gently caress the warm flesh of his face, and she both sees and feels him relax at her touch.
She's heartened and comforted by his response, but as with most things, the moment ends all too quickly.
With a sad expression and resignation in his eyes, he steps back, just out of her reach, and slowly ascends from the balcony, never breaking eye contact as he flies out of sight.
In awe of witnessing him fly, she's left standing alone, wondering what happened to her best friend during the years they were apart.
Tears silently stream down her cheeks as she makes a solemn vow to save her friend, her hero, from the darkness that is consuming his soul.
Looking up into the sky, she whispers, "I love you, Clark."