The Chronicles of Smallville: A Series of Altered Adventures

[Young Superman]

Wecome back love the update. ppms.

[superman_lives_on]

The Chronicles of Smallville: Yuletide

ELEVEN
Yuletide
She was lost in a place of sparkling lights and beautiful colors.

She looked around, peering up at everything she could see, taking in the details. The soft lights gleamed on polished wood and smooth plastic, carved and molded into wonderfully familiar shapes – dolls, vehicles, and many other kinds of toys. She grinned as she saw them, each one unique and inviting. It was all so magical – she wanted to never stop looking.

Then she saw the most beautiful one of all – the one that stood out, a treasure among treasures. It sat on a shelf nearby, gazing at her with shining black eyes – a fluffy light brown teddy bear. Her heart sang with joy, and she began to reach for it…

“There you are!”

She jolted at the whip-crack of those words – but before she could turn to see who had spoken, a hand closed on her shoulder. “Come along, young lady,” the voice said crisply, its owner pulling her away. “We’re leaving.”

“No!” she cried, trying to wrench free – but the grip was far too strong, pressing through the soft fabric of her shirt. She flailed and reached out, trying desperately to grab the teddy bear – and she realized it was reaching for her too—

—but the cruel hand kept dragging her back. “No!” she screamed, but it was no use – she was falling away from the bear even as it strained towards her, unable to leave its shelf—

“Come along,” said the voice harshly. “March.” The hand jerked hard, hauling her around and forcing her to walk forward—

—and then she was standing still, not moving at all. She stared silently at the long, wide box of dark wood that rested before her while a voice droned on, murmuring words that she did not hear, words that meant nothing to her. All she could hear was her own silent plea, her desperate cry that went unvoiced – her yearning for this to not be real.

But that plea was crushed under the weight of the box, of the stone that stood just beyond it, of the words chiseled onto that stone:

LANG
LEWIS ||| LAURA
1957 – 1989 | 1959 – 1989
Forever LovedShe wanted to look away, but she could not move…she wanted to close her eyes, but they remained open…she wanted to cry, but no tears would come…

The droning voice broke into her anguished thoughts, the words suddenly nastily clear: “And so we consign these two wretches to the dirt from whence they sprang…”

She looked up in shock, her ears ringing with disbelief. No – she couldn’t have just heard that!

“If more than ash was left of their vile bodies, they would rot as they deserved – but as it is, they shall be cast into the grave and made to crumble…”

Her head shook, her eyes finally letting tears come. This wasn’t right – this couldn’t be right! She had to be hearing things—

“No-one will weep for them – no-one will miss them – and as the years pass, all memory of them will fade into oblivion—”

“No!” she cried – her voice was surging forth, raw with anguish, startled from silence by the cruel lies. “That’s not true! It’s not—”

But her voice broke, and she covered her eyes as she started sobbing, trying to blot it out – only for the claw-like hand to pry her arms away. “Quiet,” hissed the wicked voice. “Be quiet and look, you little brat. You’re supposed to look.”

She shut her eyes, refusing to look – she flailed, trying to wrench her arms free – but the cruel hand would not release her, and the equally cruel voice would not shut up – nor would the other voice, the lifeless and bitter droning – she sucked in a breath, about to scream for help—

The hand jerked hard again, sending pain shooting through her arm, and her eyes snapped open—

—and saw only a dim white ceiling.

For a long minute, she panted heavily, her mind racing as she tried to get a grip on herself, to figure out what was going on…then she looked to one side and saw the faint light of early morning creeping through the window. With that, comprehension settled in, and she sat up in bed, rubbing at her eyes and the bridge of her nose.

Good Lord, but that dream had been nasty. Over the course of her still-short life, Lana had experienced her fair share of bad dreams and nightmares, especially since she’d actually seen her parents die when she was just two months shy of turning three. This one, however, was in a league all its own…and she couldn’t help feeling very disturbed.

She inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and let her hand drop. She was too keyed-up to fall back asleep – besides, it was almost time to get up anyway. She preferred getting an early start to her day, particularly given what she now had to look forward to…or rather, whom. Smiling a little at the thought, she climbed out of bed, the floor cold but not freezing beneath her bare feet, and headed for the bathroom.

Once inside, she locked the door just to be safe, then slipped the straps of her white robe off her shoulders and let it puddle around her feet. She glided towards the shower and bent over to get the water going – then she glanced over her shoulder, feeling a shiver run down her spine. She saw nothing behind her but the door and the wall, and she dismissed the shiver.

Luckily, the water heater was in good condition, and she stepped under the warm spray, drawing the curtain closed as her eyes fluttered from the simple pleasure of the water’s caress. She ran her hands over her bare skin and through her long hair, letting her eyes close and her thoughts melt into bliss. Mmmmm…

The liquid warmth was broken by another spinal shiver, and she blinked her eyes open, confused and uneasy. She pulled the curtain back enough to peek her head out, but she was alone in the bathroom. And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched.

She’d had such feelings before, but not all of them had been unpleasant. In fact, those that her instincts told her came from one particular watcher were very pleasant feelings. This wasn’t one of them – but neither was it the nauseous feeling she got whenever a guy with more hormones than brains or decency was leering at her. No…it felt more like a friend was watching her and trying to hide it. She’d sometimes had such a feeling in the girls’ locker room.

But she saw no-one – certainly not the only other person in the house, who probably wasn’t even up yet. Furrowing her brow, she ducked back behind the curtain and tried to refocus on cleansing herself. The shiver came again, but this time, she bent over and let warm water run down her back, canceling it out.

Soon enough, she shut off the water and stepped out, fetching a towel. She sighed as she saw that the mirror had fogged up, and she started wiping it off with a washcloth—

—and the face appeared in the mirror.

Lana yelped, almost jumped out of her skin, and spun around. The figure staring at her was very short and white, indistinct in the dim light coming through the window. The face was simply impossible to make out clearly, yet the eyes penetrated hers with a searingly cold intensity – her breath froze in her throat – she couldn’t even scream—

Her eyes blinked once, and she was alone again.

She looked around, bewildered, but no-one was there. She felt her chest – her heart was hammering rapidly. She rubbed at her eyes, blinked several times, and began taking deep breaths. When she felt mostly calm again, she began drying herself off vigorously, eager to get dressed before Nell woke up.

She had to get out of there.

* * * * *
Dawn had broken by the time Lana got outside. She zipped up her denim jacket, hoping to ward off winter’s chill, and walked off the porch as quickly and quietly as she could. The wood didn’t creak any louder than usual, and Nell didn’t show up at the front door to stop her from leaving. Her spark of hope growing, she picked up the pace, reaching the fence and passing through the gate at a steady trot – still no cry of disapproval from behind. Thank God.

The sky was a pale gray as she walked along the dirt road towards the Kent Farm a mile away. The ground was bare – the grass had long since stopped growing, the blades losing all color and life, as it passed through this part of the annual cycle. Alas, it was also bare of any white – Smallville hadn’t seen snow for years. She wished it would catch a break – the thought of building snowmen and pitching snowballs was immensely appealing, especially considering whom she wanted to do those things with.

She smiled to herself and walked a little faster, eager to reach her surrogate family in time for breakfast. It wouldn’t be the first day she joined them, and she strongly hoped it wouldn’t be the last either. Her smile faded, though, as the darker side of those thoughts reared its ugly head. Nell, needless to say, thought even just one such occasion was one too many – she’d proved that beyond all doubt the day after the incident at Lex’s plant, when she’d arrived uninvited at the Kent Farm just after they’d returned from church. No matter how prettily she might have worded it, she hadn’t requested that Lana come back to the Potter house with her – she’d demanded it, and she’d made it clear that Lana had no choice in the matter.

Her simpering words from that day echoed clearly: “I’m the one who has to take care of you, sweetie. I’m your only living relative, and your parents made me your guardian in their will. So it’s only reasonable and right for you to stay with me, not the Kents.”

“Fine,” Lana had retorted coldly, “but don’t expect me to thoughtlessly obey you anymore. I won’t stop visiting the Kents, and I won’t go anywhere near Whitney, so stop trying to make me.”

Remarkably, Nell hadn’t persisted in either endeavor since that day. Lana doubted that she was seeing sense – she probably just realized that trying to force the matter would backfire on her. Even so, she was no more bearable to live with – in fact, the teenager had continued to pick up on little things, tiny details that rankled her, that made her grow sick with discomfort, that made her realize how blind she had been to the truth until that fateful weekend in September. Whitney hadn’t been the only person who’d deceived her about his character, helped along by her own naïve loyalty.

She shook her head and paused mid-step, turning to look at the gray sky. It would probably be arrogant of her to think that it reflected her mood – it was more likely vice versa. The cold pressed in despite her jacket, and she hugged herself, feeling rather lonely…

…and then a long, muscular arm wrapped in a thick sleeve slipped around her. Warmth flooded into her, banishing the cold and loneliness as if they had never existed, and a gentle voice said, “You’re up a bit early.”

She smiled, already feeling better, and craned her neck to look up at Clark. He was wearing his own smile as well as a thick red jacket and a dark blue sweater, a dark red shirt peeking out over the neckline, though his hands were uncovered and didn’t feel at all cold. “I could say the same about you,” she murmured. “But you’re supposed to get up early.”

He nodded, grinning. “Comes with the territory.” Then he bent down and pressed his lips to hers, and she forwent all talk for a long moment in favor of leaning into him and returning the kiss. When it parted, he had both arms around her and was gazing into her eyes, his own shining with warmth and tenderness. “Are you okay, Lana?”

She chuckled a little. “That’s my line, Clark,” she pointed out gently, and he chuckled in reply, conceding the point. “Still…” She shivered a bit – not from cold, but from very recent memory. “I do have something on my mind.”

He nodded again. “Want to talk about it after breakfast?”

Her stomach growled approval, and she blushed even as she shot it a look – only for her eyes to snap back up as his own stomach growled its agreement. They looked at each other for a long moment – then they cracked up and held each other closer. When they were finished laughing, they turned towards the farm and began walking, their spirits much higher.

By the time they reached their destination, Martha had scrambled a bunch of eggs and cooked plenty of pancakes – both blueberry, Clark’s absolute favorite, and strawberry, which Lana was more fond of. The mere aroma inspired their stomachs to threaten revolt against their brains if they didn’t get some food now. Martha heard those demands and chuckled in sympathy. “Nobody likes an empty stomach.”

“Amen,” Clark and Lana said in unison, trying not to blush further. They hung up their jackets and took seats at the table, and a moment later, Jonathan joined them – he’d been fiddling with some of the new equipment outside. Breakfast passed amiably and with little chatter – just the way they all liked it when such warm food was present.

Needless to say, it passed quickly as well, and almost before Lana knew it, she was sitting comfortably on the couch. Clark sat next to her, one strong arm gently wrapped around her – without their jackets in the way, it felt even more reassuring. Martha sat in the chair across from them, Jonathan standing over her in a sheltering sort of way. “Now, then,” the older man said, his voice gentle and patient, “why don’t you tell us what’s wrong, Lana?”

Lana inhaled softly and nodded, gathering her nerve – the fresh memory of what she’d seen still rattled her. “This is going to sound crazy,” she said after a moment. She half-laughed. “I don’t know why, after all we’ve been through, but…” She cleared her throat, looked at each of them in turn, then came out with it: “I saw a ghost.”

Silence reigned in the house for a long, stunned moment. “A ghost?” Clark echoed, raising his eyebrows.

Lana nodded again, pressing on: “Just after I got out of the shower – I was wiping the mirror clear, and I saw it – a white figure staring at me. It was only there for a few moments – then it was gone, literally in the blink of an eye.” She shook a little. “I was so scared when I saw it – I couldn’t do anything but look. And then I was alone again, and if I hadn’t been so scared, I might’ve thought I’d imagined it…” She trailed off, then shook her head. “I wish I had imagined it – heck, I had a really nasty dream just before I woke up – but something tells me I didn’t. Somehow, I just know that the ghost was real.” She looked up at them, worried that she sounded insane. “I just—”

She needn’t have worried. “It’s okay, Lana,” Clark said softly, stroking her side. “I believe you.”

“We believe you,” Martha gently corrected him, looking at Lana with earnest blue eyes. “We know you too well to think you’re crazy.”

“Besides,” Jonathan agreed, walking around the chair, “with all the weird things we’ve seen, a ghost would actually be…I don’t know, kind of normal.”

At that, Lana let out a giggle. “Yeah – it would.”

Clark chuckled as well. “What can you tell us about the ghost?” he inquired. “Maybe we can figure out who or what it was.”

Lana cleared her throat again, then said, “To be honest, I don’t remember much – the ghost wasn’t very clear. It was short, though – no bigger than a child. And I remember its eyes boring into mine, but…” She rubbed her forehead a little. “I can’t remember what they looked like.”

“That’s alright,” Clark assured her. “It’s something to go on. Don’t worry – we’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

His parents quietly agreed. “I don’t suppose your house has any ghost stories, does it?” Jonathan suggested.

“None that I know of,” Lana admitted. “But that’s not saying much. It’s been in the family for generations, but I’ve heard only a couple of stories about my ancestors – definitely no ghost stories or any big legends.” She grimaced. “And I’m definitely not going to ask Nell about it. It’s bad enough that she’s trying to control my life – I don’t need her to think I’ve gone insane on top of that.”

“Absolutely not,” Martha said gently, reaching to take her hand. “I’m sure we can figure this out.”

Clark had been gazing to the side, quietly thinking, while they’d talked – and at his mother’s words, the light bulb of an idea clicked on. He turned back to Lana. “Maybe you don’t know if this has happened before,” he said, smiling a little. “But I think I know where we could find out.”

* * * * *
Or maybe not, he had to admit an hour or so later. The town library was a great resource, but so far, it had yielded no clues as to what might be haunting his girlfriend. “Nothing in here,” he sighed, closing the book he’d been looking through.

“Ditto,” she said, closing her own book. “There are plenty of legends about Smallville, going all the way back to when Ezra Small arrived in this area and decided to found a community…but no ghost stories. There’s definitely nothing about the Potter homestead – not even the ground it stands on.” She shook her head, frustrated. “I don’t know, Clark – maybe I am just seeing things.”

“No,” he said gently but firmly, taking her hand and looking her in the eye. “I don’t buy that, Lana. You’re too sane and rational to just be seeing things.” He grimaced a bit. “Besides, you said your gut told you that it was real.”

“Yeah,” she admitted, nodding. “It did.”

“Well, I definitely know what that’s like,” he said quietly. She knew what he meant – the strange instinct that kept warning him of danger. “You should trust it. After everything we’ve been through, I don’t think we can dismiss anything as impossible…”

He trailed off, furrowing his brow. She looked at him inquisitively, and he held a finger to his lips; she nodded and cocked her head, listening. For a moment, it seemed that he might’ve been just hearing things – but then she heard them too, and her blood ran cold with a very rational fear. A voice was speaking nearby—

No. Not just a voice – two voices, both recognizable. Clark and Lana shared a nervous look, then silently slipped from their seats at the round table and inched closer, straining their ears in the effort to make out the conversation. They didn’t have to strain for long – the speakers were on the other side of a very full bookshelf. “I can’t remember a damn thing,” said a baritone as dark and liquid-smooth as crude oil. Whitney Fordman – there was no mistaking his voice. “It’s all a blur in my head.”

“Sh*t,” hissed a nails-on-chalkboard soprano – Dawn Stiles. Though she was speaking more quietly than was her habit, she wasn’t capable of speaking softly – both Clark and Lana winced. “None of the others remember a damn thing either.”

“What did you expect?” Whitney snorted. “Did you really think they’d be any help? The guys didn’t get this far by wasting any time thinking – that’s something only losers like Kent and his crowd worry about. They left the planning to me, and they left the testing to Coach Walt. The bunch that Chapell ratted on just got unlucky.”

Those words sent a horrible chill through Clark and Lana’s spines. They held their breath, not daring to make a sound, as Dawn scoffed. “They look pretty damn lucky to me so far. Kwan hasn’t done all that much to punish them for not bothering to obey his stupid rules.”

“That’s only because of their parents,” Whitney said grimly. “Coach might be dead, but in twenty-five years, he coached a hell of a lot of players – and that means a hell of a lot of girlfriends to stand on the side and cheer them on. They’ve helped pass his legacy down, and now we’re keeping it alive. But if it weren’t for them, Kwan wouldn’t have anyone in his way. He could ruin everything.”

Clark gritted his teeth at that and peered at the shelf. His vision flashed and peeled it away, revealing the two speakers. Whitney had his letterman’s jacket on over his shirt, as usual, while Dawn was wearing a violently pink sweater over otherwise black clothes. The blonde gossip queen was scowling, also as usual, and her dark brown eyes glittered with malice. “Screw Kwan,” she opined ever so eloquently. “Nobody’s innocent – they all have some kind of skeleton in their closet. When I find his and throw it out there, he’ll be the one ruined. Then everything will fall into place for us.”

“Good luck with that,” Whitney said, not sounding optimistic. Clark peered beneath his jacket and shirt – sure enough, his chest was still wrapped in a white gauze. He grimaced, remembering all too well how that had happened – no doubt it was affecting his mood.

Dawn showed a very rare flash of insight and came to the same conclusion. “You’ve been awfully upbeat lately, Whitney,” she drawled. “Still feeling sore over what happened at the plant?”

“No sh*t, Sherlock,” Whitney snarled, his cold blue eyes flashing with rage. “You’d feel sore too if you got your ribs cracked by a gun-wielding psycho. That bastard almost killed me.”

That was as much your fault as it was his, jerk, Clark thought angrily. If you hadn’t sneaked up and tried to take him down, you wouldn’t have wound up in the hospital.

But, of course, Dawn didn’t agree – logic had never been her strong suit. “They should’ve executed him just for that,” she said darkly. “Hell, he did kill some loser in Metropolis – they could’ve shot him on sight and nobody would’ve missed him.”

Except for his family, you b*tch! Lana wanted to scream aloud. Her hands clenched into fists – she was sorely tempted to march right around the shelf and give Dawn an ever harder punch than the last one she’d thrown. Clark held her close, trying to hold down similar thoughts.

“That’s too good for him,” Whitney scowled. “After what he did to me, he deserves a slow and torturous death.” His hands clenched. “Everybody who crosses me deserves to suffer.”

“Damn right they do,” Dawn said, smiling cruelly. “That’s what happens when you p*ss off a god.”

“I’m plenty p*ssed right now,” said the jock king darkly. “I want to remember what happened that Monday and Tuesday, but…” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You sure you haven’t found that thing?”

“I already told you I haven’t,” retorted the gossip queen, her eyes flashing with annoyance. “If I had, I’d be using it to punish those hypocratical nerds and geeks. Nobody steals my stuff, especially not that.”

“Well, somebody did,” Whitney pointed out. “Somebody stole your pendant for themselves. For all we know, they used it to leave this town and make everyone forget they even existed.”

Wrong, Clark thought. I took it and threw it right off the edge of the Earth so nobody could ever use it again. Nobody should have that kind of power, especially not either of you.

Dawn was silent for a long moment, fuming…then a disturbingly calm smile came over her face. “No,” she said. “I don’t think so.”

Clark and Lana blinked in surprise – her voice had changed. It had lost the shrillness, lowered to something thick and even sensual. Of course, it wasn’t the first time Clark had heard her speak like that – but if she could do it without that eldritch pendant influencing her…

“Why not?” Whitney said sourly, clearly not surprised to hear her voice change. “You happen to remember something right now?”

“Not quite,” Dawn said smoothly, sensuously. Her voice now held the quality of melting butter – and it made the listeners’ skins try to crawl right off their bodies. “Call it…a hunch. Whoever stole the pendant, they didn’t use it. I don’t know why not.” She shrugged. “Perhaps they just didn’t have the brains to appreciate the power it offered.”

Whitney frowned and considered that for a minute – then his face turned stormy. “Son of a b*tch,” he spat. “I’ll bet you anything it was Kent. Who else would throw that power away?”

Another horrible chill almost froze Clark and Lana’s spines – and it only got worse as Dawn spoke. “Yes,” she said slowly. “Who else would?” She sighed. “It’s a shame, you know – Clark Kent has the body of a god himself, but he doesn’t have a clue how to use it.”

“He doesn’t have the guts either,” Whitney growled, pushing his fist into his open palm. “I still don’t know how the hell he stole Lana from me, or how she found out that I never got her stupid necklace back.”

“Somebody must’ve squealed like Trevor,” Dawn suggested, still speaking sensuously. “He just got lucky, that’s all. We both know that Lana belongs to you, even if she can’t accept it.”

Fear and outrage warred for dominance in Lana’s thoughts and feelings – but in Clark’s, outrage had already won flat-out. He silently ground his teeth together, knowing that if those two happened to realize they had company, he and Lana wouldn’t be the ones in danger of bodily harm. Whitney, however, didn’t seem to know that – he was still ruled by arrogance. “Oh, she will,” he vowed, punching his palm again. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll take her back – and I’ll make Kent watch as I take her every which way.”

That straw broke the camel’s back beyond any repair. Clark turned his head and whispered below his breath into Lana’s ear, “Stay here. Don’t look or move.”

She didn’t ask why – she just nodded slightly and closed her eyes, staying still. She felt his lips press briefly to her forehead before he pulled away. Whitney was still going on: “Come to think of it, I should invite the guys over. They’ve all been wanting a nice piece of her a—”

Whoosh! Thwack! Pop! Thump! Thud!

Just like that, Whitney and Dawn fell silent – and then Clark breathed in Lana’s ear, “Let’s get out of here. We don’t need to stick around.”

She opened her eyes and began walking briskly with him towards the exit. He felt very tense even now, and she knew that whatever he’d done to shut their nemeses up, he’d had to exercise a lot of self-control. She was glad he’d succeeded…and she couldn’t deny that she felt warm, knowing that he’d defended her honor.

For his part, he thought he’d done fairly well. Dawn had gotten off with a firm tap on the forehead – he didn’t hurt girls, even monstrous ones like her. But Whitney probably wouldn’t be able to speak for a while after he woke up…and when he was able to, chances were he’d be speaking soprano.

Take that, jerks.

* * * * *
“Ouch,” Lex muttered as he sipped at his drink. “That couldn’t have been easy to handle hearing.”

Clark and Lana shook their heads quietly, sitting across from him and sipping at their own mugs of hot chocolate. They’d come straight to the Luthor Mansion from the library, since they’d already made an appointment to meet with Lex today. They’d told him briefly about the conversation they’d overheard – just enough to get the point across.

“It just makes me so mad,” Clark said after a moment, his green eyes narrowed. “How anyone could sink so low, badmouth people who haven’t done anything wrong—” He cut himself off before he could really get going and shook his head again. “I just can’t understand it.”

Lex grimaced. “Yeah, well…unfortunately, I think I can. Some people just don’t want to admit that they’re wrong. They don’t even want to admit that they could be wrong. They’d rather pretend that everyone else is wrong and they’re the only ones who are ever right. It’s easier for them, and it builds up their egos.”

“And worse,” Lana agreed, having taken a long sip from her mug. “It means they don’t have any reason to apologize to anyone. It means they can lie without feeling any guilt, string other people along. And it means they can force the ones who can’t defend themselves to obey them.” She shuddered and put her drink down, and Clark put an arm around her, letting her lean into him.

Lex let them support each other for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Sounds like you aren’t just talking about the quarterback and the gossip queen.”

“No,” Lana admitted. “I’m talking about the person who’s been making my life a subtle hell.”

“And that brings us to why we came over,” Clark continued for her. “I don’t suppose you’ve found anything?”

Lex sighed and put his own drink down, hating that he had to disappoint them. “Nothing good for us,” he said. “My lawyers say the will is holding up so far.”

After the Level Three mess, Clark and Lana had come to him and asked if there was any way they could revoke Nell’s guardianship of Lana, let the girl stay with someone else – preferably the Kents. Lex had immediately vowed to put a team of lawyers on it. They’d been inquiring into the last will and testament of Lana’s parents for some time, battling the bureaucracy and trying to see if anything in it would help their cause – or, barring that, if anything in it wasn’t genuine.

Frankly, Lex wouldn’t put it past Nell to have stolen or destroyed the real will and forged one that gave her control of Lana’s life – given how much support she’d shown for his father’s policies and how deeply she’d deceived Lana, the thought probably wouldn’t have made her blink. Alas…if the will was indeed fake, it was damned convincing. It had Lewis and Laura’s signatures clearly written, it had been typed on an old typewriter they had used for formal documents, and its wording was consistent with other things they’d written. So far, nada.

“Damn it,” Lana sighed, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. “I guess it was too much to hope for.”

Clark rubbed her back and kissed her soft hair. “We won’t give up, Lana,” he vowed. “Even if this doesn’t pan out, there has to be a way to get you out from under Nell’s thumb.”

“God willing,” Lex agreed. “And I don’t say that often.” A small smile of encouragement crossed his face. “In the meantime, I’ve been looking into other areas.”

Clark and Lana looked at him, puzzled. “What other areas?” she asked.

“The problems that have been plaguing Smallville for years,” Lex said, “one of which caused all of us grief recently.”

Clark’s brow furrowed for a moment – but only a brief moment. “The meteor rocks?”

“Jawohl,” Lex confirmed, smiling more firmly. “Remember our conversation with Miss Sullivan about Dr. Hamilton?” Clark nodded. “Well, I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, but somehow, I never got the chance. I went to see him, and I think his research into the meteors could yield great results. I’ve started funding him.”

Clark and Lana blinked, then shared a look that communicated volumes. “You think that’s a good idea?” she ventured.

“It’s a start,” Lex said, leaning forward. “If we can work out how those rocks cause all these mutations, chances are we can work out how to treat them – even how to cure them. Think of it – so many lives would be saved. Families and friends wouldn’t be torn apart by insanity. Every person in this town would have a chance at a normal and prosperous life.” His voice was gentle but fervent, his eyes shining with hope and passion. “We could do so much good, reverse the damage done by disasters and by madmen. Earl Jenkins could be with his wife and son again. There wouldn’t be any more tragedies like Greg Arkin. Isn’t that worth taking some risks?”

The couple couldn’t argue with that – but they worried about what risks Lex might be willing to take. “We should definitely try to help,” Clark said quietly. “But…be careful, Lex. There’s such a thing as going too far. If you don’t look at what you’re actually doing, you could wind up worsening the very damage you want to reverse.”

Lex nodded a little, conceding the point. “Well, I certainly won’t try to profit from it myself. That’s dear old Dad’s way of doing things – he makes himself richer and more powerful by destroying the lives of others. Not to mention how easily he lies to everyone, including the press who are supposed to call him out on it.” He scowled, remembering how Lionel had weaseled out of any blame for what had happened to Earl. “I’d rather die than become like him.”

“We believe you, Lex,” Clark and Lana said softly. And they did – it was all too plain that Lex did not want to become his father.

They just hoped he didn’t become something worse.

* * * * *
Some time later, Lana found herself walking down a street. Her jacket was back on and her steps were brisk, and she passed several other people on her way to…

…where?

Her steps faltered, slowed, then stopped. She looked around, puzzled. How had she wound up walking down this particular street? Where was she even going? She just couldn’t remember—

A sharp whistle startled her. “Hey, baby!” called a lunkish voice. “Shake that ass!”

She whirled around, her heart throbbing with sudden terror – but even as she spotted the jock who’d called out, a second followed on his heels: “Looking hot today, baby! Why don’t you take those things off?”

He laughed at his own wit, as did his cohort – and then a third voice spoke, cold and dark by contrast: “I said that I’d take you back.”

Her terror heightened as she whirled again – and suddenly, all logic and reason abandoned her. No…this couldn’t be happening…

“Oh, it’s happening alright,” said Whitney, standing in an arrogant pose before her – and an unmistakable outfit. Dark blue spandex, short black boots, long red cape, big yellow S on a red shield—

Oh, dear God.

“You called?” sneered Whitney – the Crow, as he’d called himself that horrible Monday. He took a stalking step towards her. “Time for a little exercise, baby.”

She couldn’t breathe steadily – she couldn’t even move – she couldn’t get away—

Clark – where was Clark? Why wasn’t he with her—

BOOOOM!!!

The ground shook so hard that she was flung off her feet. She landed painfully on the hard asphalt of the street itself and cried out, her body shaking along with it—

BOOOOM!!!

She was thrown into the air again – and this time, she almost landed on a jagged piece of the street that had been torn up by the terrible vibrations. She landed beside it, just barely avoiding getting split in two, and gasped in pain—

A third explosion shook the ground – but she grabbed the huge chunk of asphalt, wincing as it cut into her hands, and held on. She didn’t get thrown again, and she looked around—

—just in time to see a meteor crash down the street, almost hitting a building.

Her mouth dropped open – no, this couldn’t be happening! Dear God, this wasn’t right—

—but she had scarcely thought that before a sense of utter, soul-shuddering wrongness washed over and through her. She looked up—

—and saw the latest meteor streaking towards her. Her eyes widened—

—but it stopped falling at about the level of the buildings’ roofs and trembled. Its knobbly black crust split into cracks, unearthly light shining through them – not sickly green but malevolent purple, eerie and wrong and—

—and not actually light at all.

It shook violently, splitting more rapidly and thoroughly – oily black smoke poured from the cracks, twisting and writhing into a shape – the not-light flooded into that shape and—

KA-BOOOOM!!!

She recoiled as the explosion consumed her world – but only for a moment. She blinked several times and looked—

—just as something slammed into the ground, shaking it all over again. Asphalt jolted, concrete crashed, glass shattered, metal screamed, and car alarms began whooping from every direction. She shut her eyes, feeling very queasy from the shaking – but it died soon enough, and she reopened them—

Her terror turned absolute.

Oh…

…God…

…no.

Something had indeed emerged from the meteor as it exploded – no, someone…

Someone very tall and broad-shouldered, someone whose feet were covered by black boots, someone who wore tight pants of black leather and a long coat of the same, someone who wore a pitch-black shirt – except for the big blood-red S on it…

Someone with hair of pure black, skin of chalk white, and eyes of soulless green…

Someone who looked like Clark Kent at first glance – but wasn’t him at all.

Not-Clark.

For an eternal moment, she could do nothing but stare – and all the sinister, impossible figure did was stare. Then a realization hit her – he wasn’t staring back at her, but down the street. She looked that way – anything other than keep staring at that fundamentally wrong sight.

All she found was another very wrong sight – Whitney in that ridiculous outfit. He was just getting back to his feet, looking none the worse for wear, and his cold blue eyes suddenly met Not-Clark’s dead green eyes. For a long moment, the king of the jocks and the mockery of his nemesis just stared at each other—

Then the former sneered and raised his hands, his eyes flashing white-red. Lana grimaced, her gut twisting, and looked up – and saw that the sky had turned red, as if it were bleeding. Small black shapes appeared in it, descending from the twisting clouds – she peered closer, trying to make them out, trying to make sense of—

Her eyes widened in surprise. The shapes were crows. They cawed angrily as they hurtled gracefully down, their big black wings beating at the air – there were far too many of them to count, and they were all headed towards the street—

—towards Not-Clark. He stared up at them, his body showing no trace of tension or concern, his face hard and emotionless – and his dead eyes suddenly blazed orange, growing brighter by the millisecond—

—and the crows screamed in shock as twin streams of yellow fire shot at them, through them, blasting them apart by the dozen! In mere seconds, the entire flock was nothing but flaming bits raining down all over the place – Lana yelped as several landed near her, only to vanish in little tongues of fire—

Whitney scowled, the lights of several fires playing over him and Not-Clark – then he jumped to the side as the heat vision came after him, slammed into the sidewalk and street in several places, belched out clouds of flame and smoke. A veritable wall of fire billowed up, obscuring him from sight, and Not-Clark stopped shooting, staring into the conflagration—

—and Whitney reappeared, the flames flowing over his outfit without singing it. He smirked at Not-Clark, who stared back without expression—

—and tires squealed as if in terror. Lana whipped her head in time to see an old red truck hurtling through the wall of fire – her heart almost stopped—

Whitney whirled around and grabbed the truck by its hood, stopping it with a groan of protest from the metal – he seized it with both hands, and Lana’s heart really did stop—

—and then, as he hoisted it, she saw who was inside it – and her terror no longer strangled her voice. “NO!!!” she screamed—

Whitney whirled around and threw the truck right at Not-Clark – but an arm covered in black leather whipped up and smacked it, sending it hurtling far up and over himself – it vanished into the now-black sky, its passengers screaming—

“No,” Lana whimpered, her eyes becoming moist—

Whitney snarled, his eyes blazing white-red again – but this time, they got brighter, more intense – then, suddenly, searing white-red energy shot forth in snakelike beams, crisscrossing and webbing around – they struck a smashed car and sliced through it, forming spiderwebs of glowing cracks all over it – the glass and metal completely shattered and collapsed, leaving nothing but a faint cloud of dust—

—and the beams stuck Not-Clark, who held up an arm rather casually – they surrounded him, obscured him from Lana’s view – then they vanished just as quickly as they’d come—

—and there he stood, lowering his arm back to his side. He was unruffled – his black clothes didn’t even look damaged. Whitney stared at him, blue eyes gone wide, and Not-Clark stared back, green eyes as dead as ever—

—then Whitney sneered and clenched his fists, and Not-Clark’s eyes began to burn orange again – Whitney bared his white teeth and began hissing as his eyes blazed nuclear-red – Lana couldn’t hold in a second whimper—

Whitney abruptly screamed at the same moment he unleashed his power – the snaking beams split and expanded, forming a growing wall of death that rushed at Not-Clark—

—and met a wall of orange-yellow flame, the beams coming from his eyes expanding and merging – the two walls of terrible power clashed, turned blinding—

KA-BOOOOM!!!

Lana’s scream was devoured by the all-encompassing roar of the explosion – pure fire billowed out, up and down the street, and seared into the buildings – everything was going up in flames—

—then she saw a black figure emerging from the billowing clouds of golden flame, bearing down on her – and she saw the dead green eyes set in the pallid face – she shook violently, begging without words for this to not be real—

—but Not-Clark grew closer, his eyes seeming to glow red for a moment – his mouth opened slightly as he extended his claw-like hand—

—and Whitney came from the other side, his outfit torn and scorched but mostly intact, his face set in a mask of feral rage – his blue eyes glowed white-red again, and he bellowed as he lashed his own hand out at her – they both closed on her head—

—and she jolted, her eyes snapping open, and looked around, too breathless to scream.

Nothing. Nothing but her dark bedroom.

She groaned softly and sank back onto the pillow, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Another nightmare. Good grief, but her subconscious was messed up. Maybe she needed to see a therapist after the holidays.

She cleared her throat and sat up, feeling a bit thirsty – and her eyes met those of the ghost.

She froze in place, staring at the misty white figure. Its features were a bit more defined than before – they were soft, smooth, childlike. No – not just like. It was a child – a girl, no less. It – no, she – had long dark hair, and the eyes were dark as well, wide and pleading. Her lips moved, and a very small voice emerged, bearing only two words:

“Help me.”

Then she was gone again.

[superman_lives_on]

The Chronicles of Smallville: Yuletide

* * * * *
Lana had a very hard time getting back to sleep – she’d woken up after midnight – and by the time she awoke, showered, and dressed, it was too late to get out of the house. Nell was awake as well, and after what had happened yesterday, Lana didn’t dare try to sneak away just yet. After she and Clark had talked with Lex, they’d met with the Kents to go to church – and no sooner had the services ended than Nell appeared out of nowhere, all but ranting her own head off, and dragged Lana away, ignoring every last one of her protests and her efforts to break free. She’d been stuck in the Potter homestead for the rest of the day and into the night.

All in all, it had been a lousy way to finish the 23rd of December. Now it was the day before Christmas, and once again, Lana was pretty sure she’d have nothing to look forward to – nothing but cheap tinsel and an artificial tree and food that did not deserve to be feasted upon and an utter lack of thoughtful presents. At least, if Nell got her way, that would be the sad case.

“So,” the older woman said, smiling in that sweet and insincere way that made Lana shudder, “looking forward to tomorrow?”

Lana gave her a calm and cold look and said nothing, electing to devour another spoonful of cereal. Nell frowned, her dark blue eyes showing a hint of anger – but then she brightened again. “Well, I’m sure you’ll like what’s going to happen tonight.”

Lana certainly hoped so – Smallville always held great festivities every Christmas Eve. It and the Harvest Festival in September were the big events around town, Halloween and Thanksgiving and other such holidays notwithstanding, and there was plenty to do during those two events. But somehow, she seriously doubted that Nell was referring to that.

She was right. “As it happens,” Nell went on, beaming, “Lionel Luthor is hosting a Christmas party tonight in Metropolis, and he’s invited both of us over! Won’t that be nice?”

Lana didn’t dare give her full answer to that. She swallowed some more cereal, then said quietly, “I’m sure you’ll have fun at it.”

“Oh, I will,” Nell agreed, looking distant – then she seemed to recover herself. “And so will you, sweetie.”

It was hard not to scoff – so hard – but Lana managed it. “I don’t see how I could,” she said calmly. “I’m not going.”

Nell acted as if she hadn’t heard that. “I’ve already picked out the perfect dress for you – you’re going to make a beautiful impression tonight. Lionel will have only the finest food and entertainment provided, and we’ll get to mingle with the highest society, and—”

Oh, give me a break, Lana thought as she spoke aloud: “I said I’m not going. You can go, but I’m staying here.”

Nell broke off and looked at her, looking puzzled and hurt – but her eyes gave away her annoyance. “What do you mean? Of course you’re coming – it’s only right.”

“No,” Lana said, putting her spoon down and looking at her levelly, keeping calm. “It’s not, and I’m not.”

“Yes,” Nell insisted, not raising her voice either but losing some of the hollow cheer. “It is, and you are. Do you really want to disappoint our host?”

“Lionel Luthor isn’t my host for anything,” Lana replied coolly. “I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him, especially not after what he did to Earl Jenkins. I’m not going to his party to mingle with anyone.”

Nell frowned, almost scowling. “You owe it to him,” she said coldly. “Lionel is a great man and—”

“Oh, shut up!” Lana snapped, cutting her off. “He’s not a great man – he’s a madman and a liar. He’s no businessman at all – he’s a parasite who’ll destroy the lives of decent people for just the slightest chance of getting more money and power. And you expect me to make nice with him?!” She shook her head, disgusted. “Forget it. I can think of far better ways to spend Christmas Eve and far better people to spend it with. I’m not going. Period.”

Now Nell did scowl, her eyes darker than usual. “Well,” she said quietly, “it seems you need some time to cool down. I’m not having you make a scene at that party.”

Lana scoffed, unavailable to believe how one-track the woman’s mind was. “Don’t worry about that. As I said—” She narrowed her eyes and enunciated clearly: “I’m. Not. Going. Period.”

With that, she turned away and took up her bowl, raising it to her lips and draining it of cereal and milk as she walked towards the sink. Once she was done, she put it under some running water, then set it aside and turned—

—and Nell loomed before her, hands on hips. “We’re going to fix that attitude of yours, young lady,” she said coldly. “Keeping you here yesterday obviously wasn’t enough to do it. Fortunately, there are some things that need doing at the flower shop before tonight.” Her face was stern, but Lana could almost swear that her eyes held a cruel smile. “I’m sure you’ll be kept busy until it’s time to get ready.”

Lana grimaced, and her stomach felt uncertain as to how much longer it could hold her breakfast. Somehow, she didn’t think that her definition of “some” and Nell’s definition were the same. Oh, she sighed without speaking. Super.

Alas, her fears were confirmed – there was a lot to do at the shop. In fact, it was a ridiculous amount – no way could this happen by regular routine. Nell must have been planning this for a while, thinking that her niece deserved punishment for daring to call her out on her crap.

Good grief, that sounded paranoid – but Lana’s gut told her that she was on the right track. So far, it seemed to be working – nobody else was coming by the place, so how could anybody who cared know what Nell was doing? It looked like her aunt was going to get her way after all.

Lana sighed unhappily as she stepped outside, carrying a bag of trash. She went to the nearest bin and dumped it in, then glanced around. There was nobody else around – Nell was still in the shop. She turned and walked back onto the sidewalk.

Then she turned towards the door of the Talon, which swung open, and ducked inside. A moment later, the arm that had pushed it open pulled her gently into an embrace, its twin wrapping around her as well. She let out a breath of relief and joy and leaned into her companion. “Thank God,” she whispered.

“I got your message,” Clark murmured, kissing the top of her head. “What happened, Lana?”

“Nell,” she sighed, looking up at him. “She’s trying to rope me into coming to some party Lionel Luthor is holding tonight in Metropolis. When I told her what I thought of the idea, she dragged me to the shop and dumped a bunch of work on me.”

Clark scowled, angry on her behalf. “That…” He shook his head a little. “Never mind – I don’t think any insult could do her justice.” He glanced out the glass door. “We need to leave before she finds us.”

Lana nodded and moved with him to the back door, then out into the alley behind the building. Luckily, when she’d managed to give him a very brief call from the phone in the shop, he’d known to not pull the truck up out front. He opened the passenger door first and helped her take her seat, then hurried to his side, and they were out of there a full minute before Nell realized she’d been outwitted.

Clark drove straight to the farm, and his parents greeted Lana warmly. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to stay for lunch yesterday,” she said as Martha released her from a tight hug. “I mean, I wanted to, but…” She gestured outside weakly.

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart,” Martha assured her. “Nell’s going too far. Don’t let her take your ability to choose away.”

“I won’t,” Lana vowed, shaking her head slightly. She cleared her throat. “The truth is, I think I could’ve avoided her if I’d been able to wake up sooner. But I had a horrible nightmare just after midnight, and when I woke up…” She inhaled deeply.

Clark caught on before she could speak. “You saw the ghost again, didn’t you?”

She nodded. “Yeah. And this time, I got a better look at her.”

Jonathan raised his eyebrows, intrigued. “Her?”

Another nod. “A girl – no older than ten, at a guess, and probably younger. She had long dark hair and dark eyes, and she was wearing white pajamas – at least, that’s what they looked like. And…she said something.” Her face softened from a surge of empathy. “Just two words in a really soft voice… ‘Help me.’”

The Kents let out soft sounds – those were two words they couldn’t bear to refuse, ever. Lana sniffed a bit. “Then she was gone, in the blink of an eye. And…I didn’t feel so scared this time. I felt sad.”

“Oh,” Martha said gently, laying a hand on her arm. Clark sat beside Lana on the couch and slipped his own arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him gratefully. Jonathan remained nearby, a silent and reassuring presence as firm as bedrock.

A moment later, Lana straightened up a bit, feeling better. She gave all three Kents a grateful look, then said softly, “We’ll figure this out. With you to help, it’s inevitable.”

Clark chuckled modestly, his parents looking touched. “That’s the spirit,” he said, and planted another kiss on her head, eliciting a warm hum and a flutter of her eyes. “In the meantime…” He glanced at his parents. “I think we’d better make the most of the day before Christmas.”

“Absolutely,” Jonathan and Martha said in unison. They didn’t even glance at each other in surprise or amusement.

Lana giggled and nodded. “Any ideas?”

As it turned out, they had a few – and the first was a hearty lunch, much better than what Nell had saddled her niece with yesterday. The second began with a trip to the attic to bring down some boxes – then they got their jackets on, headed outside, and hopped in the truck. Lana insisted on riding with Clark in the bed as they headed for the nearby woods, seeking just the right Christmas tree.

Soon enough, they were walking through those woods, looking around at the various conifers among the seasonal trees. “Hey, guys!” Clark suddenly called, gesturing at a tall conifer. “I think this is it.”

The others joined him and gazed at the evergreen tree. It was easily a foot taller than Clark and Jonathan and very wide at its base, its branches thick with pine needles. It would have plenty of room to hang the ornaments, and even as tall as it was, it would fit in the living room nicely.

They all looked at each other, then nodded – it was the perfect choice. “Better stand back,” Clark advised them, and they did. He squatted a bit and stared at the tree, then smiled and aimed his gaze at a particular point on one side of the base. His eyes flared, and the heat beam stabbed into the wood – then slashed down at an angle, cutting neatly through the trunk. He cut it off and rose to his feet again as the tree wobbled, no longer steady.

“TIM-BERRR!” Clark yelled in his best lumberjack voice – and the tree obliged, toppling over with a solid Crash! Martha and Lana clapped and laughed at that, and he flashed them a cheesy grin – then he and Jonathan hoisted their prize from either end and carried it over to the truck, carefully setting it down in the bed. They tied it into place with the stout ropes and made sure they were tight – then Clark and Lana got back into the bed, electing to ride with the tree, while the adults got in the cab.

They reached the farm a couple of minutes later, untied the ropes, and managed to carry the tree through the door and into the living room – Clark’s x-ray vision came in very handy there. They set it in the stand, secured it, then turned to the boxes they’d brought down.

A while later, as evening fell, Lana reached to the very top of the tree and set the angel in place. “There,” she said, feeling Clark lower her back to the floor. “She’s perfect.”

“Yes, she is,” Clark agreed, gazing warmly at her. She looked back at him, then smiled and accepted a kiss on the lips. Mmmm…

When they parted, she looked the fully-decorated tree over – it really was perfect. She hadn’t seen many sights more beautiful, and this was one she would remember forever – her first real Christmas since her parents had died. “It’s amazing,” she murmured, looking back to him. “All these years, all the things I missed…none of them seem so bad now that I’m here with you.” She held his hands and said earnestly, “Thank you, Clark. Not only have you saved me from a pointless party and another store-bought holiday, you’ve saved me from being stuck with someone who doesn’t care at all.”

“You’re more than welcome, Lana,” he assured her, smiling widely. They leaned in and kissed deeply, holding each other close, and would’ve lost all track of time had they been left alone.

“Ahem,” Jonathan coughed, and they jolted apart, blushing. He chuckled and said, “C’mon, kids. I don’t blame you for wanting to keep doing that, but it’s about time for the festivities to begin.”

Indeed, as they arrived in Smallville’s town square, the festivities had begun. Everyone was out and about, with the notable exception of Nell Potter; branches of mistletoe hung among the bright and colorful lights; and jazzy music was blaring from some large speakers. As they looked around, they recognized the tune – just before an unmistakable voice began singing:

“It’s the most won-der-ful tiiime of the yeeaaar (Jin-gle, jin-gle),
With the kids jingle-belling and everyone telling you ‘be of good cheer’
It’s the most won-der-ful tiiime of the yeeaaar…”

Lana laughed in delight as Andy Williams belted out the Christmas classic, then spotted several familiar figures. “Hey!” she called, waving, and she and Clark ran to join their friends, eager to make merry. It was, quite simply, the best holiday she’d yet had – she could tell already.

Whatever else happened, she would treasure this night forever.

* * * * *
Later that very night, with Nell still out, Lana lay in bed. She wore a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants and kept the blankets over her body; it was still cold outside, after all. She waited patiently, not ready to fall asleep.

“Hey,” a voice whispered. “You awake?”

She smiled and sat up a little as Clark rose from beside the bed, having somehow gotten in without her noticing. “How do you do that?” she said.

He shrugged. “Practice?”

She giggled and leaned in to accept the kiss he offered, feeling much warmer already. Then a sudden chill ran through her, and she looked up—

—and there, just a couple of feet away, stood the ghost – the girl. Lana swallowed. “Clark,” she breathed, “she’s here. Am I really just seeing things?”

“No,” Clark replied. “I see her too.”

“Help me.”

The voice was clearer than last night, but still faint. The girl looked miserable and lonely as she gazed at them, her face as pleading as her voice. “Please,” she said softly, “help me.”

“It’s okay,” Clark said just as softly, holding his hands out in a peaceful gesture. “We’ll help you.”

She sniffed, but nodded, seeming to believe him. “I’m lost,” she said, her voice getting clearer – she looked less ghostly now.

“Lost?” Lana echoed, finding her nerve. “What do you mean?” The girl didn’t answer, and she cleared her throat. “Can you…can you tell us who you are?”

The girl nodded a little, and her voice became solid. “Lana,” she said. “Lana Lang.”

The room was deathly silent for a full minute. Clark and Lana stared at the girl with wide eyes, and she stared back. Finally, Lana cleared her throat. “Um…what did you say?”

The girl looked a bit impatient. “I said I’m Lana Lang.”

Lana held up a hand, feeling awkward. “I’m sorry. It’s just…” She tried to find the right words. “Do you know who I am?”

The girl nodded. “You’re Lana Lang too.” She looked…nervous. “You’re me.”

Lana nodded back, feeling less awkward but still bewildered. “I guess I am.” She sighed and glanced down, then tried to stifle a yawn. “Mm – excuse me.” She rubbed at her eyes and looked up.

The girl was gone.

She blinked, then sat up fully in shock. “What?!” she exclaimed. “Where—”

The door to her room slammed open. “LANA!” snapped Nell as she stalked inside, wearing a black dress and a murderous expression. “Where the hell have you been?! You missed the whole party!”

Lana almost jumped off the bed in surprise – but before she could so much as recover, let alone fire off a heated retort, a much shriller voice sneered, “Well, what do we have here? Looks like the little orphan girl is in big trouble.”

She turned towards the voice, her heart sinking even as her mind raced. Dawn stood by the door to the closet, clad in black clothes as she had been on Sunday, though her jacket was brown instead of pink this time. The blonde gave the brunette a sickly-sweet smile and cooed, “Awww…no presents tomorrow. Nothing but coal for you.” She snickered.

Fury rose in Lana like an open flame, and she sucked in a breath, ready to tell this complete bee-yotch to go to hell – but Clark had gotten to his feet and was now walking past her, approaching the intruder. She blinked, then looked at him hopefully—

—but the words that came from his mouth were the farthest thing in the world from angry or harsh. “I was hoping I’d find you, Dawn,” he said softly. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Lana blinked again, nonplussed. Dawn didn’t blink – she just looked up at him, arching an eyebrow expectantly. “Yeah?” she said, her voice sounding less shrill.

“Yeah,” he replied gently, nodding a little – his back was to Lana, so she couldn’t see his face at all, but her gut turned to ice anyway. “The thing is…I’ve felt so lost without you. Even before, I never knew where I was going or what I was doing. But when I came home…I found you, waiting for me. And now, I’ve found you again after far too long. I just…I knew, all along, that you were the one I needed.”

What? That was the only coherent thought Lana had right now. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

Dawn stared up at him, not looking touched at all – just smug. “That’s right,” she said, her voice dropping fully into sensuality. “And don’t you forget it.”

“I never could,” he promised, moving his hand to cup her cheek – the movement looked stiff somehow. “I died when I lost you, Dawn.”

No…this couldn’t be happening… Lana shook her head, inhaling hard through her nose, trying to fight off the storm of pain and bewilderment that was threatening to tear her apart. This couldn’t be—

“What’s the matter, Lana?” Dawn purred, interrupting her thoughts. “Can’t handle me taking your boyfriend away?” She snorted. “You didn’t have a problem with letting him take you away from the king of our gods.”

“Clark” turned to look at Lana, his face fading from a “tender” expression to something hard and cold. But she didn’t flinch away – she faced him fully, her pain and bewilderment banished by understanding. She’d seen as he walked that his jacket was different – black instead of blue, gleaming like leather. Now she saw that it was indeed leather – and his hair was just as dark. More to the point, his voice had become dull, monotonic…soulless.

“So,” he began in that emotionless tone – but she didn’t let him continue.

“Don’t even try it,” she snarled, terror and rage combining in her voice. “You’re not Clark.”

He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head very slightly. “No,” he said calmly, coldly. “I’m not Clark. Clark is dead.” He turned fully toward her. “And soon, so will you be.”

Even as he spoke, the end of his jacket unfolded and fell free – it wasn’t a jacket, but a long coat that stopped an inch above the tops of his black boots. It swayed gently and gleamed in the soft light as he took a step towards her – and she saw that his pants were made of the same black leather and his shirt was pure black…except for the big red S on it, the mark of the Scarecrow.

Not Clark, indeed. The Thing took another menacing step towards her, his green eyes cold and cruel and dead. “Yes,” purred Dawn behind him, rubbing her hands together and smiling. “Kill the little wh*re.”

Lana’s rage gave way to her terror, and only then did she realize that Nell had vanished. It didn’t matter, though – she was still in danger. She clambered out of bed as Not-Clark approached her, as implacable and inhuman as he’d been the last time – she looked around wildly—

The window! It was larger than usual – and it was open. She ran for it even as Not-Clark took long steps toward her, and she dived through just before his hands could grab her. She hurtled through empty space—

—and the world went insane. She didn’t know where she was – she couldn’t see anything but herself, she couldn’t feel or smell or taste anything beyond herself, and she couldn’t hear anything but the pounding of her heart—

—which meant she couldn’t hear the distant cry: “Lana! Lana, wake up! Lana!”

Clark shook her gently as he called to her – to no avail. She was utterly passed out on the bed – and judging from the rapid twitching of her eyelids, she was dreaming. He had no idea what she was going through, but his instinct warned him that it was nothing good. “Lana!” he cried again. “Can you hear me?!”

“No, she can’t,” said the ghost. He looked to see her standing right next to him, looking at Lana – at her own older self – with pure worry. “She’s lost – and they’re coming.”

“They?” Clark echoed, frustrated and terrified for Lana. “Who?”

“The bad things,” the ghost said, looking terrified herself. “They tried to hurt her last night, and now they’re trying again—”

She broke off with a gasp, almost doubling over. “No!” she wailed. “I can’t go back there! Don’t make me go baAAAAAIEEEE!!!”

She blurred suddenly, hurtling right through the bed and Lana – and vanished like mist. He stared after her in shock, then tried shaking Lana again, desperate to wake her up—

—and the younger Lana landed on a hard floor. It hurt, but not too badly, and she pushed herself to her feet—

“AHA!”

She whirled at the cruel voice and saw its owner looming over her, still in the black dress – but now, she held a big, sharp kitchen knife in one hand. “Found you, you little brat,” Nell snarled. “You’ve been very naughty.” She raised the knife, her dark blue eyes gleaming with madness. “Time for your puniIIEOOWWW!!!”

The little girl released her grip on Nell’s leg, leaving bright red teeth marks, and ran for it. The knife clattered to the ground behind her, but she didn’t stop – she had to get away, had to—

There! The teddy bear she’d tried to find two nights ago sat on its shelf, gazing at her pleadingly. She dashed toward it, throwing out her arms – and it jumped from the shelf into them. She pulled it close, hugging with all the might and heart her little body had, then glanced behind herself—

—and yelped in terror, putting on a fresh burst of speed as Nell came after her, not bothering to retrieve the knife – she ran all-out, desperate to get away—

—and suddenly tripped, landed on her front – and found herself on a different floor. She scrambled back up, the teddy having cushioned her fall, and looked wildly around—

—just in time to see the door to the room slam shut, its lock clicking. She ran over and rattled the knob, but it was no use. She was trapped.

“Lana!” Clark screamed, his heart pounding – he somehow knew that she was in terrible danger. She was starting to shake in her sleep, and he gripped her gently, trying to steady her. “Lana!” he gasped. “Can you hear me?! Lana—!”

Her eyes snapped open, locked onto his – light flared from them, and they both screamed—

CRASH!!!

Everything went white.

[superman_lives_on]

The Chronicles of Smallville: Yuletide

* * * * *
…dark…empty…quiet…drifting…

…what…happening…where…am…I…where…is…

…Lana…

Clark’s eyes snapped open, and he sat up with a gasp. “Lana!”

He looked around wildly – but there was no sign of her. All he could see was darkness. His heart pounding with rising panic, he pushed himself to his feet as quickly as he could—

—and stopped for a moment, blinking in confusion. His clothes had changed – though his jeans and boots were the same, his plaid button-down had been replaced by a solid blue T-shirt, and he wore his red windbreaker jacket over it. “What the heck?” he murmured. He hadn’t worn this since…

…since the morning he’d stopped that bus from hurtling off Loeb Bridge and taking his classmates to their doom, he realized. Since the morning he’d put a stop to the Madness—

—since the morning he’d fought Not-Clark.

A terrible chill shot through him at that memory. The Thing that had used his face to torment his parents and Lana, that had almost killed her, that had tried to kill him after he’d thwarted it – Lana had dreamed about it last night. She’d been helpless to stop either it or Whitney, alias the Crow, from destroying Smallville as they fought each other—

His gut clenched with a horrible realization. What if she was having that dream again? What if that was what the ghost had meant? What if she could actually get hurt this time?! Dear God, he had to find her – now!

He sucked in a breath, then focused all his thoughts on that goal – find Lana now – and looked around more thoroughly. There wasn’t only darkness – not quite. He was standing on hard earth, not a trace of any grass in sight, and the sky was very dark – but he could just make out the forms of clouds. There seemed to be trees nearby, so he guessed that he was standing close to Burnham Woods. He squinted around, calling up his x-ray vision – and sure enough, a short distance away, he could make out the form of Crater Lake.

Right – no time to lose. He had to get to the center of town before all hell brook loose – he didn’t want to think about what would happen if Lana got caught in the crossfire this time. He turned his back on the forest and took a step forward, going into super-speed—

—and almost toppled over as the world suddenly went crazy. He swayed around on the spot, some part of him wondering if this was what drunks felt like – then he shook his head hard and tried to refocus.

His heart jolted as he picked up sounds – screams and crashes. Good God, it was happening again! He looked around wildly – sure enough, he was standing in the streets of Smallville, and the sounds were coming from around a corner, along with a flickering orange light. He clenched his hands into fists and began to rush forward, being careful not to break into super-speed yet – after what had just happened, he would only use it as a last resort. He sprinted towards the chaos, well aware that at any second, the fire he could already glimpse might consume the whole area—

—and his instincts screamed at him to look up now. He did – and saw a red pickup truck hurtling through the air, spinning towards its doom—

He didn’t stop to think – he crouched his legs, gathering his strength – then he jumped. He shot towards the truck, hearing the terrified screams of its passengers – he stretched out his hands, already reaching the zenith of his leap—

The truck slammed into his hands with a crunch – he gripped it tight, stopping the spin, as they both hurtled down – he focused every thought in his mind, every fiber in his body, on cushioning the blow of the inevitable impact with the ground, on diverting the force so that it didn’t affect anything but himself—

THUD! He landed, cracking the pavement for several feet around, and almost face-planted – but it worked. His nigh-invulnerable body absorbed the impact, leaving the truck and its occupants unharmed. He straightened up, carefully lowering the vehicle to the ground as he did – once it rested on its own wheels again, he released his hold and opened the passenger-side door—

—and almost staggered as his mother jumped into his arms, hugging him for all she was worth. “Clark!” she sobbed in relief. “Oh, Clark!”

“Mom,” he gasped, feeling a surge of relief and comprehension – he’d thought the truck looked familiar. He saw his father climbing out as well, and opened one of his arms to include him in the hug. “Are you okay?” he asked after a moment.

“We’re fine, son,” Jonathan assured him. “Thanks to you.”

He smiled slightly, then swallowed a breath and asked seriously, “Where’s Lana? Have you seen her?”

Martha pointed down the street, towards the light and noise of fire and chaos. “Back there – it’s a mess. Whitney’s tearing it up, and—” She faltered, struggling to say it.

“And my evil twin is there too,” Clark finished grimly; his parents nodded. Just as he’d thought. “Alright. Both of you, get out of here – just run. I’ll stop them.” He squeezed their arms gently, then released them and turned towards his target, breaking into a sprint again—

—but if it was as far along as he feared, he might get there too late – he couldn’t let that happen – he had to reach them fa—

The world blurred around him, and he stopped in surprise – and there, right in front of him, was the back of a tall dark-haired figure in a long coat of gleaming black leather. Not-Clark was staring silently at a figure down the street – a blond figure in a dark blue suit and a blood-red cape. Whitney, alias the Crow, stared back at Not-Clark, sneering as he clenched his fists—

—but before his eyes could gather that horrible power, they fell upon the figure in red and blue standing behind his sparring partner. He gasped in shock, almost staggering—

—and Not-Clark acted. He didn’t turn around – no doubt he thought that Whitney had reacted to his remaining in one piece. His face was emotionless aside from a touch of arrogance – he didn’t even smirk. He just took one step forward and unleashed fire from his dead eyes – the orange beams merged and shot towards Whitney—

—but the jock king recovered his concentration at the last moment. His own white-red beams snaked out and caught the fire mere inches from his face, stopping its advance.

Clark didn’t stand there and watch – he looked to his left, then hurried over to a jagged chunk of asphalt, his heart leaping. Lana was huddling behind it, trying to hide from the dueling monsters. She looked up at him in shock, then grabbed onto him, shaking all over with fear. “Clark,” she whimpered. “Your parents—”

“I know, Lana,” he said softly, holding her close. “They’re okay. I got here in time.”

She let out a half-sob of relief, then glanced at the flashing of fire and whatever-it-was – and winced. He felt it and looked that way too, then set his jaw. He’d be damned if he allowed those two creatures to torment her any longer. The rage swelled in him, and he encouraged it, channeling it into his eyes—

—then, as Whitney’s power pushed Not-Clark’s to the center of the street, Clark unleashed a single, precise bolt of heat. It shot towards the mixing energies and struck dead-on—

BOOOOM!!!

The explosion flooded into the street, a fireball billowing out as shockwaves tore through the asphalt and into the buildings – Clark held Lana away from it, shielding her with his whole body – the fireball became truly massive, reaching both false heroes – Whitney howled in shock and pain as he was thrown off his feet—

—but Not-Clark made no sound whatsoever. He didn’t even move as the conflagration seared into his black clothes, charring and melting them in the front—

—and just as suddenly as it had come, the fireball vanished. Clark waited a moment, ever cautious, then lessened his hold on Lana, and they both turned to see the aftermath. The street had been even further cracked, the buildings blackened – but for the most part, things were still intact. Even Not-Clark’s clothes were still holding together, though the leather coat was ripped and torn and the black shirt had a big patch of ashen gray where the big red S had been. The mockery of Clark stood rigid as a statue, his eyes closed, his face expressionless.

“Get out of here,” Clark whispered, “before he does anything.”

As much as Lana didn’t want to stick around, her whole being recoiled from the thought of abandoning him. “No!” she pleaded, clutching his arms. “Clark, don’t—”

He turned to her, his face serious but gentle. “I have to, Lana,” he said softly. “I beat them both before – I’ll do it again and again forever if it means you’re safe.” He leaned in and kissed her firmly on the lips, wishing he could do it for more than a moment. She held it just as tightly, wishing the same – then he released her and whispered fervently, “Now please, for your own sake, just go.”

She sniffed hard, then turned and began to scramble away, hating herself for doing it. He rose to his feet, noticing that Whitney was struggling to do the same, and turned towards his doppelgänger, who was still standing utterly frozen—

Not-Clark’s eyes suddenly snapped open, glowing a sullen red, almost burning – and his torn-up clothes shimmered with white light. Clark blinked in surprise and focused on them, trying to make sense of what was happening. The torn coat-flaps flashed white, then began pulsing oddly, bubbling…melting…reshaping.

Clark watched in morbid fascination as Not-Clark’s clothes repaired themselves, sealing back together…but also altering, somehow becoming more soulless and sinister. The long black coat finished fixing itself with a last ripple of white, but the sheen of the leather was gone – now it looked flat, dull. The patch of gray on the black shirt shrank, forming the S again – but this time, it was smaller, sharper, somehow crueler. It looked more like the S on a letterman’s jacket, though it was thin and its tail tapered off just before the end. The remaining gray congealed around it, forming a roughly triangular border that merged with the S. The new symbol flashed white once, then went dull.

Not-Clark turned his head towards Clark, the eerie red glow in his eyes dying down to a swirl, then to tiny sparks…then to nothing. His eyes were the same hard, cold jade green that Clark remembered, still utterly devoid of life or soul – but they seemed even worse now, even colder and crueler. His five o’clock shadow stood out more on his skin, which was so pale that it was almost literally white, and his black hair looked like combed obsidian. His flowing black coat billowed as the rest of his body turned, and Clark saw that the inside was gray now, like the S on the black shirt – and his black leather pants had also lost their sheen. Somehow, seeing all this made him shudder. It just seemed wrong, almost obscene.

Then again, everything about Not-Clark was wrong, obscene, blasphemous. He was a creature that shouldn’t exist – yet there he stood, staring at the farm boy whose good name and loved ones he had sought to destroy. “Clark Kent,” he said quietly, his monotonic voice carrying a none-too-subtle hint of malice.

“Not-Clark,” Clark acknowledged, far more heat in his own quiet voice. His whole body tensed, ready to fight or flee.

The tiniest hint of a smirk touched Not-Clark’s pale lips. “What a droll name,” he said. “But I wouldn’t expect any better from you.” His face set in a mask of cruelty. “Don’t bother trying to protect the girl. Her time is up.”

Clark’s hands clenched into fists. “Over my dead body,” he growled.

“Fine,” Not-Clark sighed, as if he’d expected that – then, without further warning, he took one step forward, his eyes flaring orange with power. Down the street, Whitney’s eyes blazed white-red again, his own power exploding forth in twisting beams as the heat poured from Not-Clark’s eyes—

—but Clark didn’t wait around for either blast to hit him. He crouched his legs a little, then jumped, hurtling right over the beams. He landed and rolled on the other side, then looked up – and saw the beams converge on the spot where his heart had been moments ago. The mixed powers flared blindingly, lashing out at the building past the sidewalk—

—but it was happening in slow-motion. He’d tried to go into super-speed as he jumped, and the dream had evidently let him again. But there was no time to waste – he didn’t know how long it would hold, and the two false heroes would realize he wasn’t there in another moment. He had to take them out and get Lana to true safety, pronto.

He pushed himself to his feet and began sprinting towards Whitney, though the motions felt painfully slow, as if he was running through molasses. Not-Clark was more of a known entity – Clark had fought him before, and since their powers were the same, he had more of a measure of the monster. He was certain that he could overcome Not-Clark again, and soon. Whitney, alias the Crow, wasn’t so well-known – Clark hadn’t gotten the full measure of his abilities during the Madness – but he was more vulnerable to physical harm. Clark could take him down – and he needed to, before that bizarre power he was wielding caused irrevocable damage.

He glanced back at Not-Clark as he ran – and his heart jolted; the beams of orange and white-red alike were already turning away, heading towards him! They were still hitting each other – but, Clark had to wonder, what would happen if Whitney’s power hit Not-Clark full-on? He aimed carefully and sent several bolts of heat flying towards Not-Clark like bullets, then turned fully towards Whitney and plowed on, already feeling like he was moving faster.

He reached down as he ran, grabbed a jagged piece of the street, and tore it free. He held out the rough block-shape and headed closer – he glanced back at Not-Clark and saw the bolts of heat about to strike him – he got closer still to Whitney—

—the bolts struck Not-Clark, and his aim went awry – the heat no longer blocked the white-red power, and it snaked forward, striking him—

—and Clark threw the block out in front of Whitney’s eyes, letting it catch the full force of his power as the super-speed cut off. The block promptly shattered, and Whitney half-yelped as he shut his eyes, cutting off the beams in his effort to avoid getting blinded—

Crack! His jaw was abruptly introduced to Clark’s right hook, and he fell back in shock, landing hard on the cracked street. Clark turned back towards Not-Clark—

—just in time to see him charging forward at super-speed, not at all harmed by Whitney’s power. Clark ducked the punch he threw, then came back up with his own fist—

Whack! He literally knocked Not-Clark for a loop, then rounded on Whitney – and it was a good thing he did, because the jock king was already getting back to his feet! Clark charged forward and slammed into him, driving him back—

CRASH! They ran right into a downed car, further shattering the glass and metal, and grappled for the upper hand. “Damn you, Kent!” Whitney snarled, and shoved Clark back, carrying him into a lamppost; it snapped in half and toppled, the light smashing to pieces on the sidewalk.

“The same to you!” Clark retorted, unhurt by the impact – and he whirled, throwing Whitney away from him. WHAM! The jock king slammed into Not-Clark, making him stagger back and almost trip on his coat, and dropped to the ground, half-stunned.

Not-Clark recovered his balance and stared at Clark for a long moment – then he visibly smirked, his soulless green eyes seeming to flare red, and vanished in a blur of black and gray. “Coward,” Clark muttered, irritated—

But he had no time to dwell on it. Whitney scrambled to his feet, murder in his eyes, and lunged forward. Clark ducked again, but Whitney landed on him, and they grappled again. “Stupid f*cking farm boy!” the jock king seethed, getting a tight hold – and he threw Clark at the display of a store.

CRASH! The glass shattered as Clark went through it, and he landed on several items in the back of the store. “Oh, for – I don’t have time for this,” he muttered, surprisingly unwinded.

Whitney must’ve heard him. “Time?!” he called in a sneering tone, his eyes going nuclear again. “Ha! Time to die, Kent!” And he unleashed the searing white-red beams into the store, shattering every piece of the building he could touch. He ceased fire and watched it collapse, smirking—

Someone tapped his shoulder. He turned around—

Pow! Clark’s fist met his jaw again, knocking him back. The farm boy had super-sped out of harm’s way without even being noticed. “Like I said,” he repeated, “I don’t have time for this.”

“Neither do I,” said a voice to his side. He turned to look – but Whitney had already recovered, and lunged forward—

Clang! A long metal pipe struck the jock king on the head, sprawling him out on his front as Clark stepped neatly aside. Lana pulled it back and clutched it with both hands, the front of her green blouse heaving slightly with her breaths. She flashed her boyfriend a small, dangerous smile. “I’m tired of being scared,” she said simply.

He returned the smile, not really surprised, then turned back to Whitney – who, for the love of Pete, still wasn’t staying down. His eyes blazed white-red, and the power exploded forth—

—only for Clark to catch it in both hands, stopping its advance. The bizarre energy felt really hot, but that was all – it hadn’t harmed Not-Clark, and it didn’t harm the real Clark either. He stepped forward, pushing it back towards its source – Whitney trembled and tried to send out more, tried to destroy his enemy—

—to no avail. Clark’s hands covered his eyes completely, and he screamed in pain and disbelief – then in agony and terror. The deadly energy seared through his body, tearing at his skin and suit and cape, rupturing his blood vessels, covering him in spiderweb cracks of white-red—

Clark stepped back, watching as the jock king stood frozen and shattered – then he simply burst apart, both imploding and exploding in a tremendous shower of reddish sparks that quickly vanished, leaving only a cloud of billowing white smoke.

Clark and Lana grimaced at the sight, then looked at each other. “Right,” he murmured. “I think the other you is in here too.”

She nodded, unsurprised. “We need to find her.” Then a horrible thought struck. “Oh, no. I bet Not-Clark went after her.”

Clark’s jaw set with anger. “Then let’s go after him,” he half-snarled. He pulled Lana into his arms, held her up, and broke into super-speed—

—and the world tilted violently again. He stopped in his tracks, shook his head, and tried to get his bearings – but Lana suddenly gasped and pointed. “There!”

He looked. Through a strange haze or fog, he saw her house – but something was wrong. It was surrounded by a moat or lake of some kind, leaving only a few square yards of ground between the edge and the walls – and the ground itself looked hard and lifeless, bearing no trace of grass. Nell was there – they both recognized her. Clark tried to move forward, but he couldn’t – something was blocking him. “What the – oh, come on!” he cried. “We don’t have time for this!”

“No,” Lana said, staring in rising horror at the area. “We don’t.”

Beyond the moat, Nell stared up at a window, smirking coldly. The girl at the window, its dark blue curtains showing colorful childlike drawings, was clutching her teddy bear, crying to be let out. “Sorry, sweetie,” Nell said in a voice like poisoned honey, “but you can’t come out at this hour.” Her smirk became a cruel smile. “In fact, you can’t come out at all – ever again.”

A whoosh of air from behind caught her attention, and she turned – and blinked in surprise. “Clark,” she said, her tone now abrupt, and began to walk towards him. “Just what do you think you’re—”

Thwack! Not-Clark didn’t even bother with a verbal response – he just swatted her aside, pitching her onto the hard ground, and stopped where she’d been standing. The ends of his black-and-gray coat billowed silently as he stared up at the trapped girl. She saw him and began crying harder, knowing that he wasn’t here to help.

“Give me a break,” he muttered, and glared at the ground. His eyes glowed orange, shooting out bolts of heat – they tore into the hard earth, then rushed out to surround the entire house in a ring of fire. Little Lana stared in horror as the flames leaped high, then began wailing for help in earnest.

Clark saw and heard all this happening despite the distance – and, to his shock, he recognized it. He’d seen part of this very situation among flashes of other visions, flashes of people in mortal danger. He heard an echo of his own voice: “Who are they?”

“People who need your help,” replied the echo of a wise old lady’s voice.

Comprehension flooded his brain, and fury and desperation took over his actions. He held Lana close to him and crouched his feet, then jumped—

Not-Clark looked up from his murderous task and scowled at the window. “Scream all you want, little girl,” he sneered. “Nothing can save you now.” His eyes began to glow again—

WHAMMO! The impact from behind knocked him flat onto his face – in his shock, he released the heat right then, and it seared against the hard ground—

—and right back into his eyes! An unearthly scream ripped free of his throat, and he thrashed around blindly – or rather, he tried to. But a body the exact same size and weight as his pinned him down, rendering his struggle pointless, and an unmistakable voice snarled in his ear: “Don’t bet on it, *sshole.”

Not-Clark went berserk with rage and tried even harder to break free, but Clark had his number. He wasn’t letting this twisted mockery of himself get up, not for a moment—

A hissing shriek that no human throat could ever produce almost made him jump right off. He whipped his head to one side – just in time to see Nell lunge at him, her eyes blazing yellow with her own sudden rage—

Not-Clark rolled hard to that side, pitching Clark off himself, then rolled the other way and rubbed at his eyes – Nell’s fingers raked at the farm boy, their nails now sharp claws, and he actually cried out in pain, eliciting a hiss of glee from her—

Clang! The heavy pipe smashed into the evil woman’s head, knocking her away from Clark. Lana pulled back her weapon and glanced at her boyfriend – luckily, he was already getting back to his feet, facing Not-Clark as he also rose. She turned to her own nemesis, hoisting the pipe for another blow—

—and saw Nell’s yellow eyes flicker. Their round black pupils shifted into vertical slits, like those of a cat, and she bared her teeth—

Oh, yuck. Her teeth were a hideous shade of yellow now, not to mention all pointed and serrated – she opened her mouth and hissed again, all four of her canines extending into fangs—

—and the rest of her body shifted. It happened fast – in a blur of shadow, Nell’s clothes were gone, her skin had become mottled and mud-brown with thin stripes of black, her legs had melted into a long and sinuous tail, and her head had lengthened and flattened into a loathsome reptilian shape. Lana stumbled back in alarm as the neck extended on both sides like a cobra’s hood – the demonic serpent let out another hiss, baring all of its ugly teeth, and came after her, snapping its head forward—

—and was “rewarded” for its attack with a thunk on the nose, courtesy of Lana’s pipe. It recoiled, hissing in pain and irritation, then shot forward again – but this time, she darted aside, and its mouth slammed shut on thin air. It withdrew, considering her as she faced it with her weapon at the ready.

Nearby, Clark and Not-Clark circled each other like gladiators. The farm boy in red and blue tried to take in his surroundings without removing his eyes from his opponent, keeping his stance alert and ready to attack, while the impostor in black and gray sniffed and almost yawned, kicking the bottom flaps of his long coat back with one booted foot. His eyes were blood-red – their sclerae were still white, but their irises had lost any trace of green. They seemed to glow dimly as they glanced over Clark, unimpressed with what they saw.

“Give it up, farm boy,” Not-Clark said, sounding bored. “You can’t possibly defeat me.”

Clark couldn’t believe this creature’s arrogance. “Why not?” he retorted. “I did a couple of weeks ago, remember?”

Not-Clark sniffed again and straightened his coat, the gray S with its triangular border not obscured by the coat’s flaps as the big red S had been. “That was nothing,” he said. “Just a temporary setback. I have all the advantages here.”

“Like hell you do,” Clark growled, clenching both hands until his knuckles popped. “This is Lana’s dream, not yours. You’re just a parasite feeding off her fears.” He narrowed his green eyes as they flashed with rage, his voice lowering: “Get out of her head, right now, or I’ll destroy you.”

Not-Clark smirked. “Is that really supposed to scare me off? An idle threat on behalf of a stupid little girl?” He narrowed his own red eyes and leaned forward, his voice lowering as well: “You’re not even in my league, Kent. Of course, nobody is – I have no equal. But you in particular – you’re nothing but a whining insect, just like her.” Those inhuman eyes began to glow with malice. “Time to swat you down.”

Without any further warning, he lunged upward and forward, baring his white teeth and extending his pale claw-like hands—

—and came down on nothing but hard ground. He stumbled and almost pitched fully forward again—

Wham! Clark’s hand smashed into the back of his neck, finishing the job. Nobody insulted Lana and got off scot-free – not when he was around. He turned to the high flames and reached his hand out, but immediately withdrew it – he could feel the heat in a way he usually didn’t, a painful way. He wasn’t getting through it that easily.

It figured. He turned back, popped his knuckles again and got ready to fight in earnest – and Not-Clark shoved himself back up, whirling to face the farm boy. His red eyes glowed with rage, and he let out an inhuman yell as he shot forward, throwing a punch—

—but Clark caught it with his left hand and slammed the fisted right onto Not-Clark’s black-clad arm; the impostor gasped in pain, then got that same fist in the face. He reeled back, and Clark threw a left hook for good measure, almost knocking him off his feet. Not-Clark shook his head once and saw the next punch coming – he caught it and pulled hard, and Clark stumbled forward, unable to fight his own momentum—

Crack! Not-Clark delivered a teeth-rattling right hook, and Clark’s vision exploded with stars. Then another slammed forth, then another – and another! Unable to see anything beyond flashes of white, he kicked out desperately—

Whump! He got lucky. The breath went out of Not-Clark, and he released his grip on Clark as he doubled over, clutching at his groin. Clark rubbed hard at his eyes, trying to recover his sight – surprisingly, it didn’t take long, even though those punches had hurt like hell. He chanced a look at the other front of the battle.

Lana was still in one piece and still had a good grip on the pipe, but the large snake that Nell had become wasn’t giving her an inch. It kept lashing its head forward, trying to land a strike, and it was all she could do to avoid getting bitten. The serpent flared its hood, its hiss almost sounding like a mocking laugh, and began to lash forward again—

—and suddenly screamed as fire struck its head, half-blinding it. Lana whipped her own head towards Clark just in time to see him shoot another blast at the snake, eliciting a second scream. She flashed him a grateful smile and added to the monster’s injury with a smack from her pipe.

Clark smiled back, then whirled around – just as Not-Clark charged, disgorging an inhuman cry. Clark wasn’t able to fully dodge – instead, he took the impact and rolled with it, gripping Not-Clark and swinging to the side. The impostor got thrown off-balance, and the heavy blow that Clark landed on his head didn’t help him either. The farm boy pressed his attack, smashing Not-Clark’s nose in over and over – Whack! Whack! Whack!

Bam! Bam! Bam! The snake’s nose was taking a beating too, though it was flatter and thus not as easy to hurt. Nonetheless, Lana kept swinging the pipe, landing blow after blow. The serpent shrieked in pain and reared its head away, trying to escape – but it didn’t seem able to. Lana gritted her teeth and swung an especially hard blow—

—and missed. The snake’s head shot away just before she could hit it, and she stumbled as the pipe hit the ground instead, the metal ringing with the impact—

—and the snake’s tail suddenly wrapped around her legs, yanking them out from under her. She cried out in surprise and landed on her back, almost losing her grip on the pipe—

—but she might as well have dropped it, for all the good it was about to do her. The serpent loomed above, baring its teeth and fangs, its yellow eyes blazing as it hissed in triumph—

No! She couldn’t let it win! She hoisted the pipe, but the snake just laughed mockingly and shifted its head, aiming for her own. She stared up at it in fear, wishing desperately that she had a better weapon—

“LANA!” Clark cried, having spotted her – but he didn’t get to do a single thing about it; Not-Clark slammed into him, driving him onto his back, clutching at his throat—

—the snake lashed down, and Lana brandished the pipe in a futile gesture – the snake’s jaws closed on it—

—and suddenly released it; the serpent drew away, shrieking in pain. Lana stared at it in confusion, then at the pipe—

Her eyes widened. It wasn’t a pipe anymore – it was a sword. Somehow, it had transformed just before the snake had grabbed it – the long, round metal had flattened into a sharp blade, and she now gripped it by the hilt. Her heart lurched in sudden excitement, and she sat up – the snake was recovering, and it still held her by the legs. It lashed down again—

Clang! She swung the sword up and struck its sharp teeth, actually knocking one of them out. It retreated, shrieking again, and she swung the sword down – right at its tail. The blade bit into the brown-and-black scales, drawing some sickly green fluid, and the snake screamed – its coils loosened, and she scrambled out of them, discouraging it from trying to grab her or bite her with a swipe of the sword. She got onto her feet and slashed at it, forcing it to draw back rather than attack her.

Clark wasn’t faring nearly as well – Not-Clark had him flat on the ground and held his throat in a vise-grip. The monster’s expression was cold and hard, his red eyes glowed with pure hate, and his pale hand tightened further – it was getting hard to breathe, hard to even think – he had to break free, had to—

He suddenly stiffened, then went limp, his eyes rolling back in his head, his mouth hanging open. Not-Clark stared at him for a moment, then smiled darkly and released his grip. He sat up on his knees and began to stand—

Whump!

His red eyes flew wide open along with his mouth – once again, the breath went out of him, and he doubled over—

Crack! His head snapped back from the right hook, and Clark didn’t give him a chance to recover. He landed another punch, keeping Not-Clark dazed, then grabbed him by the shoulders and stood up, hauling his enemy with him – then he shoved hard, slamming a kick into the bastard’s gut for good measure. Not-Clark staggered away and fell over, landing on his back – and in the ring of fire he’d surrounded Lana’s house with. He let out another inhuman cry and scrambled to his feet, getting out of the tall flames—

—and promptly got grabbed by the shoulders again. Clark yanked Not-Clark forward and slammed his own head into the monster’s face, smashing his nose completely. A howl of agony was his reward, and he released Not-Clark, letting him stagger back and clutch at his nose. Black ichor spurted from it, and the bottom hem of his coat was on fire. He let go of his nose and snarled with rage, his red eyes burning bright again – then he charged—

—but Clark was ready for him. As Not-Clark closed in, the farm boy ducked his head and slammed it forward again, hitting him in the abdomen this time and rumpling his black shirt. Not-Clark doubled over – and Clark clutched his black-clad legs, shoving up and back with all the strength he could muster—

—and Not-Clark went flying overhead, hurtling away – and splashed into the moat that surrounded the battlefield, vanishing in a spray of hissing liquid. Clark looked at it, grimaced, and straightened his red jacket as he checked on Lana.

For a moment, he was taken aback – the giant snake was cut and bleeding all over, and Lana was completely uninjured. But then he saw the sword she now wielded, and he grinned. She looked towards him and grinned back, then parried another strike from the snake, knocking one of its fangs loose. He looked back towards the moat of what had to be acid—

—just as Not-Clark burst out of it to land on the hard ground, surrounded by swirling mist, his black clothes hissing. The pale skin of his jaw was covered in black ichor, his bared teeth looked more yellow than white, and his red eyes were blazing. He looked utterly demonic, and Clark couldn’t hide a shudder even as he braced himself for the attack.

Lana saw Not-Clark’s reappearance too, and she had to hold back a yelp. In his state, he looked more terrifying than ever – and she had no illusions about how far he would go. He’d been out for blood from the very start—

—and so was the snake. She whipped her sword at it and caught another strike, then withdrew and stabbed hard before it could get back – and the blade stabbed into its left eye. It screamed in agony and thrashed around, forcing her to back up.

She pressed into something large and warm, and glanced at it – just as the something, which happened to be Clark, glanced at her. “You doing okay?” he asked in a soft, almost breathless voice.

“Yeah,” she replied, feeling almost breathless too. She glanced at the half-blind snake, which was still thrashing, then at the ring of fire around her house – and felt a spike of fear. “But I don’t think we have long.”

He looked and felt that same spike – she was right. The flames were getting closer to the wooden walls, and up in her room, Little Lana stood helpless, holding her teddy bear close. He turned his attention back to Not-Clark, who stood directly before him several feet away. “Then let’s finish this,” he whispered.

“Agreed,” Lana murmured, and hoisted her sword. The snake shook its head once more, then focused its only good eye on her. Not-Clark clenched and unclenched his pale hands, their nails blackened from the acid and looking sharp enough to actually be claws, and ground his yellowed teeth. His glowing red eyes focused on Clark – and suddenly turned a fiery orange—

The snake drew its head back, baring its teeth – most of which were still in – and made ready to lunge forward—

The fire shot from Not-Clark’s demonic eyes in two beams that quickly merged, heading towards Clark—

—but they moved slowly again, at least to Clark’s eyes. He turned around and took hold of Lana, bringing her into the super-speed – she blinked at him, confused—

“Down,” he whispered, and she complied, dropping with him to the ground—

—and the beam of fire shot overhead, striking the snake in mid-lunge. It fell back, screaming in agony and bewilderment, and Not-Clark was so shocked that he took a moment to stop shooting.

Clark used that moment for all it was worth – letting Lana drop out of super-speed, he charged forward, getting around Not-Clark. Just after the monster ceased fire and looked to see where his enemy was, he found himself being hauled backward. He let out a startled noise and whipped his head wildly around.

All that did was allow him to catch glimpses of Clark as the farm boy, gripping the ridiculous coat by its bottom, began to spin around in place. Not-Clark was drawn stumbling into a circle, but his feet soon left the ground, and he howled in astonishment as Clark slung him around and around, going faster and faster. Lana remained on the ground, watching in awe as her boyfriend and his doppelgänger became a blur—

—and then, all of a sudden, Not-Clark’s coat ripped, seared through by Clark’s own heat vision, and he came free of it. He hurtled clear and sailed several feet over Lana—

WHAMMO! The snake never saw him coming – he slammed into it, unable to stop himself, and they both went down in a stunned heap. Clark didn’t stop there – he approached the fire at super-speed and kept swinging the slightly tattered black-and-gray coat around like a propeller, drawing air towards it—

—and with the air came the fire itself. Lana stared in amazement as the flames flowed towards the blur, drawn in by the flow of air – and in seconds, enough of the ring had been extinguished for them to reach the house. Clark stopped swinging the coat, which was now completely ablaze, and flung it towards their stunned enemies.

Unfortunately, Not-Clark had recovered enough to see it coming, and he rolled out of the way at super-speed – but the snake wasn’t so lucky. The flaming coat landed on it, and it screamed as its battered and wounded body easily caught fire. It thrashed around madly, completely blinded by the searing agony, unable to do anything but burn.

Clark and Lana and even Not-Clark watched it die, consumed by the very flames that the latter had unleashed. Then Lana, having risen to her feet, backed up to stand beside Clark as the monster faced him. Without the coat, they could see that his black shirt was short-sleeved – nothing more than a T-shirt with the gray S basically painted on its chest area. Clark felt oddly insulted. “Well, that’s a cheap outfit,” he muttered.

“Not to mention stupid,” Lana agreed quietly, hoisting her sword. “You look much better like this.” She patted the sleeve of his red jacket, smiling a little. “Red and blue really suit you.”

“Thanks, Lana,” Clark murmured, smiling back for a moment.

Not-Clark scowled at them, his red eyes blazing, the veins and arteries in his pale and muscular arms turning black – and the skin itself turning very white – as his true nature became more evident with every moment. “Is that the best you can do?!” he demanded, his voice a harsh and grating thing – and they shuddered, reminded of how the Scarecrow Killer’s voice had sounded. “You are nothing but insects! Your bites have no effect on me!”

“Oh, shut up!” Lana snapped, rolling her eyes. “You can stand in De-Nile all you want, but it won’t do you any good!”

“In fact, it’ll do you just the opposite!” Clark agreed. “You’ve already lost, whoever and whatever you really are. Now get out of here, unless you want us to destroy you.”

Evidently, the Thing known as Not-Clark had a death wish, because he charged forward at super-speed, raising one too-white fist. Clark stepped forward gracefully and caught the punch with ease, wrenched Not-Clark closer, and—

WHAPOW! He delivered a bone-shattering, skin-splitting uppercut that sent the monster flying up and back, the very air rippling from the force of the punch. The Thing couldn’t even scream, the shock was too great – and a moment later, the body slammed onto the hard ground with a thunderous CRASH!

Clark and Lana held each other until the ground stopped shaking, then looked at what was left of Not-Clark. Incredibly, the Thing still wasn’t dead – it twitched and stirred, then began to slowly pick itself up. It was smashed, battered, and mottled – but it was still alive.

“Eww,” Lana grimaced. “For God’s sake, why won’t it just die?”

“I guess it’s too stubborn,” Clark said grimly. He glanced at the house and winced – even though a good portion of the ring of fire had been put out, the rest was starting to lick at the walls of the house. Little Lana was still trapped in her room, unable to do anything but watch the fire come closer. “We don’t have any more time for this – we have to help her.”

“And fast,” Lana agreed, looking at the flames and her younger self in mounting anxiety and anger. How dare this creature come barging in and try to destroy their lives! If she had even a fraction of Clark’s power, she’d—

Wait a minute. She looked at her sword, a thought striking her. Why had it gone from a pipe to this all of a sudden, let alone when she most needed it? Hadn’t she been wishing for a better weapon?

Her eyes widened, and she looked towards the moat of acid. She extended one hand, trying to focus on it, picturing what she wanted to happen. Clark noticed and wondered what she was doing—

—but before he could ask, the acid hissed and bubbled, then began to rise into the air. More of it came every second, the speed increasing – and it was changing, becoming subtly clearer—

—then Lana whirled around and pointed at the ring of fire, and the liquid shot forward, splitting around her and Clark to swamp the flames. They emitted white smoke—

No! Not smoke, Clark realized – steam! Lana had changed the acid into water, and she was sending it to put the fire out!

With that thought, full comprehension dawned, and he could’ve laughed in delight. Just as he’d told Not-Clark, this was Lana’s dream—

The Thing that he’d thought of by that name suddenly growled. He whirled to face it – and wished he hadn’t. It looked almost as bad off as when he’d finished bombarding it with heat the last time they’d fought – in a way, it looked even worse. He could still see patches of too-white skin among the mottled black flesh and streams of black ichor, reminders of how it had used to look. Its eyes, though, were even redder than before – in fact, he couldn’t see the whites at all. They burned with red fire, showing no hint of pupils – just as the Scarecrow Killer’s had.

Lana had seen it too – but this time, as she faced the Thing, she felt no fear. This creature, this monster from God only knew where, did not belong here. It had no place in the universe, certainly not inside her head – and she was about to show it what happened when its ilk tried to play with innocent lives.

“Go,” she told Clark without looking at him. The ring of fire had been completely extinguished, but she could still hear the crackling of flames – they had to be inside the house. “I have it right where I want it.”

“I can see that,” Clark murmured, unable to hide a smile – the Thing had no idea what it was in for. “I’ll get her out, Lana – I swear.”

“I know,” she said quietly, glancing at him for only a moment. Then she looked at the Thing again, feeling a wind whip through her hair, and hoisted her sword. With her free hand, she gestured at the moat again. More acid flew up, shifted into water, and flew forth – but this time, it engulfed the monster. It thrashed around weakly inside, still trying to deny its impending doom, and she grimaced – it looked like a drowning bug.

She cut off the water a moment later, letting it splash down to the hard earth. The Thing shook itself, then stared at her, dripping wet and almost entirely black now. What was left of its mouth twisted into a sneer, and it bared yellow teeth and fangs at her. “Just what do you think you can possibly do?” it grated.

“Plenty,” she replied calmly, her voice carrying across the yard. “This is my dream, my head.” She narrowed her eyes. “My rules.”

Thunder boomed in the black sky, and the Thing looked up sharply, its blazing red eyes widening—

—and a bolt of blue-white lightning crashed down onto it, searing through its battered body, aided by the presence of the water. It jerked and twitched in place, no sound coming from it – at least, none that Lana could hear. Luckily, there was no deafening crash of thunder with the bolt – this was her dream, after all.

The lightning vanished as quickly as it had come, and the Thing stood senseless, its mottled black flesh smoking – there was not even a trace of white left, and the chest area of the black shirt had been seared away. Lana gritted her teeth and whipped her hand up, and the monster suddenly rose to hover several feet in the air. A second blue-white bolt struck it, lasting longer than the first, and it shook even more.

This time, as the electricity vanished, it spat out words, its voice hideously distorted but still understandable: “STUPID INSECT! AS IF THIS WILL HELP YOU! YOU ARE NOTHING! YOU ARE—”

The third bolt cut it off. Its body trembled all over, looking like it was about to fall apart. The lightning didn’t die away – Lana held her sword up and, with a single thought, brought the electricity searing into the blade. It glowed a near-blinding blue-white, and she drew her arm back, aiming for the final blow. “Go back to hell, Not-Clark,” she said, her calm voice booming through the sky. “And tell your friends to leave us alone.”

With that, she threw her arm forward, sending the sword spinning towards the Thing’s abdomen. It struck dead-on, guided by her thoughts, and unleashed all its power into the wretched body. The Thing arched into a bow, blue-white light ripping through every single blood vessel, exploding from its mouth and eyes, consuming it—

BOOOOM!!!

The explosion of blue-white fire was so bright that Lana had to shut her eyes, so powerful that the ground itself shook. When she finally looked back, the last of the fire billowed up and away as a great shower of sparks rained down…and she saw a shape in the smoke left behind, a cross set against and surrounded by a six-pointed star.

She smiled knowingly. At last, Not-Clark was gone for good. Without sparing that Thing further thought, she turned and ran to the house, grimacing at the black marks around the walls – they’d barely been in time. She reached the front door, hauled it open, and stepped through—

—and stopped in her tracks, looking around in disbelief. The house was far too big inside, with far too many stories, only some of which she could see from the front door – and there were flames crackling everywhere. She ground her teeth in frustration. “I don’t have time for this!” she exclaimed. “I need to find Clark and the other me!” She shut her eyes, concentrating on that.

When she opened them again, she was standing on a different floor entirely. The fire was everywhere, but she could see in front of her – and there, coming towards her from an open door, were Clark and Little Lana. Her heart leaped into her throat—

—and the fire suddenly lashed out in front of them, cutting them off. Clark stopped and reached out tentatively, but immediately withdrew his hand – this fire was far too hot, even for him. He grimaced and looked at Lana, who shut her eyes again.

Right on cue, the water appeared and flooded through the room, wiping out the flames as if they’d never existed. The steam blew away with a single thought, and Lana let out a sigh of relief as Clark scooped Little Lana up and walked forward—

The floor gave out beneath them!

“NO!” Lana screamed, stepping forward even as they vanished – but Little Lana suddenly flew over the rough edge of the hole and landed on the floor, clutching her teddy bear. Her older self ran forward and looked her over, seeing no injuries, then looked down the hole.

Clark clung to the edge, seemingly just within reach – but it was all he could do to hang on for dear life. Lana stared in horror – beneath the wooden floor was a stone tunnel, its walls jagged and vertical. It would’ve seemed bottomless but for what lay not far beneath Clark – a throbbing mass of red liquid fire, like magma within an active volcano, with hints of a sickly green glow peeking through.

Oh, dear God – not meteor rock again! Lana thought, frustrated and fearing for Clark’s life. This was only a dream, but if he died here, she didn’t think it’d be at all good for him in the real world!

He looked up at her, knowing the same – his gut was certain of it. “Lana,” he gasped, “get out of here. Take her and go.”

“No!” she exclaimed, getting onto her knees and grabbing for his hand – it was hard to get a good grip from here. “I’m not leaving without you, Clark!”

He sighed, having known she’d say that – but damn it all, he didn’t want her to die too! Wasn’t it enough for him to die?

[superman_lives_on]

The Chronicles of Smallville: Yuletide

But she knew it was too much, and she’d be damned if she just let him get killed by this wretched nightmare. She kept grabbing for his hand, and after a moment, he reached up as best he could.

She got a grip on it, but she could already tell that physics wasn’t on her side, even in this crazy dream world. She reached her other hand to grab his, but that didn’t help either – nonetheless, she clung on, desperately trying to focus on pulling him up. It wasn’t happening, though – no matter how hard she concentrated, he wasn’t getting any lighter.

Beside her, Little Lana looked down at her helpless savior, her bottom lip trembling. Then she sniffed hard, her child’s face setting into an expression of determination, and set her teddy aside – and reached down to grab for his other hand. He stared up at her in shock, as did the teenage Lana, and she looked at them fiercely. “Not leaving without you!” she declared, her voice a little wobbly with fear but no less determined.

Teenage Lana nodded, her own face becoming fierce rather than desperate, and she redoubled her efforts. Feeling a sudden surge of hope, though he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why, Clark kicked at the jagged wall until he got his feet on somewhat steady protrusions, then reached his other hand up. Little Lana grabbed it with both of hers, and together, the two girls pulled, straining with all their might…

…and, incredibly, Clark began to rise.

Both versions of Lana kept pulling, their determination becoming white-hot – below them all, the churning mass of liquid fire and meteor rock began to rise too, inching towards Clark’s brown boots—

The girls pulled harder, and Clark’s hands came over the lip of the hole – he climbed as best he could, straining to get a good grip on the floor—

One of his feet slipped, and he cried out in frustration as he began to fall—

No. He wasn’t falling.

He blinked, then looked up. His eyes widened – both Lanas were surrounded by a gentle silvery-white light, like moonlight, and they were pulling at him with no evidence of strain. Hope surged in him again, and he regained his footing, climbing furiously—

—and his torso came up over the edge, his hands grasping the floor as best they could. The two Lanas helped him along, now pulling at the flaps of his jacket, until he got to his feet – then Little Lana grabbed her teddy bear and let Clark scoop her up in one arm, and he and Teenage Lana began to run. Behind them, the churning mass was starting to surge out of the hole, eldritch lava from an unearthly volcano.

They sprinted across the floor, Lana concentrating on finding the front door again while Clark carried her younger self. “There!” she suddenly cried, pointed – the door stood open several yards ahead. They ran for it, hearing the rush of fire and liquid behind them – the eldritch mass was closing the distance, devouring the floor as it tried to reach them—

They jumped through the door, and Lana slammed it shut behind them – but then she saw something that made her cry out in frustration. The moat of acid had begun to glow with that same terrible light, both red and green. They ran out onto the hard ground, but they quickly saw that it was no use – the eldritch mass was surging up from under the acid even as it began to burn through the door.

They were trapped.

“NO!” Clark yelled, unable to accept it. There had to be a way out, there just had to be—

He looked up, and through the oil-black clouds, he saw a soft silvery-white source of light – the same light that had surrounded the Lanas back in the house. He pulled Teenage Lana into his free arm, holding her up just as he held Little Lana, and crouched his legs to gather his strength – and jumped.

They soared away from the ground, his legs flailing – he chanced a look down and saw the house collapse, flames licking over it even as the churning red-green mass devoured it – he looked back up, seeing the moon-like source of light, and focused on reaching it…

…but he could already feel the terrible, absolute pull of gravity. He was already starting to fall, to plummet towards the eldritch mass – and the two Lanas were about to die with him.

He looked between them, seeing how fragile they both looked, how vulnerable…and his jaw set in fury. No. He was not going to die. They were not going to die. They were going to escape – they were going to live. If it was the last thing he ever did, he was going to save them – to save her, his angel, his love.

The silvery-white light surrounded them again – and this time, it turned brighter, turned to blue-white – the same shade as the bolts of lightning that Lana had summoned. Beneath, the red-green eldritch mass was all that remained of the ground, and it bubbled and surged, beginning to reach for them—

—but its unnatural, unearthly not-light was nothing compared to the blue-white light that surrounded them – the light of pure faith. He held onto it just as both of her did, held onto it with all his hope and love…and his own light answered it. A red-gold glow flooded from him, mingling with the blue-white but not changing color, adding its own power—

—and gravity suddenly had no hold on them. They soared away from the eldritch mass, from that terrible world of nightmares, and headed for the sky…the moon-like source grew closer…and they saw that it was the moon, its surface unmarred by any craters, all soft beauty and light…the red-gold and blue-white glows became brighter in response…

And once again, everything went white.

* * * * *
Clark and Lana gasped awake at the same time, sitting up straight. For several long moments, they couldn’t make sense of anything…but then the adrenaline calmed, and they looked at each other. With identical soft sounds of relief, they grabbed each other in a hug, their lips crashing together.

When they finally parted to breathe, they remained close, their foreheads and noses touching as they smiled. “It’s over,” she whispered, her eyes shining. “We made it.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. He glanced to one side and smiled more widely. “All of us.”

She looked too. Her younger self stood nearby in her whitish-pink pajamas, smiling as well. “All of us,” Little Lana agreed.

Lana inhaled deeply and glanced at Clark, who nodded encouragingly, then climbed off the bed and got to her knees in front of the ghost. She searched for the right words, then noticed that the spectral arms were empty. “Where’s your teddy?” she asked softly.

Little Lana pointed to a nearby chest. “I think he’s in there.”

Clark watched silently as his girlfriend walked over and opened the chest, rummaged through it for a moment, then drew out her quarry. She held it – him – out, gazing wistfully. “I remember,” she whispered. “I got him when my parents were still alive. He was a Christmas present.” She smiled, her eyes gleaming with moisture, and kissed the bear softly. “Hello, Buddy. I’ve missed you.”

Buddy’s tiny black eyes seemed to twinkle in his light brown face. She sniffed fondly, then turned to Little Lana and offered him to her. The girl accepted him, cradling him in her arms, and Lana realized that they felt very warm…and solid. Not a ghost anymore, then…a living memory.

“You really are me,” Lana whispered, resting on her knees before Little Lana. “You’re…who I used to be.”

Little Lana nodded, her eyes looking moist. “I used to be happy,” she admitted, her voice not quite steady. “When Mommy and Daddy were here…I was so happy.” She smiled and sniffed at the same time.

“Yeah,” Lana whispered, nodding. She wiped at her eyes a bit, not letting the tears fall.

Little Lana did the same, blinked a few times, then swallowed. She spoke even less steadily: “Then it happened. The meteors fell…and took them away from me.”

Clark saw all the pain on her face and thought his heart would break…especially because, despite his own power of reason and his father’s words from four months ago, he still believed that whole terrible day to be his fault. He remembered vividly how her face had stared out from that magazine cover, captured forever by some unthinking photographer – how it had been wracked with pure pain and sadness, how her eyes had gazed without truly seeing anything, how the tears had stained her skin in silent testament to the grief she hadn’t been fully able to understand then but had fully felt nonetheless. He remembered how Lana had been so upset when she had seen that picture on the Wall of Weird, placed there by its mistress for God only knew what reason…and how she had feared that she would never be anything more than that grieving little girl in a pink fairy princess costume.

The little girl in question somehow managed to keep speaking: “After that, I was lost…I fell asleep, and I never woke up.” She sniffed, then scowled. “She kept me asleep.”

“Nell,” Lana said quietly, nodding…and feeling all kinds of sadness as she understood. Her aunt had fulfilled the role of wicked stepmother, keeping her trapped in that stupid costume and never allowing her to make any decisions for herself, scoffing at the mere idea of her starting to forge her own path, scornfully separating her from the only guy who had ever truly known her…and from the honorable man and woman who could have filled her parents’ shoes. And for years, Lana hadn’t even realized what Nell had been doing.

Dear God…Little Lana was what she’d thought was gone forever. She was the innocence, the simple joy, the childhood that the meteor and Nell had stolen from her. She felt like sobbing, letting her pain out…and she abruptly realized that her tears were falling free. She couldn’t stop them anymore – she didn’t even try. Why should she? She’d held it all back for too long.

Little Lana looked at her, tears trickling down her cheeks as well. “I was scared,” she whimpered. “So scared…I couldn’t wake up…I couldn’t talk to you…and I thought…” She broke off, sucked in several deep breaths despite the tears, then bowed her head. Her voice came out very small and sad: “I thought that…that maybe…you didn’t want me anymore.”

Lana stared at her younger self, appalled that such a horrible belief had ever tormented her, then let out a choking sob. “Oh, no,” she said, her voice watery. “No, Lana. That was never true.” She gently cupped the girl’s chin and lifted her head so their eyes – the same hazel eyes, simply at different ages – met, both pairs shimmering with tears. “Never,” she vowed quietly.

Little Lana’s lip trembled. She sniffed harder – then let out a soft sound as Lana pulled her close, slipping her arms around the fragile body. Both girls – both the same girl – sobbed in earnest, letting it all out, and hugged each other the whole time.

Clark just sat nearby, his gaze turned slightly away out of respect. He didn’t dare intrude – this wasn’t something he could help them with. Besides, he might’ve been able to save the little girl from that nightmare world…but it could never truly make up for what he’d done to her twelve years ago.

Eventually, the tears petered out, and the two Lanas relaxed, sighing softly…but they didn’t pull apart. The little girl raised her head and looked at the teenager, her face trailed with the silvery remnants of her freed pain. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said quietly. “What happened – it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t get them killed.”

Teenage Lana sniffed a bit, blinking her eyes, and nodded. “I know,” she whispered. “I guess…I just felt so guilty for surviving. Some part of me thought it was my fault they died.”

Clark stared at her, feeling horrible to hear that. “That’s not true, Lana,” he said softly, slipping off the bed and landing upon his knees on the floor. His hand found her shoulder without needing the aid of his eyes, which met hers with quiet strength and assurance. “There’s no way you could’ve caused that meteor to hit them – and there’s no way you could’ve stopped it.”

She smiled weakly, nodding again. “You’re right, Clark,” she said softly. She looked down, her arms still around Little Lana. “Maybe I just couldn’t accept that sometimes, people just die – and it’s nobody’s fault.”

“Maybe,” Little Lana agreed. She looked at her savior firmly and said, “It wasn’t your fault either, Clark. You didn’t kill them. I know you would’ve saved them if you could’ve.”

Clark blinked, feeling a sudden surge of warmth at those words. She…she doesn’t blame me? “Really?” he asked, hardly daring to hope.

Little Lana nodded. “Really really.” Then she smiled. “Scout’s honor.”

At that, he chuckled, deciding to accept the words – children tended to say what they meant, after all. “Okay,” he agreed. “Scout’s honor.”

“Scout’s honor,” Teenage Lana echoed, smiling as well. She pulled her younger self close in again, squeezing her gently. “Can you forgive me?” she whispered. “For not letting you come out sooner?”

Little Lana nodded against her. “I forgive you, Lana,” she said, her little voice full of emotion.

The young woman smiled wistfully but not sadly and pressed a very gentle kiss on the girl’s head. Then she met her own eyes, knowing that there was one last thing she had to say, feeling absolutely certain that it would bridge this divide forever. She said, very simply, “I love you.”

Little Lana’s eyes shone with a mixture of emotions, none of them sad – not anymore. She smiled widely and nodded, then leaned into her older self, whispering so low that it could barely be heard: “I love you.”

Moonlight shone through the window and fell upon the two Lanas, bathing them in soft silver-white…and as Clark watched, amazed, mist gathered around them, sparkling as it rose from the floor. Both of them became less solid for a long moment, shining brightly yet softly…and then they simply drifted into each other, the glow becoming brighter still. The mist flowed into the merged figures, becoming part of them while also covering them…

…then it faded, and the moonlight shone on a single Lana, the teenager who had found her lost inner child…who had forgiven herself. Clark moved forward and gathered her into his arms, and she leaned into him gratefully…and a yawn stretched her mouth adorably. She smiled at him, obviously worn out. “Clark,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed. “Take me home.”

“As you wish, Lana,” he vowed, and pressed a kiss to her forehead as she drifted into slumber. Without another word, he rose to his feet, holding her in both arms, and carried her out of and away from the house. Once they had passed through the fence, he paused and glanced up at the sky, seeing a bunch of clouds gliding through it. He sent a silent thanks upward, then turned to the path leading home – and in a blur, he and his sleeping passenger were gone.

As the clock struck midnight, the blanket of clouds gently covered the moon…only for a distant red light to appear in the dark sky, as if from a passing airplane…and soft, silvery bells jingled as tiny white flakes began to fall.

* * * * *
Lana awoke from a dreamless sleep. She yawned and stretched, then rubbed at her eyes a little and looked around. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was – but she knew that it wasn’t her bedroom.

Then she remembered, and a laugh of purest joy burst forth, unable to be contained. This was the guest room at the Kent Farm – she’d slept here once before, right after the Level Three incident. It had been far too long since then – but she wasn’t about to dwell on the past, on regrets and sorrows. Why should she? It was Christmas Day!

Grinning, she threw the covers off herself, climbed out of bed, and padded rapidly across the floor – and stopped, staring out the window. Her eyes widened – and her grin threatened to split her face apart as she dashed over to it, pushing up against the glass and peering out into the morning. Oh my God! SNOW!!!

Yes – for the first time in years, it was snowing in Smallville. The tiny white flakes poured down from the pure white sky – not merely drifted, but poured, so many of them falling that it was practically a blizzard, lacking only a strong wind. For a long moment, all she could do was stare at the snowflakes – not only the ones that poured down, but the inches of them that covered the ground already. Then she pulled back from the window, fogging it with her excited breaths, and laughed again, dancing out of the room in her T-shirt and sweatpants and heading downstairs.

To her amazement, she had once again slept in – the three Kents were already up. Clark grinned at her, also in a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants, and opened his arms so she could dance into them. “Good morning, Lana,” he whispered, “and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Clark,” she replied in kind. She met his eyes and beamed. “The first of many.”

The only answer he could find for that was a long, warm kiss, which she happily accepted. When they parted, she turned to see Martha and Jonathan both grinning. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” the older woman said, coming around for a hug – Lana obliged immediately. “And welcome home.”

“I second that,” Jonathan said, and was happy to continue the hug when his wife parted it. “Merry Christmas, Lana.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him. “All three of you. This is the happiest day I’ve ever known.”

“And the best part,” Clark said, still grinning, “is that it’s just begun.”

“Absolutely,” Jonathan said, releasing Lana so she could take her seat at the table. “And what better way to start it off than with the master chef’s big breakfast?”

Martha grinned at him – indeed, the table had plenty of pancakes, strawberry and blueberry and plain alike, along with scrambled eggs and bacon, not to mention maple syrup, powdered sugar, orange juice and apple juice, and milk and honey to cap it all off. It was, in short, the first half of the Kent family’s Christmas banquet. All four members of that family fell to on the food without further ado, and for once, their stomachs didn’t have a chance to complain.

When they were finished, they gathered around the tree, admiring the ornaments on its branches and gazing at the presents that surrounded the base. Lana had never seen so many in her life – she was certain of it. Presents from their friends that had been carried over last night, presents from the Kents to each other, presents from old friends of Jonathan and Martha…and, of course, her present to Clark, and his to her. She smiled knowingly at the former of these last two, having little doubt that he would like it – and knowing without needing to peek that she would love his.

They decided to save those two presents for last and began working at the ribbons and wrapping paper, doing as little tearing as they could manage – and all the while, Clark kept his x-ray vision firmly off, thank you very much. At length, they reached Lex’s presents, which he’d given them in the town square last night. Clark barely resisted the temptation to peek at Lana’s gift – all Lex had said was that it might prove useful.

Lana opened up the professionally-wrapped bundle. She had already been sure that it was a book, judging from the shape and feel – but she was surprised to find out what kind of book it was. “The Martial Artist’s Guide to Training Alone, by Loren W. Christensen.” she read, then looked up at Clark. “I…I guess I did mention once that I wanted to be able to defend myself from bullies.”

“After school, the day after the Madness,” Clark provided promptly. “You didn’t want to be caught helpless if anyone came after you.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t blame you, Lana. I only wish I could always be there for you.”

“I know, Clark,” she said, putting her hand over his. “I’m just grateful for when you are there for me.” She smiled warmly and glanced at the book. “With enough work, maybe I can carry my own weight.”

“That’s the spirit,” Clark grinned. He turned to his own present from Lex – also a book, he suspected – and unwrapped it. He raised his eyebrows. “To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee.”

“Oh!” Lana exclaimed, beaming. “I love that book! I told Lex that you probably would too.” She planted a kiss on his cheek. “You and Atticus Finch have a lot in common.”

He chuckled. “I’m sure you’re right.” Moving almost as one, they set the books aside and reached for their last presents. Without speaking, they began opening them at the same time…and gazed in wonder at what they saw.

“A blanket,” Lana whispered, holding it to her cheek. It was a beautiful thing, patterns of silver and white winding through a bright blue canvas like clouds through a clear sky – and it was so soft and warm. She glanced at a corner and blinked, seeing two letters: C.K.

Her heart flooded with warmth. “Clark,” she whispered, her eyes shining, “did you make this?”

He nodded, smiling – those sewing lessons from his mom had paid off. “And I’m guessing that you made this,” he said, holding up the long and thick scarf that went in a pattern of colors: deep red to golden-yellow to bright blue, then all over again. “It’s beautiful, Lana.” He wound it around his neck. “I’ll always treasure it.”

“Same here,” she said, feeling tears of joy welling up in her eyes – then she all but knocked him over as she pounced on him, smothering him with kisses. He didn’t mind – in fact, he gladly returned them, and his parents discreetly left them alone for a bit. Even when the kisses ceased, the young couple stuck together.

They stayed that way for the rest of the day, breaking apart only when absolutely necessary – such as when they needed to shower. But from the snowball fight they had with Jonathan and Martha, to the building of a magnificent snowman, to the glorious Christmas dinner they sat down for with their closest friends, they never left each other’s side. And for whatever reason, Nell never even tried to interrupt – thank God.

Well after the sun had set, leaving the town still blanketed in snow, Clark and Lana were stretched out on the couch together, dozing peacefully. She lay atop him, the long and wide blanket covering her with ease, and he rested his head on a thick pillow, the scarf draped over the arm of the couch next to it. They seemed completely out of it.

But then the floor creaked under heavy steps, and they started, blinking their eyes open. Before they could look, they went still. Something passed over them, through them…something warm and toasty, something subtle yet powerful…something like the spirit of Christmas itself.

Then the soft light came up along with a soft, deep chuckle, and they slowly turned their heads to see the source. Their breaths caught in their throats, and they stared in mute awe. It was coming from a tall man, built sturdily and seeming somehow young despite his thick white hair and flowing white beard. His skin was smooth, his features strong yet soft, and the red suit with white down that he wore fitted him perfectly…as did the red cap with a white ball that rested on his head. His white-gloved hands hung at his sides, and his lips formed a smile that made his bright, deep, pure blue eyes twinkle.

“Merry Christmas, Clark and Lana,” he said, his voice a rumbling basso as deep and smooth and warm as a tropical sea. “I hope you don’t mind the extra visit.” He gave another soft, distinct chuckle, a little “ho-ho-ho”.

Their mouths hung open for a long moment…then they closed them and sat up a bit on the couch, staring at him. Lana was the first to speak. “Santa?” she whispered. “Is it…is it really you?”

He smiled warmly and touched the side of his strong nose with one gloved hand. “Well, what does your heart tell you, Lana?”

She inhaled deeply, then smiled in reply. “That it is you.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Clark murmured, smiling as well. “Not that we’re complaining, Santa, but…”

“What am I doing here?” Santa finished; they nodded. “A fair question.” He seemed a bit troubled. “It has to do with what happened last night, shortly before I got here.”

They blinked – then they understood. “The nightmare,” Lana said. “The Thing…and the younger me.”

“Yes,” Santa said gently. “Your own forgotten innocence…forgotten, but never truly gone.” He smiled warmly, seeming proud of them. “Despite all who tried to destroy it.”

“Despite Nell, you mean,” Clark summed up.

“Indeed,” Santa said gravely. “She may not have a stocking up, but rest assured – she’ll have something just as punishing as coal waiting for her when she remembers to return from Metropolis.” He shook his head a little, then smiled again. “But her efforts have failed…and the two of you have emerged stronger from this battle.” He stepped a little closer to them, his eyes twinkling. “I’d say that you’re well on the way to a bright and prosperous future.”

They both shared a smile at that, gazing into each other’s eyes. “We hope so,” Clark said gently. “And we hope that everyone in Smallville can have that too.”

A gloved hand touched his shoulder, and his eyes met those of Father Christmas himself…and he could’ve wept with what surged in him at that gentle gaze. “Hold onto that hope, Clark,” Santa told him softly. “Hold onto that dream. It’s worth fighting for.”

Clark nodded, unable to speak, and Santa looked to Lana. “As is yours, my dear. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. Never give up, and you will rise to the very top.”

She nodded in reply, her eyes shining with silent tears, and mouthed her thanks. He chuckled again and rose to his feet, gesturing to them. “And now, children, you need your sleep. Don’t worry – I’ll still be here, so long as you hold the spirit of Christmas in your hearts.”

They nodded and yawned, then sank back into their previous positions. He gazed at them warmly, then turned to look out the window. Another figure stood there, this one wearing dark robes and a hood that hid its face…until a pair of eyes, glowing a soft white, appeared. The light painted the outlines of a flawlessly beautiful face, untouched by the passing of time, and a pair of lips that formed a small smile.

“Hello, Nicholas,” the figure said, his voice a light and smooth tenor that left no echo yet carried across soft and clear.

Santa smiled and bowed his head slightly. “Hello, Azrael. I suppose neither of us can stay much longer.”

“Indeed not,” said Azrael. “I have already guided a number of good souls home – each and every one of them beautiful and unique.” His smile was half-sad. “And you, I think, have once again helped to make many children happy.”

“Those who’ve earned it,” Santa agreed. “I know that you weep for those your charges leave behind, brother – but you don’t have to do it alone. After all, He feels their pain as if it were his own too.”

“And their joy,” the Archangel of Death said quietly. Then he smiled and gestured to Clark and Lana. “I felt some of theirs tonight, and the night before last when Lana finally made peace with herself. It is a beautiful thing to see our fellow children truly happy…especially knowing some of what these two will accomplish.”

He glanced to the sky, then sighed a little. “I must go now, Nicholas – but I leave you with the best tidings. Our brothers wish you well…and Father sends His love.”

Saint Nicholas smiled warmly and nodded, his blue eyes shining with happy tears. “And I send Him mine,” he rumbled quietly.

Azrael nodded back once, then watched his brother turn to the Kents’ fireplace. There was a shimmer of light, and just like that, Santa Claus had vanished up the chimney. The archangel gazed at the pair sleeping on the couch and whispered, knowing his voice would carry into their sweet dreams: “We shall be with you as we always have been, Clark and Lana. If ever you are lost again, fear not – Father will guide you from the darkness.” He smiled, his eyes shining brighter still. “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”

With that, he stepped back from the window, fading into a shadow…and with a fluttering sound, that shadow vanished. Atop the roof, there was a slight clatter, then a whoosh – and nine reindeer rose into view, the nose of the one in front shining a bright red, and soared away from the house, carrying the great red sleigh into the sky. Its driver let out a booming chuckle and gazed out over Smallville, then looked to his right and smiled widely – for a tall figure of pure white light was gliding upon two great wings beside him. The figure lifted a hand and waved to his brother, who waved back and laughed even more merrily.

Thus did the two great lights – the tiny red one and the big white one – rise farther and farther, moving faster and faster, until they had reached the clouds…and they faded away, vanishing completely. A moment later, a third light appeared in the sky, pulsing bright and dim, bright and dim, hovering over Smallville like the Star of Bethlehem…then it, too, faded away, leaving the sleeping town to dream blissfully, to anticipate the coming of the new year.

Though the battle for Lana’s freedom had barely begun, the battle for her soul had ended…and she, with Clark’s steadfast help, hadn’t merely survived – she’d won.

~ * ~
~ * Dedicated to Clark and Lana fans around the world * ~
~ * ~

[Now begins a new year for our heroes, and new milestones will be reached…beginning with “Rogue”.]

[carolus]

Yay! Another great installment!

I'm curious; what do you think of my completed story "Righteous"? I reposted it on this forum as it was inexplicably purged from Sweet shortly before that forum crashed.

Also, what do you think of the recent spoiler on the Smallville wiki that Chad E. Donella will be reprising his role as Greg Arkin in episode 10.4, "Homecoming"?

[superman_lives_on]

The Chronicles of Smallville: Rogue

TWELVE
Rogue
The new year had come – from 2001 to 2002 had the whole world turned. That January saw several events that the world found worthy of notice, from the euro becoming legal tender in twelve states of the European Union to the death of businessman and Wendy’s founder Dave Thomas to the resignation of Enron’s CEO Kenneth Lay the day before hearings for the bankrupt corporation began. But on the first Thursday of 2002, three days into the new year, Metropolis found only one event worthy of notice – and, not surprisingly, it had the Luthor name attached.

The event was held at the Metropolis Museum – a charity gala in the Luthor Hall Collection, to be exact. Outside, several spotlights swung around from atop the great white stone edifice, playing over the red carpet that had been laid out before the grand steps leading inside. A black limousine pulled away from the curb, having dropped off its passengers, only for the one behind it to promptly take its place. The driver hopped out and circled the front of the long car to open one of the passenger doors.

Out stepped a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired young man, looking quite sharp in his short black boots, khaki dress pants with a brown leather belt, deep red button-down shirt tucked into said pants, and dark blue dress coat. He nodded his thanks to the driver, glanced around himself, then turned to the open door and extended his hand. A small and feminine one at the end of a smooth and bare arm accepted it, and he gently helped his companion step out – a petite and exotically beautiful young woman, her long dark hair combed back from her face and falling over her shoulders, which bore the straps of a very pale sand-yellow dress that sparkled with a number of sequins. She gave him a dazzling white smile, then stepped onto the sidewalk in her low-heeled white shoes and looked around in wonder with him. Neither of them really noticed an older but still young man, sharp as always in his business suit despite his bald pate, stepping out of the limo and murmuring to the driver.

“Wow,” Lana whispered, her hazel eyes sparkling as they beheld the front of the museum, whose four tall pillars and triangular upper section gave away the inspiration for its design. “That does look impressive.”

“Lex wasn’t kidding,” Clark agreed, his green eyes drinking in every sight they could pick out. “I’m sure it looks even more impressive inside.”

“May I suggest you see for yourselves?” Lex quipped as he stepped up beside them, a twinkle of amusement in his gray eyes. The limousine pulled away from the curb, and he gestured elegantly towards the building. “Shall we?”

The young couple chuckled and nodded, then slipped closer together and began walking with him down the red carpet and up the stone steps. Clark wasn’t mistaken in his guess – the inside of the museum was even more impressive than the outside. A lot of people were already present for the gala, and Lex broke away from his two friends to mingle a bit – after all, as the nominal host, it was expected of him, and he knew how to play the crowd.

Clark and Lana, however, were only interested in seeing as many of the exhibits as they could before they sat down for dinner. They stuck together and walked around, taking in the sights, from the banners hanging overhead to the various pieces of artistry on display…and Clark abruptly paused. Lana looked up at him, then followed his gaze to a particular exhibit. It was a breastplate that looked to be made of bronze, set on a headless white stone torso. They walked closer to it, getting a good view of the sparkling red and blue jewels arranged on it – rubies and sapphires, no doubt. They were set on the shoulders and the waist area in smooth lines, cut into round and rectangular shapes where aesthetically appropriate – and, as the couple realized, the six clear jewels running just below the neckline were actually diamonds. In fact, there were a good number of diamonds on the thing, most of them tiny and forming the lines on the waist.

But the most striking feature of the breastplate was the design in the center. On an irregular pentagonal shield, lined on either of the lower sides by four oval diamonds, was a golden snake – two rubies served as its eyes and fourteen diamonds studded its body as it curved around in the shape of an S, though the last diamond and the tip of its tail were separated from the rest. Clark and Lana got an eerie feeling as they looked the design over…a feeling neither entirely good nor entirely bad. It wasn’t the first time they’d seen a big S on someone’s chest, and something told them it wouldn’t be the last.

“You know, it belonged to Alexander the Great,” said Lex, coming up beside them and looking at the breastplate as well. “They say the design symbolizes strength and courage.”

Clark felt at least as skeptical as he looked – he’d never been into the showy stuff. “I can’t exactly see myself going into battle with that on my chest,” he said.

“Me neither,” Lana murmured, grimacing a bit. The last time she’d seen someone in battle with such a design on his chest, it had been anything but pretty. She counted herself and Clark lucky to have come out of that all-too-real nightmare in one piece.

Lex shrugged a little, unaware of their thoughts. “Darker times call for darker methods. His opponents thought he was invincible.”

No doubt several of Clark’s opponents had thought the same, Lana knew – but that didn’t make it the truth. As strong and powerful as her boyfriend was, he was just as vulnerable as anyone else – even more so, really, given how much he cared. And Halloween costumes notwithstanding, he wasn’t into posing as something other than himself. She glanced up at him, and he looked back at her, then to Lex. “I didn’t know you were such a history buff,” he said, hoping to divert the conversation.

“I’m not,” Lex said. “I’m just interested in people who ruled the world before they were thirty.”

Lana tried not to frown at that – she knew what that “interest” might very well lead to. “Don’t get too interested, Lex,” she said lightly. “I get the feeling it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Lex chuckled, half-conceding the point. “Well, why don’t we see if the food is all it’s cracked up to be?” he suggested.

Clark and Lana nodded, giving their stomachs discreet glares of warning as they moved away from the exhibit – luckily, no growls or rumbles came this time. Relieved, Lana glanced back at the breastplate. A design symbolizing strength and courage…well, truth be told, that was something she could see Clark wearing. But this particular design wasn’t quite right, even with the red and blue – he needed something that better suited his personality. She smiled a little, wondering what might fit.

“So,” Lex said, interrupting her thoughts, “are we having fun yet?”

Clark considered for a moment. “Yeah, but…I’m feeling a bit underdressed.” He gestured to the crowd with one hand.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Lana said softly, smiling as she looked him over. She squeezed his hand lightly, eliciting a shy but grateful look from him, then glanced toward the tables—

—and stopped in her tracks. She tried not to scowl at what she saw – or rather, whom she saw – but it was little use. “He definitely looks uncomfortable,” she muttered, pointing.

Both Clark and Lex looked. At the table, clad in an outfit very similar to Clark’s but with a black coat and pale blue shirt, sat Whitney Fordman. The jock king did indeed look uncomfortable – one of his hands rested on the white linen, the other on his shifting leg, and both were bouncing, and his face was set in a vaguely constipated expression. As usual, his blond hair was parted down the middle and hung near his eyebrows, looking far less thick and appealing than Clark’s near-black locks – in Lana’s arguably biased opinion, anyway.

“Oh, great,” Clark sighed. “Him.”

“Yeah,” Lex murmured, looking at them apologetically. “Sorry. I did warn you.”

“You did,” Lana agreed, though it hardly helped. She shook her head in disgust. “Whitney and Nell – why did they have to come here?”

“Because my father has a sadistic streak, no doubt,” Lex quipped, shrugging expressively. “After the humiliation he received back in December, I can’t imagine he’d let an event like this pass by without seizing the chance to ruin it for us.”

“Weasel,” Clark opined quietly – then he spotted two other figures approaching and scowled along with Lana. “Speak of the Devil.”

Lex’s scowl easily beat both of theirs as the man they all despised approached the table, the woman Lana in particular had come to hate on his arm. Nell was wearing a black dress again, appropriately enough, while Lionel’s suit looked little different from Lex’s. Whitney saw them coming and rose from his seat, shaking hands with Lionel – funny how he looked less awkward with his two fellow egotists present, Lex thought.

The young billionaire saw Clark and Lana’s mutual discomfort and patted their arms gently. “I know how you two must be feeling right now,” he said gently. “But if you don’t face your enemies and find a way to defeat them, they’ll just keep coming back to hurt you.” They nodded, seeing the validity of his point, and he smirked in an oddly encouraging way. “Remember, keep your friends close and the quarterback closer.”

“Ah, Lex,” sighed a low, smooth contralto, marked with an upper-class British accent. “Always the charmer, aren’t you?”

All three friends turned in surprise at that voice, not realizing that the trio of egotists had noticed them. The woman who had walked up and spoken was tall, five foot eight at a guess, and could be called a knockout under any standards. Her lustrous brown hair flowed from her head on either side, though most prominently on her right, and obscured the straps of her black dress. Her face was both classy and appealing, from her thin dark eyebrows to her smooth and shapely nose to her full red lips and her deep brown eyes, and her smooth skin was just the right shade between pale and tan. And if the V-neck of her dress was any clue, the rest of her body had very ample assets indeed.

“Victoria?” Lex said, clearly not having expected her presence.

The woman – Victoria – glanced between him and the young couple. “I’m sorry,” she said, her smile showing perfect white teeth. “Am I interrupting anything?”

Lex never looked away from her as he made introductions: “Clark Kent, Lana Lang, this is Victoria Hardwick, a very old friend.”

Neither Clark nor Lana missed the emphasis he placed on those words, but they said nothing of it. “Hi,” Clark said, shaking Victoria’s hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Thank you, Clark,” she said, her smile widening. “I see Lex isn’t the only charmer around.” Her eyes gleamed with appreciation.

Lana wasn’t sure how to feel about that smile, but she didn’t let it show. “Nice to meet you,” she offered.

“Likewise, dear,” Victoria replied, shaking her hand as well. Then she turned towards a waiter who had walked up, accepting the glass of champagne he offered with a quiet thank-you.

Clark used the moment to lean close to Lex and whisper, “How close are you going to keep her?”

Lex chuckled slightly. “I’ll catch up with you two later,” he said. “The table’s all set, and dinner’s about to be served.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Lana murmured, and she and Clark took their leave of Lex. Victoria handed him a second glass of champagne and used her free hand to brush her hair idly, her eyes locking onto his.

It didn’t take more of a hint than that. “Want a private tour?” he said quietly.

Her eyes gleamed again. “I thought you’d never ask,” she purred. As they walked away towards the exhibits, she glanced over her shoulder at the table with the three egotists – but only one of them noticed.

Clark and Lana didn’t notice – they were too intent on getting to their own table. Furthermore, Lana was trying to put her mind off the unexpected guest, and Clark was trying to soothe a quiver in his stomach. It would choose now of all times to act up…

…and suddenly, he realized that it wasn’t his stomach at all. His gut turned queasy, as it had multiple times before, and he grimaced in comprehension. “Clark?” Lana said, noticing his expression. “What is it?”

“It’s my instinct,” he said quietly. “Something’s wrong, and whatever it is, it’s nearby.”

Her eyebrows shot up, the focus of her concern immediately shifting. She nodded slightly and touched his arm. “Go,” she whispered. “You can stop it.”

He looked at her, hesitating for a moment. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said firmly but gently. “I don’t think either Nell or Whitney is stupid enough to try anything here.” She smiled a little and leaned up, pressing a brief and discreet kiss to his cheek. “Go on.”

His hesitation vanished at that touch, and he nodded gratefully to her, then turned and walked hurriedly through the vast room and out the front doors. His gut twisted more urgently as he went through the gates set into the pillars and headed down the steps, and he looked around, trying to find the reason – but so far, nothing was presenting itself. He glanced up, past the pillars to the words just above them: “Placed Upon The Horizon (Casting Shadows).” They did nothing to enlighten him, and neither did the stars he could just barely see thanks to the light pollution – though, to be fair, one was twinkling very brightly indeed.

Still, the instinct urged him on, and he went down the rest of the steps to the sidewalk, looking around some more. The only thing that caught his eye was a bench at the bus stop down the street – on it slept a homeless man wrapped in a coat, and at his feet rested a fluffy white dog. His gut twinged at the sight, though he had no idea why—

—then a sudden screech of tires drew his gaze sharply to the right. A city bus had come around the corner and was swerving towards some cars parked by the museum. His eyes widened – and without being told, his vision flashed to x-ray mode. The driver was clutching at his chest, evidently having a heart attack – there was no way he could keep control—

The bus smashed against one of the cars with a shower of sparks and swerved the other way as the driver fell out of his seat – it was bearing down on the bum and the dog! Clark’s vision flashed back to normal as he broke into super-speed, running out in front of the bus – then he whirled around and threw his hands out, catching the big out-of-control vehicle. The tires started screeching more loudly as it pushed him down the street – and he let it push, digging his heels into the asphalt only slightly.

Unlike last time, this bus wasn’t being pushed along at breakneck speed by ancient and unholy power – it was being pushed along at fairly normal speed by its own engine, and now the force granted by that speed was being countered. With a mechanical whir, it lost power…and just like that, it slowed to a stop five feet clear of the bench. Clark released it, noting to his relief that the driver was still alive and starting to recover, then glanced behind himself. The dog whimpered a little, looking at him with dark eyes in apparent gratitude – the bum just snored a little, his sleep undisturbed.

“Well,” Clark murmured, stepping onto the sidewalk, “welcome to Metropolis – more or less.” He glanced over the almost completely undamaged bus, nodded in satisfaction, and vanished in a blur back towards the museum. He wasn’t a moment too soon, either – some of the guests had heard the commotion and came outside to investigate just moments after he got back inside.

Lana rose from her seat at the table as he came walking back to her and looked at him hopefully. He gave her a smile and a thumbs-up, and she smiled back, saying everything without speaking a word. Then they sat down to dinner, letting anyone who wished to look outside at the averted tragedy miss out on some very fine food.

If only they had known…

* * * * *
Smallville was as wholly different from Metropolis as a midsummer’s day was from a midwinter’s night, and Clark had never been more appreciative of that fact than he was the next morning. Even on the fourth of January, it was nice and sunny and clear. Granted, the cold never bothered him – no doubt it was a fringe benefit of his virtual invulnerability. Even so, he was looking forward to this Friday.

But first, he had to clear the air with his parents about last night. He walked to the barn and opened the side door, immediately spotting his father trying to haul a generator up with a chain pulley while his mother watched bemusedly. “Dad, let me help you,” Clark offered.

Jonathan stepped back and let his son take hold of the chain. Needless to say, the generator went right up, and Clark walked toward a hook to fasten the chain. “Don’t break a sweat now,” Jonathan joked, eliciting a wry smile.

“So, night owl,” said Martha cheerfully, “how was Metropolis?”

Ooh boy – so many answers to that, Clark thought. He settled on the most generic one: “It was fine.”

“Come on,” she laughed. “A reception at the Metropolis Museum and it was just ‘fine’?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Clark said, tying off the chain and turning to them. “The museum was amazing. Lana and I had a great time.”

Jonathan arched an eyebrow, sensing something was amiss. “But?”

“But,” Clark continued, unfolding the newspaper he’d been carrying, “something happened.” He handed it to Martha, and she saw that it was the Daily Planet. Her eyes immediately went to the article headlined, “Metro Bus Crashes Museum Gala.”

“The driver had a heart attack and almost crashed into a bus stop,” Clark explained as Jonathan read the headline too. “But it could’ve been a lot worse. I stopped the bus before anyone was hurt, and he recovered soon after.”

Martha immediately looked at him in concern. “Clark, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” he assured her, gesturing to himself with another wry smile. “Not a scratch or bruise on me. Even the bus came out of it in one piece this time.”

Jonathan wasn’t so pleased, however. “What if somebody had seen you do it?” he said incredulously.

Oh, not this again. Clark gave him a look that mixed annoyance with hurt. “Dad, nobody saw me. They were all still in the museum.” He shrugged a little. “The only one who saw me was a little dog, and I don’t think he’s going to tell anyone.”

“Relax, Jonathan,” Martha said, cutting off his paranoid words before they could continue. “The paper says there weren’t any eye-witness reports.”

“I guess they didn’t count the dog,” Clark muttered. “Look, I need to get to school. I promised Chloe I’d help extra with the Torch this month.” He turned and began walking out – hopefully he’d feel more comfortable elsewhere.

Martha gave her husband a very pointed look, and he sighed contritely. “Wait a sec, Clark,” he said, and Clark paused mid-step. “Look…I probably shouldn’t worry so much,” Jonathan admitted. “But either way, I am really proud of what you did.”

Martha nodded, smiling. “We both are. You’ve done a lot of good lately – you should keep it up.”

Clark’s answering smile was the brightest they’d yet seen. “I will,” he said softly. With that, he resumed his course, feeling much better.

* * * * *
That feeling hadn’t faded when he reached the Torch, and if his friends noticed, they said nothing of it. Chloe was more focused on getting the paper all written up and printed than on commenting about Clark’s good mood, and he was more focused on helping her than on making any such comments himself. That didn’t preclude the usual light banter, though. “Another scathing editorial?” he remarked as they sat at the computer.

“Is there any other kind?” Chloe said, smirking.

“Not with you in charge, there isn’t,” Pete quipped, sorting through some very jumbled papers. “You’re making a bunch of people squirm, Chloe.”

“I live to inflame,” Chloe retorted, half-laughing. “Those people have been comfortable in their positions for too long anyway.”

Clark’s heart suddenly throbbed, and he looked up just in time to see Lana arrive, every bit as alluring in her pale purple blouse and khaki pants as she’d been last night. “Hey,” she said with a weary but warm smile. “Sorry I’m late. I had to fend off a wicked aunt and her attempts to get me back onto the cheerleading squad.”

Her three friends grimaced, especially Clark, and he rose from his seat to wrap her in a hug. “Under those circumstances, I think we can forgive you,” Chloe assured her, not looking directly at them – partly out of giving them some privacy and partly out of her own discomfort. She told it to kindly shut the hell up, then asked, “You have something for me?”

“Yep,” Lana said, reluctantly parting the hug to hand her a paper and a floppy disk. “I’m still not sure if it’ll be any good.”

“Your first article can’t be any worse than mine was, Lana,” Pete replied, abandoning the pile of papers as a fruitless task. “I’m still amazed that it got printed.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far, Pete,” Chloe said, waving her hand. “You had promise even then – you just needed a few nudges in the right direction.”

“I’ll probably need more than a few,” Lana said, dipping her head.

“I seriously doubt that, Lana,” Clark interjected, derailing her train of self-doubt. “Writing a newspaper article isn’t hugely different from writing an essay, and you’ve always been great at those. Besides, if anyone can do a story following up on the Level Three incident, it’s you.”

She blushed at his praise, feeling very warm inside. “I hope you’re right, Clark,” she murmured. “I want to do Mr. Jenkins’ plight justice. People need to know what really happened to him.”

“Better you than me, Lana,” Chloe opined quietly. “I’m all about remaining objective outside of editorials, but in this case, I’m not sure I’d be able t—”

“Miss Sullivan!”

The quartet jumped in shock and whirled towards the door. Principal Kwan all but stormed into the Torch, holding out the most recent issue in a rather belligerent fashion. “Is this your idea of a joke?” he demanded.

Chloe frowned deeply, but remained calm. “I never joke about journalism,” she said firmly, “and my friends can back me up on that.” Said friends nodded silently. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem,” Kwan said caustically, “is that I’ve had concerned parents calling me all morning. They’re upset about your articles.”

They should be, considering what those articles reveal, Chloe thought – but she doubted that he agreed. “Well, what have you been telling them?” she inquired.

“What the EPA and other environmental groups said years ago,” said Kwan in the tone of someone reciting an oft-heard aphorism. “The meteor rocks are harmless.”

“The hell they are!” Clark and Lana and Pete wanted to shout at him – how they kept quiet, they had no idea. Those groups didn’t have a freaking clue about the meteor rocks – anyone who lived in Smallville and didn’t hide away from things could figure that out. Was Kwan really so ignorant of the truth, or did he just think it was safer to regurgitate the empty words of so-called experts?

Chloe had very similar thoughts – and, not to anyone’s surprise, she was far less hesitant to voice them. “Tell that to Earl Jenkins,” she said coldly, “or to the late Coach Walt Arnold, or to any of the students – your students – who’ve been affected by those rocks. People have a right to know about the strange things that happen in this town, and they have a right to know why they happen. And since the Ledger doesn’t seem willing to do that job, we have to pick up the slack.”

The words clearly stung Kwan, but he didn’t back down at all. “It’s not your place to do that, Miss Sullivan,” he retorted just as coldly. “The Torch is a school paper. It’s not your own version of the Metropolis Inquisitor. I won’t have you overstepping your boundaries anymore.”

Chloe scoffed in disbelief. “Excuse me? Am I hearing things wrong? Because it sounds like you’re trying to censor me.”

“I’m requiring you to do your job,” the principal said harshly, “which is to report on relevant school events – sports, dances, clubs – not on fictitious conspiracy theories involving harmless minerals.” He slapped the paper onto the desk. “I’m relieving you of your duties. The Torch is suspended until I can appoint a new editor. End of discussion.”

All four teenagers stared after him as he left. Chloe shook a little, then looked among her companions. “Okay,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady, “could someone tell me what just happened?”

Pete grimaced. “I think you just got fired.”

She shook even more at that, her efforts failing. This couldn’t be happening…

“Please don’t panic, Chloe,” Clark said, resting his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sure there’s something we can do.”

She sniffed and nodded, though she didn’t have his confidence. Lana walked over, adding her own physical support. “Let me talk to Kwan,” she offered.

Chloe looked at her, trying to tone down her skepticism. “Not to sound ungrateful or anything,” she said, “but what do you think you can do?”

“I don’t know,” Lana admitted, “but let me give it a shot. It’s better than letting him get away with this.” She nodded to the boys and walked out of the room. I just pray that I don’t make it any worse.

* * * * *
The rest of the school day seemed tense to Clark, the very air weighed down by the injustice he’d witnessed. It was probably just his own feelings talking – he hated seeing anyone, let alone one of his friends, being treated so poorly. Alas, by the time school let out for the weekend, Lana hadn’t reported any luck with Kwan, so he decided to head home and wait for her in the loft.

He walked into the barn as he had that morning…but this time, the place was dark and seemed to be empty. “Hello?” he called, looking around.

No answer. He tried again: “Hello?”

No answer. He walked further, puzzled. “Anybody home?”

Apparently not. He reached the stairs to the loft and began to go up them – then paused at a thump from the ground floor. He looked around again. “Dad? Is that you?”

Still no answer. Something about this wasn’t right. He was just about to switch on his x-ray vision when something on the ground caught his eye. He stepped closer to it, trying to be cautious, and knelt to get a better look. It was a pentagonal badge with a black strap – a police badge, but not a local one.

“Metropolis Police?” he murmured, not touching it. How could this have—

Comprehension slammed through his mind just as the sound of groaning wood and metal slammed through his ears – he shot his gaze upward just in time to see the generator plummet towards him. He threw his hands up to catch it, instinctively dropping onto his back to cushion the heavy machine. They both landed, and he laid there for a moment, then carefully sat up and set the thing aside, brushing his tan jacket and blue-white shirt off.

Unfortunately, his instincts had warned him too late – the sound of clapping came from the loft, and he whipped around and looked up. “Kid,” laughed the man who’d set that nasty little trap as he came down the stairs, “I don’t know what they’ve been feeding you here, but that was pretty damn impressive. Not quite as exciting as last night, but” – he reached the ground and smiled in a would-be friendly way – “I wanted to be sure.”

Clark stared at the intruder, chiding himself for so easily taking the bait. The man looked to be forty at most and was in good shape, his dark hair combed back and cut fairly short, his blue eyes clear and keen…and cold. His long dark coat and dark clothes did nothing to make him seem more personable. “Who are you?” Clark asked, keeping calm despite his sudden fear.

“The name’s Sam Phelan,” the man replied, still smiling, “and I am your new best friend, Clark.”

“‘Friend’?” Clark echoed disbelievingly, shaking his head. “Excuse me, but last I checked, friends don’t drop things on each other. And how do you know my name anyway?”

“Oh, I asked around,” said Phelan casually. “That’s the beauty of a small town. Everyone’s just so eager to help.” He stooped to pick up his badge. “A far cry from Metropolis, I can tell you.”

Clark didn’t doubt that for a moment. “What do you want with me?” he asked quietly.

“Your help,” Phelan said, as if that should’ve been obvious. “You see, Clark, I’m in a battle that I can’t afford to lose, because if I do…well, the bad guys win. And you have this gift that I need.” He put a hand on Clark’s shoulder—

—or rather, he tried to. Clark snatched his arm and shoved it away, scowling at him. “I get the feeling that your definition of ‘bad guys’ and mine don’t match,” he said, still not losing his calm.

“Oh?” Phelan said, raising his eyebrows mock-innocently. “And what makes you say that?”

Clark scoffed a little. “Well, for starters, how about the way you introduced yourself? Or the way that you came onto our property – all sneaky and underhanded?” He shook his head firmly. “Sorry, Mr. Phelan, but I’m not helping you.”

The cop whistled softly and almost chuckled. “You have a secret you don’t want the world to know about. Call it a wild guess, but I’d say that’s why you didn’t stick around for your closeup on the TV cameras last night. I mean, not that I blame you for partaking of that fine food – but you went out of your way to avoid getting any credit.” He leaned a little closer, his eyes cold and intent. “You want to keep things that way, you’ll do like I say.”

Clark’s gut turned to ice, and it didn’t lessen as Phelan turned around and began to walk out. “Drop by that overpriced coffee shop tomorrow morning, and…” He paused and looked back at Clark amiably. “…we’ll have a little talk about your future.”

Clark met his gaze without blinking, and the man glanced at the generator, letting out another almost-chuckle. “Nice catch, by the way.”

With that, he left…and Clark felt more ill at ease than he had in days.

* * * * *
“He just dropped the generator right on top of you?” Jonathan said, appalled.

“Yeah,” Clark murmured, nodding. His parents had gotten home shortly after Phelan had left, and now they were standing in the kitchen while he sat at the table.

“How did he know it wouldn’t kill you?” Martha wondered, her eyes wide.

Clark sighed a little, still hating himself for being so overconfident and careless. “He saw me stop the bus last night,” he admitted.

Jonathan’s lips formed a tight line as he walked around the table. “Maybe we should call the police,” Martha suggested.

“He is the police,” Clark said. “I saw his badge – Metropolis P.D.” His parents shared a horrified look, and his guilt only deepened further. “Dad…”

Jonathan walked past him without a word, and Clark grimaced, wanting to kick himself. He rose from his seat and swallowed, facing his father’s back. “Dad…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“I know that, Clark,” Jonathan interrupted, turning to face him. “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

Clark wasn’t sure he believed that, but he nodded anyway. “He told me to meet him at the Beanery tomorrow.”

Jonathan put his coffee mug down a little forcefully. “I don’t want you going anywhere near this guy,” he said firmly. “I’ll talk to him and find out what he wants.”

I think I already know what he wants, Clark thought grimly. “And until then?” he wondered.

“And until then,” Jonathan continued, “you live your life, you see your friends…you keep building a relationship with Lana. And we’re not going to let this change us.”

“I sure hope not,” Clark said quietly. “Nobody has the right to control our lives.”

“Definitely not,” Jonathan agreed.

Knock-knock. They turned to see Lana at the door, and Clark walked over to let her in. “Is this a bad time?” she asked.

“Never,” he assured her, though he couldn’t hide his worry. “What’s up?”

She sighed in remorse. “No luck with Kwan so far. His assistant wouldn’t let me see him – I had to set an appointment for tomorrow.” She shook her head a little. “Frankly, I’m amazed he’d see me on a Saturday, but I guess he couldn’t think of an excuse not to.” She tilted her head slightly and searched Clark’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

He sighed as well, knowing that he had no chance of hiding the truth from her – nor a desire to. “I just got visited by a cop from Metropolis,” he said, clearing his throat. “Lana…he knows about me. He saw me use my abilities last night.”

“What?” she whispered, stunned. “How?”

He shrugged a little. “I guess he was in the right place at the right time. He said he wants to use my gift for something – I don’t know what, but my gut says it’s nothing good.”

“Oh, no,” she breathed, her eyes wide – she looked even more worried than his parents had. “What are we going to do?”

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “Dad’s going to meet with him tomorrow,” he said softly. “Until we know for sure what he wants, I guess we’re supposed to carry on like normal.” He kissed the top of her head. “We’ll figure this out, Lana – don’t worry.”

“I can’t help but worry for you,” she murmured, but she relaxed in his embrace. “Just like you can’t help but worry for me.”

“It’s instinct,” he confirmed, smiling a little. He rocked her gently for a moment, then glanced at his parents. “Would you excuse us, please?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Martha said, smiling almost tearfully; Jonathan nodded, giving him an encouraging smile as well. Thus given permission, Clark guided his beloved girlfriend outside, bound for the loft. The older couple watched the younger couple go and hoped that they could relax despite this new threat.

* * * * *
It wasn’t all that easy, but Clark and Lana did manage to relax somewhat. Naturally, she stayed for dinner – she was in absolutely no mood to put up with Nell’s bullsh*t in any sense. They returned to the loft afterward, sitting together on the couch and gazing silently out the window. The stars were much brighter here than in the city – just the way they both liked it.

“You two look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

They jumped to their feet at the voice and turned to see Lex walking into the loft. “Sorry if I surprised you,” he said, holding up his hands, “but there’s really nowhere to knock.”

“It’s okay, Lex,” Clark said, chiding himself for getting spooked so easily. “Thanks again for last night.”

“My pleasure,” Lex assured him. “I hope you didn’t mind my little detour with Victoria.”

Is that what they’re calling it now? Lana wondered, trying not to grimace. “Why would we mind?” she asked aloud. “As far as we know, there’s nothing illegal about spending time with a very old friend.”

She mimicked the inflection Lex had put on those words, and he chuckled, genuinely amused. “Well, I suppose ‘old British flame’ would be more accurate,” he admitted. He walked over to the telescope and peered through it, seeing one of the stars twinkle especially brightly. “I gotta say, Clark – your second visit to Metropolis and you’re involved in a police investigation? That has to be some kind of record.”

Clark blinked in surprise. “How’d you know about that?”

“The detective in charge came to see me first,” Lex replied. “Caught me by surprise right outside the Beanery, actually.”

Lana shifted uncomfortably. “What did he want?” she asked.

“He was looking for Clark,” Lex admitted. “He thought you might’ve witnessed the bus incident. Beyond that, he didn’t tell me anything. I think that’s what’s bothering me.”

“What do you mean?” Clark wondered.

“The Metropolis Police Department usually doesn’t send detectives to investigate traffic accidents,” Lex explained. “So I made a call – turns out the official investigation is already closed.” All levity vanished from his face and voice. “Clark, you really don’t want Sam Phelan in your life.”

I guessed that already, Clark thought grimly. “You know him, huh?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Lex sighed. “I had more than my fair share of legal problems when I was in Metropolis.”

Lana nodded, not really shocked to hear that. “Serious problems?”

“Expensive ones,” Lex clarified. “Phelan was the kind of officer my father figured we could turn to for help. He got paid a hefty fee to fix situations.”

Clark’s gut twisted with the full realization of the threat. “You’re saying he’s a dirty cop.”

“I’m saying he’ll do whatever it takes to get the job done,” Lex said grimly. “Plant evidence, falsify reports – anything is fair game. If he has something on you, Clark, he’ll use it.”

In other words, he’s a very dirty cop, Clark and Lana thought, shuddering. Clark cleared his throat, not ready to admit to Lex just how bad he feared it was. “He just wants to talk…I think.”

Lex felt skeptical, but he didn’t push. “If so, then you have nothing to worry about.”

If only that were true, the young couple sighed to themselves.

* * * * *
To be fair, Phelan was willing to talk the next morning. He sat patiently at a table in the Beanery, waiting for his quarry to arrive. Instead, Jonathan appeared, walking towards the table – he recognized Phelan from the description Clark had given him. “Mr. Kent,” said the cop, rising to his feet and extending his hand. “Sam Phelan, Metropolis P.D.” Jonathan ignored the hand, and Phelan let it drop with a shrug. “I figured you’d be the one to show.”

Jonathan got right to the point: “What do you want with my son?”

“We’re both rational adults,” Phelan said calmly. “Let’s sit down and—”

“I don’t think a rational adult drops a generator on top of a teenage boy, do you?” Jonathan cut him off without raising his voice.

“Well, we both know it wouldn’t hurt him,” Phelan said, winking.

What kind of an excuse is that? Jonathan thought darkly. Nonetheless, he sat at the table, facing Phelan squarely. “Alright. What do you want?”

“I just want Clark’s help,” said Phelan calmly.

“With what?” Jonathan said skeptically.

Phelan gestured with his head. “Look around you, Mr. Kent. You know what you see? The veneer of safety and security. Now, people like me are sworn to protect that. I’m the guy standing between the criminals and respectable citizens like yourself. Now, Clark has…a gift, an array of very special talents.” He smiled very slightly. “I’d like him to use those talents to help further my cause.”

Jonathan stared him right in the eye and replied levelly, “I will not let you exploit my son.”

Phelan stared back for a moment, then started flipping through a folder on the table. “I’ve, uh, spent the morning going through the local police files. Clark’s name comes up quite a bit.”

Jonathan frowned at that. “Clark has never been in trouble a day in his life, Phelan.”

“Oh, no,” Phelan agreed, “no arrests, but he’s been around a lot of crime scenes. Now, maybe that’s just a coincidence…or maybe it’s his natural instinct to get involved.” He tilted his head. “Which one do you think sounds more likely to others? Hm?”

Jonathan looked away, hating the idea that this man might have a point. He cleared his throat, then looked back. “Okay, I will give you whatever you want. You just stay away from my family.”

Phelan leaned back in his seat. “Well, that’s a bit of a problem,” he said, “because I want your son.”

Jonathan shook his head firmly. “No. That’s not an option.”

The dirty cop looked at the farmer and saw the fear and pain and anger in his eyes, then sighed and glanced at his watch. He collected the files and smiled thinly. “I’ll be in touch.” He rose from his seat, then paused and leaned in to whisper in Jonathan’s ear: “Of course, if you don’t agree, I will tell the world what I know. Best case, Clark’s under a microscope; worst case, he’s a freak in a jar. Either way, his normal life is over.”

He clapped Jonathan on the shoulder – only for the farmer to whirl around, grab him bodily, and slam him onto the table, eliciting yelps of surprise from other customers. “Don’t push me, Phelan!” he hissed.

“Whoa!” Phelan said loudly, half-laughing. “Easy there, Mr. Kent.”

Jonathan saw the people watching, sighed, and let Phelan up. The cop straightened his blackish suit and tie, saying in that same tone, “We were just talking.” The onlookers moved away, and he recovered the folder. “You know,” he said casually, “if I were you, I’d learn to keep that temper in check.” He pointed at Jonathan. “That could be very bad for your health – in fact, it could get you in a lot of trouble.” He winked again. “I’ll be around.”

You son of a b*tch, Jonathan thought, watching him go. People like you are the very reason I kept Clark so sheltered. Now I really wish I hadn’t needed to.

* * * * *

ASSAULT CHARGES DROPPED AGAINST COP

The darling of the Metro police force, Detective Sam Phelan, escapes chargesIt figures, Clark thought as he sat at the computer in the Torch. He switched to the next headline in the Daily Planet Archives:

‘EXCESSIVE FORCE’ ALLEGED

The once honored detective, Sam Phelan, readies to face review, additional charges“Clark?”

He sighed and turned off the computer as Chloe walked in. “You okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he white-lied. “Just doing a little research.”

She nodded, deciding not to push. “Have you heard anything about Lana’s meeting with Kwan?”

“Not yet, Chloe,” he admitted, “but please don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll work out. I have faith in Lana.”

“I’m not sure I deserve it.”

He turned around in his seat, surprised. “Lana,” he said, rising to his feet. “What do you mean?”

She sighed heavily, wringing her hands together. “Well…there’s good news and bad news.”

“Bottom-line it,” Chloe interrupted. “When can we send out the next issue?”

Lana nodded. “That’s the good news – the day after tomorrow.”

Chloe smiled, relieved. “Cool.”

“Not cool,” said Lana, looking very guilty. “The bad news is…Kwan made me the new editor.”

Dead silence followed those six words, so thick with tension that it was almost solid. Chloe stared at Lana for a long moment, then half-laughed, not wanting to believe her ears. “Okay, uh – rewind. I need you to say that last part again.”

Lana grimaced, feeling that she should’ve been able to do something – anything – more, to make Kwan see reason. “After I made my case,” she admitted, “he said if I had that much passion, I should be in charge.”

Chloe shook all over. “I don’t believe this!” she said, getting very upset.

Lana shook her head, her tone imploring: “I didn’t want it either, Chloe, but it’s the only way he’d reopen the paper.”

But Chloe was deaf to her words. “So what, cheerleading’s not enough for you?!” she exclaimed, her eyes moist. “Maybe ‘editor of the school newspaper’ looks better on a college application!”

“That’s not what I’m doing at all!” Lana insisted, feeling even more upset than Chloe. “I just figured you could ghost-write until we got you reinstated.”

“Oh, okay,” Chloe scoffed, “so then I would work for you?!”

“No!” Lana exclaimed. She swallowed hard, trying to calm down. “The paper would still be yours, not mine.”

“Wait, wait,” Clark interrupted, holding his hand up. “Chloe, think about it. It’s not a bad idea.”

“Of course you’d think that!” Chloe snapped, her eyes getting wetter even as they flashed with anger. “You would side with her!”

Clark tried not to scowl – why did she have to be so unreasonable? “I’m not taking anyone’s side.”

“Yeah right, Clark!” Chloe scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re completely objective in all things Lana! That’s why you drool over her every chance you get!”

That hurt. That hurt a lot. Clark swallowed hard, fighting down his immediate response, then said, “I think I should go.” He turned toward the door.

“No, please, Clark, stay!” Chloe snapped, almost sobbing. “Take my desk! Why the hell should I get to keep anything, huh?!”

Lana shook her head, desperate to get through to her. “Chloe, this isn’t what you think! I’m not taking anything from you!”

“SHUT UP!”

Lana jolted back at those words, feeling like she’d just been slapped. Chloe glared at her, tears falling freely, and spat, “You know what the worst part is?! For a millisecond, I almost thought you were my friend! But you’re just like all the rest of them! Well, that’s the last time I’ll ever make that mistake!”

With that, she stormed out of the Torch. Clark stared after her, appalled, then turned to Lana…and saw to his horror that her eyes were very moist. He immediately wrapped her up in his arms, and she began shaking all over and sobbing quietly. Neither of them said a word…what words could possibly soothe this hurt?

Everything was going to pieces.

[superman_lives_on]

The Chronicles of Smallville: Rogue

* * * * *
Clark wasn’t feeling any better as he walked down the street later, the wind blowing the flaps of his dark blue jacket away from his red shirt. He passed the Beanery and reached the corner just as a car pulled up with a screech of tires. Phelan poked his head out of the window and said amiably, “Hop in, kid.”

No, I don’t think so. Clark turned his back on the man and started to walk away – only for the car to pull forward. It struck a garbage can, spilling the contents onto the street. Clark stopped and scowled at the sight. As if you haven’t done enough damage already. He turned to the cop and said in a warning tone, “What do you want, Phelan?”

“Well,” Phelan began, “your father came to see me this morning. He seemed like a really good man – always putting his family first, you know?”

I’m the last person in the world who’d ever forget that, jerk, Clark thought, mentally scowling.

“Now, if I were you,” Phelan continued, “I’d start thinking like him. Get in.”

I already put my family first, Phelan, Clark thought angrily as he walked around to the passenger’s door. And whatever you want to use me for, I won’t help you with it. You picked the wrong family to mess with.

Needless to say, those thoughts kept the ride from being a pleasant one. An eternity later, they were in Metropolis and night had fallen. Phelan pulled up outside a building with a lot of steel and glass, and Clark looked around in morbid curiosity. “What are we doing here?”

“You want to know the biggest obstacle to my job, Clark?” Phelan said in that irritatingly casual tone. “It’s not the perps – it’s the bureaucracy. I mean, how am I supposed to fight crime with one hand tied behind my back?”

I don’t know – maybe Jackie Chan could give you a few tips, Clark thought. “So much for going after bad guys,” he muttered.

“Oh, no, we still are,” Phelan said, smiling a little. “They’re called Internal Affairs. In fact, the head of the IA division lives right up there on the fifth floor.”

“What?!” Clark exclaimed, appalled. He threw open the door and got out of the car. “I’m not hurting anybody!”

“Relax, kid,” Phelan sighed, following him out. “You’re just gonna help me retrieve some files. You see, these IA types, they have a really big trust problem. As it happens, the deputy chief keeps all of his most sensitive case files at home. He has a safe up there. So you find it, you open it, and you bring me whatever’s inside. You do me this one little favor, and I’ll never trouble you again.”

Clark walked forward, looming over him. “I wish I could believe that, Phelan,” he said darkly, “but I know what you’re about. Lex Luthor told me.”

Phelan chuckled and sat on the hood of the car. “Well, your friend Lex isn’t exactly on the side of the angels. He’s got his secrets, just like you.” He gestured to the building. “It’s apartment 517.”

Clark stared at him for another moment, then turned and vanished with a little whoosh of air. Phelan whistled softly, impressed, then sat up and walked a few feet forward to wait. So far so good. The kid put up a good bluff, but in the end, he’d bent like everyone else. This was going to be easier than he thought.

He stood for a minute, pressing his lips together, before he began to wonder what was taking the kid so l—

CRASH!!!

He whirled around – and stared in shock at his car. The safe was lying on its hood, covered in plaster, and the roof had been smashed in. What the hell—?

“Hey! Phelan!” He looked up to see Clark smiling at him from a window on the fifth floor – then, with a whoosh, Clark blurred down to the car. “Here’s your file,” he said, holding it up – then he thrust it into Phelan’s hands as the sound of sirens came through the night. “But I don’t think you want to be holding it when they get here.”

Phelan glanced sharply in the direction of the sirens, then at Clark. “Did you call them?”

Clark snorted a little – technically, the silent alarm had called them, but he’d made sure to trigger it. “That’s what you’re supposed to do when a burglar comes, Phelan.” He lost the smile and leaned in, lowering his voice: “I don’t work for criminals or dirty cops. Stay away from me and my family, or I’ll make this seem like a walk in the park.”

With that, he vanished into the night – and a moment later, the police began pulling up. Phelan shook his head, half-smiling. Kid, you just made a big mistake.

* * * * *
But Clark was feeling on top of the world as he came downstairs the next day. “Morning, guys,” he said cheerfully.

“Hey, sweetie,” Martha said, surprised at his good mood. “What time did you get in last night? I didn’t hear you.”

He nodded, conceding the point. “I didn’t see the exact time, but it was pretty late. I’m sorry if I worried you.”

Jonathan cleared his throat, feeling a bit awkward. “Clark, has, um…has Phelan tried to contact you?”

“Actually, yeah,” Clark admitted, sitting at the table. “He made me go with him last night to steal something.” He raised a hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Dad. It didn’t go like he was hoping at all. I think he’s going to be too busy with Internal Affairs to bother us ever again.”

Knock-knock-knock.

The three Kents turned to the door – but this time, it wasn’t Lana they saw through the screen. “Ethan, Bob,” said Jonathan, surprised. “What’s going on?”

Ethan Miller held up a piece of paper as Jonathan came to the door, looking very reluctant. “We got a warrant to search your property, Jonathan.”

“A warrant?” Jonathan echoed as Martha walked to his side. “Come on in.” He opened the door, letting the police inside. “What for?”

Ethan sighed a little. “We got a tip from the Metropolis P.D.”

Clark’s gut twisted with sudden nervous fear. Uh-oh. Right then, a young black cop came inside. “Sir,” he said to Ethan, “you’d better come and take a look at this.”

“This” proved to be the last thing any of them wanted to see – a dead man lying on a bale of hay in the barn. Ethan pulled back the flap of the corpse’s leather jacket, revealing a bullet wound. “Looks like he was shot in the heart,” Ethan said, letting the flap drop back as he rose to his feet. The Kents stared at the body, appalled and horrified. “You want to explain to me what a dead body’s doing in your barn, Jonathan?” the deputy asked grimly.

“I have no idea,” Jonathan said, meeting his eyes squarely. “I’ve never seen that man before.”

“Ethan.” The third cop came up to them with a plastic bag. “We found this hidden under the seat in the truck.”

He held up the bag – and the revolver inside it. Jonathan shook his head, meeting Ethan’s eyes again. “That’s not my gun, and I have no idea how it got in my truck.”

But I think I do, Clark realized, his jaw tensing. Unfortunately, Ethan spoke before he could: “I’m sorry, Jonathan, but we have to place you under arrest.”

Clark stared at the cops, then at his father, his mouth open in further horror. “Dad…”

Jonathan glanced at him, then back to Ethan. “It’s all right, I understand.” He looked at Martha. “Call Bill Ross and have him meet me at the jail.” She nodded, trying to keep calm.

“No!” Clark exclaimed desperately, getting in front of the cops. “Please don’t take him!”

“Clark!” Jonathan cut him off, grabbing his shoulders. Clark winced at his tone, and Jonathan said more gently but still firmly, “I need you to stay here. And I need you to be strong.”

Clark looked at him for a long moment, then nodded reluctantly. Jonathan patted his shoulder and resumed walking out with the police. Martha stared after them, unable to believe this was happening, then gave Clark a weak smile. “I’ll follow him in the car.”

He watched them all go, then turned and stormed back to the house. He hauled the door open and stalked into the kitchen, his whole being in turmoil. Damn it all, this was not right! His father was no murderer! He let loose a howl of rage and smashed his fist through one of the support beams. “DAMN YOU, PHELAN!”

His voice echoed through the house along with the sharp Crack of wood breaking. He shook his fist, out of frustration rather than pain, then sighed, trying to get a grip on himself. This wasn’t helping – but dammit, he didn’t know what to do.

“That’s what you get for trying to be a hero, Clark.”

He whirled around to see the rogue cop himself, walking in like he owned the place. “You’re a pretty smart boy, but you forgot something.” He tapped his head. “I’ve been doing this for a long time.”

Clark ground his teeth together. “You mean you’ve been using people for a long time,” he spat. “Who was that man? Why did you kill him?”

Phelan scoffed, clearly not seeing what that had to do with anything. “He refused to help me, and he paid the price. You two have a lot in common.” He scowled, losing the false charm he usually projected. “Did you really think you could double-cross me? Clark, my job is all about scenarios.” He gestured almost wildly with his hands. “You never enter a crackhouse with one plan, you go in with ten! That’s how you survive!” He rubbed the back of his head, then started forward again. “And the truth is, kid…” He suddenly yelled: “YOU DIDN’T LEAVE ME A LOT OF OPTIONS!”

Clark shook his head in disgust – not even his sense of responsibility and guilt would accept that crock of bull. “You’re going to stand there and blame me for your actions?” he growled. “I didn’t ask you to come into my life, Phelan, and I didn’t ask you to frame my dad for murder!”

“THE HELL YOU DIDN’T!” the dirty cop yelled, his cold blue eyes blazing with rage. “YOU BROUGHT ALL OF THIS DOWN ON YOURSELF!”

“No,” said Clark firmly, not raising his own voice. “You brought all of this down. And I’m not letting you out of this house until you call the Sheriff’s Department and tell them what you’ve done.” He clenched his hands warningly. “You’re not destroying my father’s life, Phelan. I won’t let you.”

Phelan scoffed again, shaking his whole body along with his head. “You’re not in any position to make demands or give orders, kid,” he spat. “Remember, you’re the one who had to play the hero – not just last night, but at the museum. You try to play with fire, you always get burned!”

“You don’t know what it means to play with fire,” Clark snarled, feeling his head throbbing, churning, burning. If he didn’t get it under control, he’d be in real trouble. “I’ve seen things that would make your rotten head explode, Phelan. I’ve fought creatures from the pits of Hell in my own town. And I’ve dealt with self-righteous, arrogant, and egotistical *ssholes like you before.” He shook his head, trying to fight the burning. “In the end, you’re really just another thug – just as bad as the criminals you claim to be fighting. They didn’t win, and neither will you.”

Phelan stared at him, his teeth bared…then he snorted. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” he sneered. “Yeah, sure – I’ll just pick up the phone and call them right now, tell them it was all a big misunderstanding and they should let your dad go.” He mimed doing as he said, then paused. “Oh – but wait. That would mean explaining to them what started all this off, wouldn’t it? And that would mean letting out the big secret you want to keep to yourself.” He scoffed. “Come on, kid – I wasn’t born yesterday. There’s no way you’ll risk that, and we both know it. You have far more to lose than I do.”

Now Clark could see in vivid detail why Lionel Luthor had relied on this wretched man to cover up Lex’s problems – they were two of a kind. His head wasn’t the only thing churning now – his gut was too. “I don’t care about my secret,” he said firmly. “Not when the life of someone I love is on the line. Make. That. Call.”

Phelan sneered again and mimicked his tone: “Bite. Me. Kid. You don’t give the orders – I do. That’s the price you pay for doing business with me.”

“I never asked to do business with you,” Clark retorted. “You—”

“DON’T PATRONIZE ME, YOU LITTLE SH*T!” Phelan roared, gesturing wildly. “I OWN YOU NOW! YOU’RE GOING TO DO EXACTLY WHAT I SAY WHEN I SAY IT!”

Clark scowled openly and shook his head again as the dirty cop paused for breath. This was just plain ridiculous – he was being expected to bow to the fickle whim of a freaking madman. He wanted to…he wanted…

…oh, God help him. He didn’t know what he wanted to do. He didn’t know whether to laugh in Phelan’s face or cry in frustration – he didn’t know whether to pound him into the floorboards or charge out of the house and drag him along – he didn’t know whether to release the burning in his head and fry the madman right off the face of the Earth or give in to the churning in his gut and knock his head off with projectile sick…

“Now you listen to me, kid,” Phelan said, gesturing with a single finger. “I don’t want any more surprises from you. I don’t want you dropping any more safes on my car.”

…wait a minute. His gut wasn’t churning with disgust. Clark frowned, only half of him taking in those words – the other half of him focused on the twisting sensation, trying to figure out what his instinct was saying…

“And I don’t want you calling the police on me,” Phelan continued. “If you try any more tricks, if you try to complicate my life again, I’m going to complicate yours beyond any hope of repair.”

It felt like…like someone was trying to talk to him. It felt like a patient, gentle voice whispering to him. He closed his eyes, trying to listen, trying to make it out…

“Yeah,” Phelan said, thinking that it was sinking in. “That’s right, kid. You get a nice picture of that. Imagine what I can do to make your life hell.”

No, the voice whispered. Do not imagine that. Do not give in to his empty words.

If Clark’s eyes hadn’t already been closed, he would’ve blinked them in surprise. That voice…he recognized it.

“Just imagine, for a moment,” Phelan went on, “what’ll happen if you don’t do as I say. Chances are your father won’t beat that murder charge at all. Chances are he’ll get carted off to a nice state prison for the rest of his life.”

He lies, the voice told Clark…the same voice that had whispered to him the night he and Lana had faced the Scarecrow Killer. He has no grasp of truth, no ability to love. He has no power over you.

“Think of what that’ll do to your mother,” Phelan purred, the sneer audible. “It’ll break her pretty little heart, now won’t it? She’ll have nothing left to live for. Imagine how they’ll find her, lying in a ditch somewhere in town, shot through the chest with her own gun.”

He is doing naught but forming more rope, the voice said calmly, echoing through Clark’s whole being. And very soon, he shall hang himself with it.

Clark nodded slightly at that, realizing the truth in those words…and as he did, the anger changed. It didn’t go away, but it abated, calmed, leaving his head clear. And with Phelan’s next words, he knew what to do.

“But there’s someone else who’ll get hurt, isn’t there?” the dirty cop leered. “A certain pretty little someone who was with you and Lex at that gala. Your girlfriend, isn’t she? Lana Lang – the kid who saw her parents die in the meteor shower.” He chuckled darkly. “Poor, pitiful little Lana…it’d be a crying shame to see whatever’s left of her lying some—”

Whump! Thwack!

Phelan doubled over at the first sharp blow, pain shooting through him – but before he could scream, the second blow hit him in the throat. He gagged, his vocal cords temporarily paralyzed – then gasped wordlessly as Clark pushed him against an intact beam by the shoulders. The farm boy’s green eyes were open, fixated on his cold blues…and they were frighteningly, dangerously calm. And in that moment, Phelan realized who’d actually made the big mistake.

“Shut up,” Clark said softly, quietly, “you lying, worthless scumbag.” He leaned in close so that Phelan could hear every word. “You listen to me for once. You’re not my owner. You don’t have any power over me. You don’t have any right to do this. I never asked you to barge into my life and try to destroy everything I love – you chose to do that. You’ve been using people as disposable pawns for God only knows how long, never once caring about the lives you ruined. But this time, you chose exactly the wrong person to use.”

He never raised his voice, never glanced away from those wide eyes. He didn’t need to. “I’m nothing like you, and God willing, I never will be. I don’t treat people the way you do. I don’t use them and then throw them away like tissues. So long as nobody pushes me, I don’t push back. Both my parents raised me to be better than that.” He narrowed his eyes. “So if you think for one moment that I’m going to do something drastic to get rid of you – like, for example, kill you – then that just proves you don’t know me at all. You aren’t worth sinking that low. You’re nothing, Sam Phelan. You’re lower than dirt.” He almost smiled a little. “I would call you a pile of crap, but at least that can be used for fertilizer. You’re just a barrel of toxic waste, poisoning everything you touch. You’re every bit as bad as Lionel Luthor – and I give him absolutely no time of the day.”

He pulled Phelan away from the support beam and marched him to the front door, ignoring his gagging sounds of protest. “I might not have been able to make you confess to your crimes,” he said, reaching the door, “but that doesn’t really matter. One way or another, I will stop you, Phelan. I will defeat you. My father will be released, and we’ll all go on with our lives – and you’ll never darken our doorway again.” He shoved the door open. “Now get out of our house.”

With that, he seized Phelan and hurled him through the doorway, sending him flopping onto the front lawn clear of the trees. “And stay out of our lives!” he called after the stunned madman. Then he shut the door and walked away from it, feeling calmer and more content than he had ever thought possible.

Via his x-ray vision, he watched Phelan recover, get back to his feet, and head for his new car – probably a stolen one. Once the madman had driven away, Clark walked out the back door and vanished in a blur. He wasn’t the only one who’d gone through some major upset lately – he needed to make sure a certain other person was okay.

* * * * *
Said person wasn’t hard to find at all. He just had to walk into the Torch and see her hard at work. She looked up in surprise, then rose from her seat. “Clark,” she said softly, running over to him.

He accepted her latest hug, holding her close. “Hey, Lana,” he murmured. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”

“No, it’s okay,” she assured him. “I heard about your dad. I know it isn’t true.”

He wasn’t surprised, but he was grateful. “Thanks.” He kissed her warmly on the lips, immensely glad for her support, then recovered his breath and asked, “How are you doing?”

She sighed regretfully. “To be honest, I’m in way over my head. All I wanted to do was help Chloe out – and now, I feel like I’ve completely screwed up everything. I guess that’s what I get for trying to be a hero.”

“I know the feeling,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t make it the truth, Lana. You didn’t wrongfully fire her, and you didn’t deserve what she yelled at you.”

“I know,” she breathed, shaking her head. “But I still feel guilty.” Then she looked up at him, comprehension dawning. “That’s how you feel, isn’t it?”

He blushed a bit. “More than you know. I know intellectually that I didn’t do anything wrong, but I still feel responsible somehow.” He sat at the computer with her, pursing his lips as he considered his next words. “At least, that’s how I felt until a few minutes ago.”

She blinked, then looked at him curiously. “What changed?”

He took a deep breath, then explained what had happened after the police and his parents had left – though he didn’t mention smashing the beam, not wanting to freak her out with the knowledge of his super-strength. Then again, some part of him wondered if she didn’t already know. At any rate, when he finished, she looked at him in amazement. “Wow,” she whispered. “It sounds like you really gave this Phelan guy what-for.”

He shrugged sheepishly. “Well, he was asking for it.” He felt a smile tugging at his lips. “To be honest, Lana…when I saw him stumbling away, I felt…kind of good about it. For once, I really put an arrogant jackass in his place – at least for a while.”

“It’s not the first time you’ve done that,” she pointed out, smiling. “I remember how you’ve verbally and physically smacked Whitney down whenever he crosses the line.”

“Guilty,” he said, blushing again, and she giggled. Then he sighed. “But that doesn’t help Dad much. I need a way to get Phelan caught in his own trap. I tried doing that last night, when he wanted me to steal some files, but it didn’t quite work. I even called the police on him before I left, but he somehow got himself out of trouble.”

She nodded, considering the problem. “Hmm… What if you try making sure the police are already there? That way, when you get him hoist by his own petard, he won’t have a chance to bluff his way out of it.”

He blinked, then furrowed his brow…then his eyes widened. “Yes!” His face split into a wide smile. “That’s it! Lana, you’re a genius!” He kissed her soundly on the lips, then stood up in a hurry. “I have to go – I need to see how Mom and Dad are doing.”

“Okay,” she said breathlessly, smiling at his sudden upbeat mood. As he was about to leave, a thought struck her. “Clark, wait!”

He paused, looking at her expectantly. “What is it?”

She felt her smile turning dangerous. “I think I have an idea for my own problem. I think I know how to get Chloe her job back – and how to make sure Kwan can never pull this kind of stunt again.”

He raised his eyebrows, his smile seeming impossibly wider. “I’m all ears.”

“Good,” she said, and took a deep breath. “We’re going to need all the help we can get on this one.”

* * * * *
Right now, Jonathan and Martha felt they needed all the help they could get. The former sat at the visiting booth in prison orange, his son sitting on the other side of the glass. They picked up the phones provided. “Hi, son,” Jonathan said, smiling bravely at Clark, who returned it. “Where’s your mother?”

“The police are questioning her,” Clark said. He grimaced a little. “To be honest, I wish they wouldn’t bother – I think we both know what really happened.”

Jonathan nodded grimly. “Phelan. What did he get you to do last night?”

“I went with him to Metropolis,” Clark explained. “I broke into an apartment and found a safe with confidential files. He was trying to get Internal Affairs off his back so he could keep using illegal methods.”

Jonathan nodded again. “And what did you do about it?”

Clark smiled a little, unable to keep from enjoying the recent memory. “I tore the safe out of the wall and dropped it onto his car. Then I left him standing there with the file. I made sure to trigger a silent alarm – the police showed up just as I left.”

Jonathan looked at him for a moment…then chuckled, almost snickering. “Well…I have to admit, son, that was pretty well-played. Hoisting him by his own petard – perfect way to deal with him.”

Clark chuckled as well, grinning. “Yeah – I liked it myself.” Then he sobered. “But I guess he managed to talk his way out of trouble. I wasn’t quite good enough.” He sighed. “And there’s more, Dad. Phelan came back after you were arrested and started ranting and raving. I was standing there, wondering what to do…and I suddenly realized that my instinct was acting up again.”

“Really?” Jonathan said, raising his eyebrows. “What was it telling you this time?”

“That’s it exactly,” Clark said. “It was like…someone was talking to me. I listened to it…and then, with what Phelan was saying, I realized just who I was dealing with.” He met his father’s eyes more squarely. “And I realized that he’s not worth crossing any lines. He’s not worth losing my temper and doing something I’ll regret.” He shook his head. “He’s deranged, Dad. He kept trying to blame me for his own actions. Then he made the worst mistake he could make – he threatened you guys…and Lana.”

Jonathan whistled softly, knowing that the result couldn’t have been pretty. Clark looked grim, but not haunted. “So I whacked him in the throat to shut him up for a bit, and I told him exactly what I thought of him. Then I threw him outside on his ear and told him to never come back.” He snorted a bit. “I doubt he’ll listen…but I think I got my point across.”

For a long moment, the elder Kent looked at his son, feeling mixed emotions…but chief among them was pride. He was impressed at how well Clark had handled himself. He put his fist against the glass, and Clark returned the gesture. “I’d say you did, son,” he agreed, his blue eyes intent on those familiar greens. “Believe me, I know all there is to know about losing your temper. And I think you know as well as I do that you can’t afford to let it happen. This is Phelan’s game, and he’ll keep playing you for all he can get.”

“I know,” said Clark, sighing a little. “I don’t buy for a moment that he’ll ever leave me alone by his own choice.” His face set in determination. “That’s why I’m going to make sure that the next time he tries to use me, he won’t be able to bluff his way out of trouble when the police come for him.”

Jonathan arched his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Clark nodded, smiling a little. “Lana planted the seed – now I just need a way to make it grow. Hang in there, Dad – I’m going to get you cleared, and then we’ll get back to our lives. No matter what Phelan might think, he’s already lost.”

His father nodded briskly, his eyes seeming moist. “Then go to it, son. God be with you.”

* * * * *
God be with me, because I really need Your help.

That sober thought was at the forefront of Pete Ross’s mind as he walked into the Beanery. He quickly spotted the person he’d come to see and made a beeline for her. She was sitting over a cup of coffee, her short blonde hair even messier than usual. He reached the table and cleared his throat hesitantly. “Um…hi, Chloe.”

For a moment, she didn’t answer. Then she spoke without looking up: “‘Hi’? Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

He sighed. “I guess not.”

She snorted and sipped at her coffee, then grimaced – whether from the taste of the liquid or from the conversation she didn’t really want to have or both, he couldn’t be sure. Even she wasn’t sure. “What do you want, Pete?” she muttered.

“To talk,” he said, not backing away.

She snorted again and gestured at the table. “Fine. Talk away, but I’ll probably have wax in my ears.”

“Ugh,” he grimaced, taking a seat. “I really hope not.” He cleared his throat and looked at her seriously. “This is important, Chloe. We need to talk.”

“I don’t see why,” she grumbled, finally looking at him. She did not look well – not ill so much as drained, defeated. Her makeup had been sloppily applied, her hair was indeed a total mess, and her eyes looked both bleary and upset.

The sight tore at him. God, but he hated to see her like this – it just wasn’t right at all. He only hoped that he could begin to pull her out of it. “Well, I do,” he said, folding his hands on the table. “What happened yesterday—”

“What, Pete?” she cut him off, her tone suddenly sharp. “You going to jump ship now? Going to change sides and throw your lot in with Kwan? Or Little Miss Perfect?” She scoffed. “Save it. I don’t need to hear it.”

He scowled at that. “You don’t need to assume things,” he retorted. “You know what it means to assume.”

“Why the hell should I care anymore?” she spat, clunking her cup down on the table. “I’ve lost everything! My job, my career, my dream – it’s all gone!” She gestured with one hand. “Just all flushed away, like that, because Kwan’s too much of a political animal to let me be.”

“I’m not arguing that last part, Chloe,” Pete said patiently. “Kwan was wrong, period. But I don’t think it’s as hopeless as you think.”

“Why not?” she demanded, throwing her hands up. “What could possibly throw the dice in my favor now? It’s all gone, Pete! It all belongs to her now!”

He frowned at that. “Just ‘it’?” he said. “Or does that also mean a ‘he’?”

She stared at him, then half-sobbed and shook her head. “You know damn well it does. Why are you even bothering to ask?”

“Because I think you should’ve come to terms with that a long time ago,” he said firmly but not harshly.

“What?!” she sputtered. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“No, I mean it,” he insisted. “Clark was never going to return your feelings, Chloe. It just wasn’t in the cards.”

“It should have been!” she exclaimed shrilly, throwing her hands up again. “He should’ve been mine! He should’ve begun something beautiful with me, not clung to a toddler’s crush on Miss Perfect Prissy Pink Cheerleader And Editor Extraordinaire! Why can’t he see that she’s a worthless, stupid little b*tch who’ll never amount to anything but a pretty face?!”

Other customers were starting to stare at them. Pete shot them all looks, warning them not to intrude, then turned to Chloe, setting his jaw. “Maybe if you took your face out of that coffee and your head out of your ass,” he suggested in a furious growl, “you’d realize just how much of a stupid little b*tch you’re being.”

She locked her eyes on his, steaming. “What did you call me?” she hissed.

“You heard me, Chloe!” he retorted, not raising his voice – just imparting more force. “God damn it, you just don’t get it, do you?! Lana’s nothing like what you just said! She’s not worthless, she’s not stupid, she’s not prissy, and she’s definitely not a b*tch! She’s one of the most selfless and intelligent and caring people I’ve ever met, and Clark is beyond lucky to have her in his life! We all are!” He shook his head, grinding his teeth together. “But you just don’t want to admit it, do you?! You don’t want to admit that you’ve been wrong about her right from the very start! You’d rather cling to your paper-thin illusions and throw more lies at her than face up to your own failures and admit how wrong you are!”

She stared at him in mute disbelief, shocked at the sheer audacity he was showing. How dare he?! How dare he assume anything about her like that?! She wasn’t wrong! She was never wrong! She knew what a loathsome creature Lana Lang was, and she’d be damned if she offered the slightest bit of apology to—

Her thoughts suddenly slammed into a brick wall – a wall in the shape of Pete’s disgusted and disapproving glare. Her eyes widened as her own words echoed through her mind, becoming louder and clearer with every iteration…and for the first time, she began to truly hear them. She began to hear her own bile, her own spite, her own cruelty…

…her own stupidity. Her own b*tchiness.

Oh…

…dear…

…God.

He was right. Pete was right.

Which meant that…that she was wrong.

Not just wrong – completely wrong. Completely selfish, completely nasty, and completely baseless…in short, a complete b*tch.

And what was more, she now recognized that behavior. She’d seen it before…she’d seen someone else acting exactly like that in every way…someone she did not want to be like at all. But she had been like that, all this time…and she had nobody to blame but herself.

“Oh…my…God,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly moist. “Oh, God…oh, no. What have I done?” Her face scrunched up, not looking pretty at all – not every girl looked pretty when she cried. “What have I done?” she moaned – and she buried her face in her hands, sobbing hard, completely breaking down.

Pete immediately moved around the table and put his arms around her, not wanting her to be alone as she let it out. She stilled for a moment, then whimpered and leaned into him, sobbing harder. The other customers gave them wary looks, but then turned back to their drinks, deciding not to interfere.

At length, the tears stopped, and Chloe hiccuped softly. She swallowed hard and lifted her face from her hands, looking red and blotchy and miserable. For a long moment, she looked at him…then she inhaled and managed to say, in a small and shaky voice, “Is it too late to apologize?”

He smiled gently and shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

She hiccuped again, then reclaimed her cup and took a long drink – the coffee was cold, but she swallowed hard anyway. She paused for a moment, then sighed. “Pete…I am so sorry. Too sorry for any words.” She shook her head. “God…I feel like such a monster. I’ve treated you, Clark, and Lana like sh*t.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can…can forgive myself.”

“Maybe you don’t,” he said quietly, “but I do, Chloe. I forgive you.”

She almost laughed. “Yeah…it figures.” Then she sighed again. “What about them? Do you think they’ll accept my apology?”

“In a heartbeat,” he said immediately. Then he smiled slyly. “But you might want to wait until tomorrow – and you might want to wait until the right moment.”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

He touched a finger to his lips. “Sorry – I’m sworn to secrecy. Just trust me, Chloe – when you head to the Torch tomorrow, don’t go in right away. Don’t let yourself be seen. In fact, don’t say or do anything until Lana is finished – just hide and listen.” He grinned evilly. “I think you’re going to enjoy the show.”

She stared at him, wondering what in the world he meant. What would Lana be finished with? Then she sighed, tabling her curiosity. She’d just have to be patient and wait until tomorrow…until “the right moment” to find out.

* * * * *
By contrast to the Beanery, the Talon was deserted. That was the way Clark wanted it – aside from himself and one other person, he wanted nobody else around. He waited patiently on the couch until he heard a car pull up outside. He walked briskly to the door and opened it.

“Clark?” Lex said worriedly, walking in as invited.

“Lex,” Clark said, closing the door behind him. “Thanks for coming.”

Lex nodded, concerned. “I just heard about your dad. How is he?”

Clark shrugged a little. “As well as he can be. He’s hanging in there, you know?”

Another nod. Then Lex said grimly, “It’s Phelan, isn’t it?”

Clark sighed and looked down. “Yeah.”

“I knew it,” Lex muttered. “Look, you may think you know how a guy like Phelan works, but you’d be wrong.”

“I already know more about him than I ever wanted to,” Clark said, feeling a fresh wave of disgust at the memory of all that ranting and raving. “There aren’t any lines he won’t cross, and he’ll keep using me until he’s bled me dry. Isn’t that true?”

Lex looked at him for a moment, then sighed and nodded. “Bang on, I’m afraid. What does he have on you, Clark?”

Clark shook his head. “I don’t think what he has matters as much as the fact that he has it, Lex.” He held up a hand to forestall any protest. “All I can say is that it’s big enough that he’s already used me to try and steal files from Internal Affairs. And my gut tells me that whatever he’s going to use me for next, it’ll be at least as bad.”

“Probably,” Lex agreed. He looked at his younger friend imploringly. “You sure you won’t tell me what he’s using?”

Clark shook his head again. “I can’t, Lex. I’m already in enough trouble, and my parents are suffering for it. If this keeps up, anyone I care about could be next. Lana, you, Pete, Chloe – anyone. I don’t dare risk endangering them.” He looked Lex in the eyes. “Can you understand that?”

For a long moment, Lex didn’t answer. He felt as if he stood at a fork in the road of his life, torn on the question of which path to follow. Clark looked at him levelly, not saying another word…just waiting.

Then Lex sighed and nodded. “Yes. Of course I understand. And you’re right – what he has doesn’t matter, just that he has it. And he’ll keep using it and hurting you more and more.”

Clark nodded back, then cleared his throat. “That’s why I called you here, Lex. I need to get him caught red-handed. And I need your help to do it.”

Lex felt a hint of a smile touch his lips. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

Clark told him.

[superman_lives_on]

The Chronicles of Smallville: Rogue

* * * * *
That very night, Clark sat on the steps leading to the loft, clad in his dark blue jacket as well as his plaid button-down and red T-shirt, waiting with the patience of a great tree. His instinct told him he didn’t have long to wait…and it was right. “You busy, kid?”

He looked up sharply at Phelan – who, to his undeniable satisfaction, was rubbing gently at his own throat. “I told you to never come back,” Clark said coldly, rising to his feet. “Was I not clear enough the first time?”

Phelan held up his hand, looking genuinely spooked – he obviously didn’t want a repeat of that morning. “No, no, you were crystal clear. But the fact is, Clark, I need your help.”

Clark scoffed. “With what?”

The dirty cop grimaced. “After last night, I’ve got Internal Affairs asking me more questions than I can afford to answer.”

Clark shook his head. “Well, that’s your problem, Phelan, not mine.”

“Oh, no, it’s our problem,” Phelan insisted. “But don’t worry – our next bit of business is gonna be our last.”

Yeah, right, Clark thought. Aloud, he said, “Do you honestly think I’m going to help you after all you’ve done?”

“I know you are, Clark,” Phelan said calmly. “You may not care about yourself, but you care a hell of a lot about others. Now think about what I said earlier – think about your parents. Your father’s in jail on a murder charge, and whether he beats it or not, he’ll lose this farm just by paying legal fees. He and your mother will have nothing to support themselves or you.” He smirked and shook his head a little. “And you don’t want to get me started on what could happen to your girlfriend.”

Clark clamped his hand on Phelan’s throat and hauled him close. “You’re right,” he said coldly, raising the other in a claw-shape. “I don’t. And neither do you.” He grasped Phelan’s jaw and tugged it open, his green eyes searing into those cold blues. “You say one more word about her, and I’ll rip your tongue right out. Understand?”

Phelan gagged and nodded, and Clark released him, letting him gasp for breath. After a moment, the rogue cop recovered and glared at Clark. “You’re forgetting something else, kid – I can still make all that go away.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. But if you don’t help me, you’re going to suffer the consequences. So, what’s it gonna be?”

A moment later, the two walked out of the barn to Phelan’s black car and got in. As they drove away, another car began to follow them – a sleek silver car with Lex at the wheel. He kept enough of a distance that Phelan wouldn’t see him, but not so much that he couldn’t easily follow.

Over an hour later, the black car pulled up to the place where it had all begun – Metropolis Museum. “What are we doing here?” Clark wondered.

“Well,” Phelan said, “since I couldn’t pick up my Internal Affairs records, I figured it was time to pick up my retirement package.”

“The breastplate,” Clark realized after a moment’s thought. “You want me to steal it for you.”

“I don’t give a damn about the breastplate,” Phelan chuckled. “I just want the ten million dollars’ worth of jewels that are on it.” He laughed and clapped Clark’s shoulder. “Come on.”

Clark didn’t want to do it, but he had to play along for now. He followed Phelan out of the car and towards the building. They soon reached a metal box set into the white wall. “So what?” Clark asked. “We’re just going to bust in?”

“Not quite,” Phelan said, squatting in front of the box; Clark knelt beside him. “See, Metropolis P.D. keeps blueprints on all high-security buildings in the city, so I know this place better than the architect. The security system all runs through this junction box.” He shone his flashlight at it. “Open it up.”

Clark grimaced. “Is it alarmed?”

“They only alarm things they think somebody could get through,” Phelan said confidently.

Your overconfidence is your weakness, Clark thought wryly. Nonetheless, he reached out and got a firm hold on the edge of the box, then pried it right open. Sure enough, no alarm went off. Still, he couldn’t resist pointing out the obvious, hoping to annoy Phelan: “Cameras are one thing. What about the guards?”

Phelan dialed a number on his cell phone and smirked. “They’re about to get real busy.” He spoke quietly into it: “Yeah, Metropolis Museum? You have two minutes to leave the building. There’s a bomb outside.”

Clark knew full well it wasn’t true, but the guards didn’t. They quickly came running out the doors and down the stairs, unaware of the real threat…but Lex had an idea of what Phelan was doing, and he walked towards them. He’d already made his own call – they wouldn’t have to deal with Phelan alone.

Unaware that his plan was already falling to pieces, Phelan clipped the wires one by one, cutting off the cameras. “All is blind in Luthor Hall,” he chuckled to Clark. “Let’s go.”

Outside the museum, Lex knelt to look inside a newspaper dispenser. There was a small box in it. He smirked to himself – he recognized this trick of Phelan’s. He took out some change and put it in the slot while the guards watched tensely.

Inside, Clark and Phelan quickly reached the breastplate. The display was surrounded by bars, but they could see the ten-million-dollar artifact inside. Phelan grinned widely. “Kid, show me the magic.”

You have no idea what I’m about to show you. But Clark didn’t speak – he grasped the bars and bent them apart, then pulled the metal away. He drew his fist back and threw it forward, smashing the glass.

Lex opened the box – and, sure enough, there was no bomb inside. But there was something that ticked – an alarm clock. He pulled it out, then tossed it to one of the guards as it rang. He looked to the street – and sure enough, he could see flashing lights approaching without the usual accompanying wail.

From the museum, Clark saw it all happening – Lex standing with the guards and the police cars coming closer. Bingo. He turned to Phelan, who was too intent on claiming and admiring the breastplate – or rather, the jewels on it – to notice any hint of danger. The corrupt cop grinned and said, “We are gonna make a great team.” He put the breastplate in a black bag he’d brought along and zipped it up.

Now, Clark thought with his whole being. He smiled grimly at Phelan and said calmly, “No. We won’t.”

Before Phelan’s astonished eyes, he grabbed the bag and flung it through a high window – Crash! – in one swift motion. It flew outside and landed right next to the astonished guards. Lex smirked in triumph and bent down to unzip it, revealing the incriminating evidence.

“You might’ve been able to explain the safe,” Clark declared to Phelan, smiling with his own triumph, “but your fingerprints are all over that breastplate. You’re going down for this one, Phelan, and you’ll never use anybody else ever again.”

Phelan glared at him, disbelief at how quickly the tables had turned giving way to murderous rage. “You might be strong,” he snarled, reaching into his coat, “but you’re not bulletproof!”

He whipped out his gun and aimed right at Clark, whose mouth opened in surprise. He hadn’t foreseen this, though he probably should have—

—then he saw Phelan’s finger tighten on the trigger. Boom! The bullet burst forth with a small cloud of flame and hurtled towards Clark, spinning around and around…

…and to his eyes, it was moving with nightmarish slowness. He looked to his left, his x-ray vision showing him the outside again – the police had arrived, and the guards and Lex were already moving back towards the museum…

…he looked back to the bullet, which came ever closer…he had no idea what would happen if it hit him, and he was in no mood to find out…

…and suddenly, an image of his parents flashed before his eyes, swift as lightning – of the suffering that Phelan had caused them – and then he saw Lana, sobbing over the whole mess with Chloe, looking at him in concern, assuring him that it would be okay…

…and his uncertainty vanished. He had not come all this way to let a little piece of metal try to destroy him. All of his thoughts and feelings hardened into a singularity, a moment of pure resolve—

—and he reached his hand up, fingers arranged – and they clamped down on the bullet just before it could reach his face. Time snapped back to normal, and he stared at Phelan with a righteous anger more powerful than molten lava, stronger than any bedrock or steel. The corrupt cop lowered his gun, staring back in utter shock – and Clark tossed the bullet at him, then spoke the last words of advice he would ever hear:

“Go to Hell, you monster.”

Then, with a whoosh, he vanished. Phelan jolted and looked all around wildly, too shocked to think straight—

—and never got the chance again. The guards charged into the room, their guns drawn – and he aimed his own gun. Boom!

“Get down!” yelled one of the guards, and Lex took cover with them. Boom! Phelan fired again—

Bang! A guard’s gun barked in reply – and his aim was perfect. Phelan gasped and fell backwards, firing his gun one last time – then he collapsed onto his back, fatally wounded.

Lex rose to his feet and stared at the dying man, his insides twisting. What are you waiting for?! part of him demanded. Get your ass over there before he croaks!

No, he thought to himself. It’s done.

Like hell it is! This could be your best chance to find out what he had on Clark!

I don’t need to know that, he insisted. I told Clark it didn’t matter.

Oh, please! What’s a conversation with a hayseed simpleton going to mean anyway? It’s not like he’s going to know.

But I will know, Lex thought firmly. And that’s just as bad.

You idiot! the inner voice screamed at him. Get over there now!

But he didn’t. He turned his back on Phelan and walked deliberately out of the museum, past the guards and the arriving cops. Phelan lay there, choking on his own blood, his mind falling apart…it was getting cold…and yet, just before it all went black, he could’ve sworn that the floor felt hot.

Clark was waiting outside by the sports car as Lex came back. “Are you okay?” he asked his older friend, concerned.

“I’m fine,” Lex assured him, swallowing a bit. Then he glanced over his shoulder. “But I can’t say the same for Phelan. He’s been shot dead.”

Clark grimaced, then sighed. “Well…I guess he got hoist on his own petard, alright.”

Lex nodded. “Or hung on his own rope, if you like.” He gave Clark a small smile. “How are you doing?”

Clark smiled back. “I’ll be okay, just as soon as Dad is free.”

“I’ll see what I can do to speed that along,” Lex promised. “Let me check in with the police – then we’ll go home.”

Clark grinned gratefully and nodded. “Thanks, Lex – for everything.”

Lex shrugged. “What are friends for?” But he was grinning too.

* * * * *
Monday morning – the start of a new school week, the first full week since midterm exams. Clark and Martha sat in the kitchen, waiting silently. Suddenly, they heard the front door swing open and shut, and they looked up—

—to see Jonathan walking into the room in his favorite plaid outfit. He stood there and smiled at them. “All the charges have been dropped.”

Clark grinned, and Martha laughed in delight. “With profuse apologies from the state and the Metropolis Police Department,” Jonathan added, walking over to join her.

“Then it’s finally over,” she said, kissing him in relief.

“This time,” he agreed. “Unfortunately, there’s more than one Phelan out there in the world.”

Clark nodded slightly. “What do we do next time?”

“I don’t know, son,” Jonathan admitted. “We’re just gonna have to deal with it when the time comes.”

“Yeah,” Clark murmured. “I mean, I can’t just stop using my gifts. That wouldn’t solve anything – it’d just remind me every day of what I’d be missing.”

“And that’s the last thing we want,” Martha agreed. “Your gifts are a part of you, Clark. You can’t live in fear that everyone is out to exploit them.”

“And I’m sorry if I ever gave that impression,” Jonathan said sincerely. “Still, a little caution wouldn’t hurt.”

“I can do that,” Clark nodded. He smiled shyly. “To be honest, I think I’m starting to actually like being able to do so much. I bet there’s a lot of good I could do around town that I haven’t even thought of yet.”

“We have no doubt,” Martha assured him. “You’re sure nobody saw you last night, right sweetie?”

He nodded again. “I’m positive, Mom.” He smiled at them both, then rose to his feet and fetched his jacket. “I’d better get to school – there’s something I really don’t want to miss.”

His parents watched him go, wondering idly what that could be, and smiled in relief. It looked like everything was back on track.

* * * * *
God, please don’t let me be too late to beg forgiveness.

Chloe walked through the halls of Smallville High, feeling all kinds of guilt gnawing away at her. Pete’s words from yesterday kept echoing through her. He was definitely right about her owing Lana a huge apology – she should never have gone off on her like that. No matter what her dark and cynical side had claimed, Lana hadn’t done anything to deserve such treatment.

She was almost to her familiar stomping ground when she paused mid-step. The true source of all her hurt and frustration was walking that way as well…and what was that he was holding? Getting an eerie sense of déjà-vu, she began quietly following him to the Torch, remembering what Pete had said about not stepping into the office until Lana was finished…whatever that meant.

Within that office, Lana was typing on one of the computers, trying to arrange everything so that Chloe would be able to get right back into the groove. She heard heavy footsteps approaching the Torch and rose from her seat, mentally readying herself. Showtime.

“Miss Lang!” Once again, Principal Kwan sounded thoroughly annoyed as he stalked into the room, holding the latest edition of the paper. “What’s this?” He snapped it up.

She glanced at it, taking in the headline: “Kwan Crushes Freedom of Speech.” Nothing like being to the point. “It’s a news story,” she said calmly, in the tone of someone stating that water is wet.

“It’s completely unacceptable,” he said harshly.

“Why?” she asked, mock-innocent. “It covers all of your criteria. It deals with a student and a school-sponsored club and there are no meteors or mutants in sight. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

The man wasn’t impressed. “Did you do this because you thought I’d reinstate Miss Sullivan?”

“I did this because it’s right,” she retorted sharply. “Chloe was born for this job, and you kicked her out because you didn’t like that she made the most of it.”

Kwan sighed, clearly annoyed and disgruntled. “Although I do admire her passion, her reporting lacks accuracy.”

“Right,” Lana scoffed, her eyes flashing, “because accuracy is all about regurgitating the empty words of organizations that can’t tell the difference between a dangerous radioactive substance and a harmless paperweight.” She pierced him with her gaze, her voice low and deadly firm: “They’re wrong about the meteors, and so are you. Those rocks are the most dangerous things in this town. I’ve seen firsthand what they’ve done, how they’ve driven people insane and torn families and friends apart. They’re not harmless in any way – just because we don’t understand much about them doesn’t mean they can’t hurt anyone.”

He looked as if he was about to protest, but she didn’t let him: “And for the record, Chloe hasn’t violated any of the rules of journalism. She’s been accurate to a fault in whatever she reports on, especially the mutations. She’s interviewed people who were affected by the events, including any surviving mutants who were willing to talk – I should know, given how she interviewed me about Tina Greer’s attack. And she’s included as much official data as she can – to be fair, there isn’t much,” she admitted. “Hospitals don’t exactly break their vows of confidentiality. But she hasn’t committed anything like libel or wild speculation – she’s backed up her claims as best she can. If you’d actually read those articles through instead of just reacting to the headlines, you’d know that.”

Kwan scowled, clearly angry but trying to keep himself under control. “I didn’t assign Miss Sullivan to this paper so she could turn it into her personal opinion column,” he said sternly.

“You didn’t ‘assign’ her at all,” Lana retorted, and though she remained calm, the edge was obvious in her voice and expression. “She was hired for the job by your predecessor just before he retired. She was in Smallville an entire year before you were, and she worked her butt off to prove that she was the best candidate for this. She wasn’t just handed it when she started high school – she earned it.” She folded her arms over her chest, looking far more stern than he did. “And she’s transformed the Torch from a factory churning out cookie-cutter articles and meaningless data to a miniature Smallville Ledger or Daily Planet, an institution that helps the people stay informed. But you’re trying to reverse all that – do you even realize what that makes you out to be?”

His face darkened, but she didn’t flinch at all. “Watch your tongue, Miss Lang,” he all but growled. “I don’t appreciate you making this personal.”

“Then you shouldn’t have overstepped your boundaries and fired Chloe for doing her job,” she replied, still calm but very serious. “You made it personal, sir.”

“I did no such thing!” he snapped, losing his cool. “I acted in the best interests of the student body! They have a right to a paper that reports relevant events—”

“They have a right to a paper that reports the truth!” she cut him off, eyes flashing with anger. “How are people supposed to know about the dangers in this town if you won’t let anyone point them out?!” She narrowed her eyes, her voice deadly calm again: “You’d rather violate the school’s own terms and throw the head of the paper out because you think it’s better to stick to pointless fluff pieces than to warn people about the most insidious threat around. You’re not acting in anyone’s best interests – not even your own. How do you think those concerned parents will react when it turns out that their children were harmed by something that the Torch could’ve warned them about, but didn’t because the principal refused to let it tell the truth?”

She let that sink in…and for a long moment, Kwan was utterly speechless. He hadn’t expected such a biting and passionate rebuttal to his actions. Finally, he inhaled deeply and shook his head. “I’m disappointed in you, Miss Lang. I thought that such passion was a good sign. Clearly I was mistaken.”

“Wrong,” she said coldly. “You were mistaken to fire Chloe because you didn’t like her daring to do more with the paper. Go ahead and boot me out – I never wanted the job. But if you don’t reinstate her as head of the Torch, you won’t have any Torch at all.”

That surprised him even more. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

“It’s very simple, sir,” she said calmly. “Every single member of the paper agrees that you were wrong to fire their editor-in-chief – and every single student who might be interested in joining it at some point thinks and feels the same. If you don’t give Chloe her job back, then everyone who works here will quit their jobs – and no-one will step up to take their places. The Torch will be suspended indefinitely.”

Kwan sputtered in disbelief – this couldn’t be true. “You’re bluffing,” he said flatly.

“No, I’m not,” said Lana even more flatly. “I made absolutely sure that everyone got the word. If you don’t replace me with the girl who deserves the job more than anyone, then before the day is out, you’ll have to replace everyone – and not a single student will step up. Do you really want to go through all that trouble?”

Even an utter idiot wouldn’t want to, and he wasn’t one. She saw that and said firmly, “It’s your choice, Principal Kwan. Either you reinstate Chloe as head of the paper and stay out of her way, or you lose the entire staff and have no paper at all. In either case, you won’t get to bring back the days of cookie-cutter fluff and nonsense – ever.” She stared hard into his eyes and finished calmly, “So, what’s your decision?”

For a very long moment, he didn’t speak. His expression was unfathomable, his dark eyes staring into hers. Then they blinked and looked away, and she suspected that she knew what his choice would be. She glanced toward the door – and only then did she realize that they’d had a silent audience all along. “Chloe,” she said, surprised.

Kwan turned to see Chloe standing in the doorway, leaning against the side. Her expression was far from unfathomable – she was completely shocked. Her mouth hung open, her eyes were wide and staring, and her whole body was rigid. He looked from her to Lana, hesitated for a moment, then sighed and turned to walk out. He paused next to Chloe and muttered, “Congratulations, Miss Sullivan. Miss Lang just got you your job back.”

With that, he left. Chloe turned to watch him go…then she turned back to Lana, her mouth still hanging open. The brunette smiled shyly, her confidence receding before bashfulness now that it was over. “I really wasn’t bluffing,” she said. “Everyone on the paper wanted you back, and none of the students interested in joining wanted anyone else as their leader.” She shrugged modestly. “Pete and Clark helped me get the word out yesterday.”

Chloe kept staring, her expression utterly stunned. She was lost in a turbulent sea of thoughts and emotions, chief among them disbelief. There was no way she could’ve actually seen and heard all this…it had to be a dream. Yeah, that was it – she hadn’t woken up yet. She reached for her arm to make sure.

Pinch. “Ow!” she hissed, flinching. Damn, but she needed to trim her nails!

She looked up – and Lana was still there, having winced at the sight. “Um, you’re not dreaming,” she said, smiling in understanding. “If anything, the nightmare’s over.”

Not dreaming…not dreaming. This was for real. Chloe inhaled deeply, her raging sea of a psyche coming into clearer focus. This had really happened – Lana had really stood up for her, and forced Kwan to reinstate her or else lose the Torch completely. She shook her head a little as those thoughts ran through it, cleared her throat, and managed to whisper, “You…you did all that…for me?”

Lana nodded simply, her eyes and voice quietly earnest: “Yes.”

Chloe let out a soft breath, her mouth hanging open again, and shook her head slightly – but not so much in disbelief now. There could be no disbelief anymore – the truth was right there, right in front of her, plain as day itself. This young woman, this person she had snarked at and accused of backstabbing and viewed as superficial, had done the last thing Chloe had expected – she’d fought against the injustice afoot, and what was more, she’d been clever in doing so. She’d beaten Kwan in both morals and wits…

…and she’d done it for the sake of a selfish, cynical girl who, for all her work to dig up the truth about the strange things around town, hadn’t let herself see past the image she’d built up during eighth grade. She should’ve known by now that said image was phony, built on misunderstandings and sheer bias and outright lies. Hell, this needn’t have served as further proof – their very first real conversation should’ve been enough!

Chloe felt like pounding herself flat. Dear God, she’d been such a stupid ass! She’d spat in the face of someone who not only didn’t deserve it at all, but had just proved that she would go to great lengths for the sake of others…just like the guy whose heart she had captured long before Chloe had ever come to Smallville.

Her vision blurred as her eyes became moist…and yet, she had never seen more clearly in all her young life. Pete had been absolutely right yesterday, and she, Chloe Sullivan, had been absolutely wrong. And…she was glad. She was actually glad that Lana had proved her wrong…that this person she’d treated so horribly had gone the extra mile for her and for the sake of justice.

With a little gasp, she flung herself forward and buried her face in Lana’s shoulder, holding on tightly. The brunette nearly staggered, caught off guard…but then she wrapped her arms around the blonde and held her gently, feeling her shake as she began to sob.

In that moment, something inside Chloe changed forever. The high and icy wall that she’d held around her heart for so long cracked and began to fall apart, slowly and steadily melting away and pouring out of her eyes before the warm light of the truth. She cried and cried in Lana’s tender embrace, letting out all the regret and guilt and sorrow she felt for ever mistreating this wonderful woman.

Lana rubbed her back softly, letting her get it all out – somehow, she knew that Chloe needed this. After a time, the reporter inhaled shakily, then moved her very wet face from Lana’s shoulder and rested her chin on it. “Lana,” she whispered, her voice raspy and rather watery, “I’m so sorry…so sorry…”

“It’s okay, Chloe,” Lana whispered, stroking the short and messy blonde hair. “It’s okay.”

Chloe hiccuped once, then swallowed hard and sighed. “No,” she said quietly, moving back to meet Lana’s eyes. “No, it’s not okay. It hasn’t been okay.” She shook her head a little. “But I want it to be.”

Lana tilted her head, eyes and face tender and patient. Chloe inhaled more steadily, then said in that quiet tone, “Lana, I’ve been horrible to you. There’s no other way to put it. I’ve dismissed you, accused you of things I couldn’t admit weren’t true, and just been so selfish.” She shook her head again. “And yet, here you are…standing up for me.”

“It was the least I could do, Chloe,” said Lana softly, no reproach at all in her tone. “Kwan was wrong, period. I needed to show him that we wouldn’t put up with it.”

Chloe let out a soft, watery laugh. “Oh, you did that for sure.” She wiped at her face, clearing away the remains of her tears. “That was an amazing thing you did, Lana. I don’t think I could’ve ever thought of it if the roles were reversed.” She sighed sadly. “I’ve really underestimated you – even though I should’ve known better.”

Lana began to protest, but Chloe shook her head. “No, I have. And there are things I haven’t done that I should have.” She swallowed a bit and said, voice still quiet, “I haven’t been the friend you deserve. I was so wrapped up in my own life, pursuing my own goals, that I didn’t realize how badly I’ve treated you. And you’ve never done a thing to deserve it.” She sighed again, wishing that she could take back every last cruel thing she’d said or thought about Lana. “I’ve been so wrong about you, and I don’t have any excuse or reason for it. I was just stupidly biased.”

This time, Lana didn’t try to interrupt – she just looked at Chloe gently, waiting for her to finish. The blonde inhaled again, then said, “I guess the real reason for that boils down to Clark. I was so upset when I realized that he was crazy about you – I felt like you’d stolen him from me.” She shook her head in self-reproach. “But I had it backwards, didn’t I? He was never mine for anyone to steal – I was really trying to steal him from you. Don’t try to deny it, Lana – I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.” She smiled warmly and rather slyly. “You’re just as nuts about him, aren’t you?”

Lana couldn’t deny it – nor did she want to. She nodded slightly. “I am, Chloe,” she said quietly, earnestly. “I…” She sighed – might as well call a spade a spade. “I love him.”

Chloe nodded back, surprised at how well she took that. Had it been, say, at the beginning of the school year, she was pretty sure she would’ve gone berserk. But it wasn’t – time had passed, and things had changed. She had changed. She took another breath, then said very softly but firmly, “Then I won’t get in the way. I have no right to.”

Lana smiled, relieved and touched – she knew what Chloe must have given up with those words. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“You’re welcome,” said Chloe just as softly, smiling back. “And from now on, Lana, I want to be a real friend to you. You deserve so much better than how I’ve treated you.” She shook her head again. “I finally see now…I see what kind of person you really are. And I’d be honored beyond any words to deserve your friendship.”

No words could suffice to answer that – so Lana didn’t even try to use any. She just pulled Chloe into another hug, her own eyes feeling moist now. The reinstated reporter hugged back, feeling nothing but warmth and forgiveness.

When they finally parted, Chloe glanced towards the doorway – and saw Pete standing there, looking very pleased with what he saw. She laughed quietly to herself as she walked over, giving him a tight hug. Were it not for him, she might never have realized how wrong she’d been. Thus, she whispered something very simple to him, something that said everything she needed to say: “Thank you.”

He sighed happily and nodded against her, returning the hug without restraint. “Anytime,” he whispered back.

She squeezed him a little more, then let him breathe, beaming all over. For the first time in years, everything felt right to her. She inhaled slowly and deeply, marveling at how fresh the air seemed, then realized something. “Hey – where’s Clark? I think I owe him an apology too.”

“Apology accepted, Chloe,” said Clark, emerging from the other door. He smiled shyly. “So long as you can forgive me for eavesdropping.”

She stared at him, her eyes wide…and her mouth curved into a disbelieving smile. “Why, you sneaky…” But she couldn’t finish the sentence – she was too overwhelmed with emotion still. She just charged forward and tried to knock him over with her hug.

He chuckled and returned it. “I was hiding there just in case something went wrong or Lana needed backup,” he explained. He gave his girlfriend a proud smile. “Fortunately, she didn’t need it at all.”

“Nope,” Chloe half-choked against his chest. “Clark, I’m so sorry – I should never have said those horrible things.” She pulled back and rubbed at her eyes, looking contritely into his. “I should never have tried to stop you two from being together. I had no right, and I have no excuse for it.”

“It’s okay,” he said gently, smiling warmly. “I forgive you, Chloe.”

She nodded, smiling back. “I’m glad.” She let go of him and turned to Lana and Pete, clasping her hands together. “Well – shall we get back to it? This paper isn’t going to write itself.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” her companions chorused, saluting her. She grinned at that and moved to the computer, and Lana moved to Clark, beaming up at him. He beamed back, basking in their mutual triumph over the odds – then, knowing that there was nothing to hide from Pete or Chloe anymore, he wrapped his arms around her, bent down, and claimed her lips in a gentle kiss.

And remarkably enough, neither of their friends minded one bit. Heck – as far as they were concerned, Clark and Lana had earned it.

* * * * *
Crash!

The expensive lamp met its demise against the wall, shattering into countless pieces. “DAMMIT!” its owner shrieked, cracking every bit of glass in her room. “DAMMIT! THOSE BASTARDS! THOSE B*TCHES! AAAAAARGH!”

She seized another fragile item – then whirled and threw it at the door, incensed at the sudden knock that had come. Crash! The little mirror shattered completely and dropped to the floor, and a moment later, she stormed over to the door and wrenched it open.

Whitney stared down at her, looking less than sour, and she scowled at him. “What are you so happy about?” she demanded, her voice remaining shrill. “Don’t you know what happened today?!”

“I heard just as well as you did, Dawn,” the jock king replied, his voice as deep as ever. “Apparently, your plan went south.”

“It didn’t go anywhere!” she snapped. “That little orphan b*tch ruined it! She somehow got Kwan to reinstate Sullivan!”

“I know,” he growled, annoyed. “She probably gave him a little flash of the assets – that would change his mind damn fast, no matter how much pressure your parents and their friends put on him.”

“How the hell else could she do it?” Dawn agreed, scowling even more. Then she took a deep breath and glared up at him. “Now, why are you so happy?” she said again – but this time, her voice dropped into that thick, sensual tone she’d recently acquired. “Have you been getting some from Felice?”

“Definitely,” he said, smirking. “She’s so eager to please. But that’s not why I’m in such a good mood.” He stared down at her. “As for the real reason…well, that’s for me to know and you to find out.”

Dawn sniffed. “Oh, I will find out, Whitney,” she vowed. “I always do.”

“I noticed,” he retorted, smirking again. They stared at each other for a long second—

—then they pounced, attacking each other’s lips. With a hiss, Dawn tore away long enough to whisper, “Damn that Clark Kent anyway – and damn his friends.”

“Damn them all to hell,” Whitney growled in agreement. Then he returned to their struggle for dominance, pushing her back into the room and shutting the door behind them with his foot.

Elsewhere in Smallville, a gorgeous British brunette with a killer bod and an ambitious mind settled into bed for a nice, deep sleep. She wasn’t worried about being unable to pass out – she was too sated by the day’s activities for that. She smiled to herself and closed her eyes, letting exhaustion take over.

Below her, in one of the garages of the Luthor Mansion, Lex was meeting with an associate of his. Determined to put his mind off the whole mess with Sam Phelan, he focused on a topic that had intrigued him ever since he’d come to this quiet little town. Said associate, given his knack for digging up scandals, might just have the key to solving the puzzle.

“So, where’s your lady friend?” asked Roger Nixon, reporter for the Metropolis Inquisitor. When Tina Greer had robbed the Savings and Loan by masquerading as Lex, Nixon had made the near-fatal mistake of trying to blackmail the billionaire with darker and more secret incidents. It had only been near-fatal because Lex had offered him a way to keep his life while helping to look over some mysteries – namely the one standing in this garage with them.

“Resting,” Lex said calmly, his expression giving nothing away. He’d played a role in her exhaustion, much to his pride and delight – and given what was to come, he knew she would need her rest. Besides, he had his own business to deal with right now.

“Ah,” Nixon said, running a hand over his head with its buzzed-short hair, then straightening his brown business suit. “Busy day?”

“You have no idea,” Lex said quietly. “Now, let’s see how busy this night can get.” He gestured to the wreckage of the Porsche. “What do you have for me so far?”

Several miles away, at a place as different from the Luthor Mansion as a peaceful meadow was from a noisy city square, Clark paused mid-step. He’d just been about to head inside for dinner, and he wasn’t alone. “Clark?” Lana said, touching his arm. “What is it?”

“Not sure,” he admitted, glancing around. “Something…” Then he grimaced, rubbing at his gut.

Across the fields, the little pond in the front yard of the Potter homestead suddenly splashed. The water rippled from the point of impact, then abruptly became still…and all reflection vanished. All light faded from it, leaving only inky blackness.

On a sidewalk some distance away, one of Clark and Lana’s fellow students glanced both ways. Nothing seemed to be coming, and he nodded to himself, then took several steps out into the road, reaching the halfway mark—

—and the headlights came out of nowhere, far too fast for him to dodge. He screamed in terror and shock—

WHAM!

The car hurtled onward, leaving him lying on the road…and despite the blood dripping into his eyes, he saw its taillights disappear. The last clear image he had before he blacked out was the license number.

Back at the farm, Clark shook his head, then straightened up. “It’s gone now,” he murmured. “Maybe it was just my stomach.”

“Maybe,” Lana agreed, though she felt a bit uneasy. “C’mon – let’s get inside.”

He nodded and turned to the house – just in time to see the lights flicker and go out. He blinked, startled, then looked around, as did she. They heard Jonathan’s mutter of astonishment…

…then they felt the cool, brisk wind blowing over them, even cooler than the rest of the night. They shivered and huddled together, looking around some more…

…vrrrrhhhmm, vrrr-rhhhmm…vrrr-rh-h-hmm, vr-rr-rh-h-hmm…

They whirled around in shock. That noise! It was back! But where was it coming from, and what was causing it?!

…vr-rr-rh-h-hm-m, vr-rr-rh…mm…vr…rh…mm…r…h…m…

Once again, it faded as quickly as it had come…but this time, Clark had felt something. With the strange grating racket had come a strong sense of warning…of danger. He wasn’t sure if the noise was something trying to warn them of said danger…or if it was itself the danger.

Either way, he felt ill at ease…not so much that his appetite was gone. Actually, if anything, he wanted dinner even more now – anything to distract him from this.

Just then, he saw that the lights were back on, and the brisk wind had vanished along with the noise. He shared a look with Lana, wondering just what might be coming. Then they walked inside together, deciding to think no more on it…for tonight, anyway.

~ * ~
~ * Dedicated to Kristin Kreuk and Allison Mack, * ~
~ * whose on-screen relationship never did their real-life friendship justice… * ~
~ * …and to Liz Snyder, my best friend in all the world, * ~
~ * on whom is based Chloe Sullivan’s new personality * ~
~ * ~

[The game has truly begun to change…stay tuned for “Shimmer”.]

[Kirk]

Thanks again for the awesome update. I assume that as time passes, this alternate universe will continue to deviate away from the events that unfolded in Smallville. I personally can not wait for Lana to get out from under the thumb of her aunt. Please update soon so I can see where this story is heading next.

[superman_lives_on]

The Chronicles of Smallville: Shimmer

THIRTEEN
Shimmer
A week had passed since the failure of two wicked plans – since the demise of Sam Phelan, the corrupt cop who had bitten off far more than he could chew, and the failure of Dawn Stiles’ plan to destroy Chloe Sullivan and her work at the Torch. The gossip queen’s ire had not abated in that time – in fact, she was even more furious, for the young woman who had foiled her plan was taking part in something even more important. It didn’t matter to Dawn that Lana had no idea she was the real reason Principal Kwan had wrongfully fired Chloe – all that mattered to her was that the “stupid little orphan” was continuing to shrug off the mud thrown at her and march onward.

On Tuesday the 15th, however, Lana was not marching – she was simply walking across the field with Clark, whose yellow athlete’s shirt and red gym sweats and jacket made a vivid contrast to her blue blouse, sky-blue jacket and khaki pants; at her hip hung a rectangular black bag. “So how did you get out of gym class?” he asked.

“It’s a little perk of chairing the blood drive,” she said, smiling. She waved her clipboard around a bit as they approached a table that had been set up – over it hung a banner for the American Red Cross. “I’m spared the sweats for a couple of days. So is everyone else directly part of it – Billy, Abby, even Megan.”

He chuckled, feeling a little skeptical. “I’m sorry, but aren’t you the girl who skinned her knee in seventh grade and passed out when she saw the blood?”

She grimaced at the memory, trying not to blush. “Nuts – I’m never going to live that one down, am I?”

“Like I said, sorry,” he replied sheepishly, removing one of his hands from the jacket’s pockets to slip an arm around her. “I’m not doubting your resolve, Lana. In fact, I think what you’re doing is amazing.”

The grimace – never a good expression, even on her lovely face – melted away like ice under a tropical sun, replaced by a heartfelt smile. “Thanks, Clark,” she said softly, looking up at him.

“Anytime,” he whispered back, gazing down at her. The world began to fall away from them…

“Clark!”

It crashed right back in at the sound of Pete’s voice, and they jolted a little as they looked to see him standing by the table. “We’re gonna be late, man,” he called. “We gotta hit the showers.”

Right, Clark thought, not pleased at the interruption of the moment – but he couldn’t deny the truth in Pete’s words. “I’ll see you at the Beanery later?” he suggested to Lana.

“You bet,” she assured him, smiling. He nodded and hugged her to him for a quick moment, then hurried off. She stood still for a moment, trying to regain her composure – her stomach felt like it was full of butterflies. Get a grip, girl, she told herself. You’ll see him again soon enough.

But the words were of little if any use – even a single moment not spent with him seemed somehow wasted. She sighed and shook her head, then resumed walking toward the table, trying to keep the butterflies contained. She wondered if he was having similar troubles – the way he looked at her strongly suggested that he did.

As a matter of fact, he wasn’t having similar troubles – he was having identical troubles. The butterflies had invaded his stomach as well, and it was all he could do to keep his legs focused on walking towards the locker room with Pete – the rest of him was already attempting mutiny. His body wanted nothing more than to turn around, go right back to her, take her into his arms, and kiss her until they had to breathe, and then—

He glanced down at himself, and his cheeks abruptly felt very hot. He looked back up and saw the double doors to the boys’ locker room right in front of him. Oh, God – he couldn’t let anybody see him like this. He had to get himself under control, fast.

Luckily, Pete had already gone inside. Clark took a deep breath, then pushed the doors open and headed for his locker to change. And as he did, he took hold of the heat flooding his body and focused it into one specific area. Ignoring the migraine as best he could, he began letting it out through his eyes – not quickly and not all at once, but slowly and gently. He didn’t want anyone to notice.

It helped, but as he stepped into a free shower, he saw that it wasn’t quite enough. Trying not to make any move that would give himself away, he turned the water on and left it cold, then raised his head to the ceiling and resumed letting the heat out as he ran his fingers through his hair. All the while, he prayed that nobody would notice his “little” problem.

Nobody did, and by the time he’d finished showering – which didn’t take long even without his super-speed – the butterflies had calmed down. He wrapped a pale yellow towel around his waist and walked out of the showers with Pete, getting free of the steam. “So when are you donating blood?” Pete asked.

Clark hesitated for a long moment. The most accurate answer would go along the lines of, “Most likely never, since my blood isn’t from Earth,” but he knew he couldn’t say that. He settled on saying, “I don’t know.”

Pete shook his head. “Come on, Clark – selflessly giving of yourself to save others? Girls love that.”

Clark snorted as they reached the lockers. “Good grief, Pete – don’t you ever think about anything besides scoring with girls?”

“What else is there to think about?” Pete retorted, nudging him in the stomach. Clark rolled his eyes and turned to his locker – and felt an odd wave of discomfort wash over him, eliciting a groan. Pete noticed and looked at him in concern. “You okay?”

Clark nodded – the odd feeling had vanished as quickly as it had come. “Yeah, I’m fine.” But as he turned to pick up a thick white towel and dry himself off, he still felt…uneasy. He closed his eyes a bit, trying to focus on that unease, to see how strong it was.

From around the corner, he heard the metallic sound of a locker being closed, then a familiar voice saying, “Very funny, guys.” For a moment, he thought it was Billy Durden – but then he remembered that Billy was part of the blood drive and, like Lana, had been excused from gym class. That meant it was Troy Turner, Billy’s “evil twin” of sorts—

Bam! Something struck a locker on the other side from Clark. He opened his eyes—

Thunk! A cry of pain rang out, startling him. He looked at the row of lockers and focused his vision – and it flashed to see-through mode just in time to show a heavy weight hurtling towards Troy. Whump! It struck the bully in the chest and knocked him over, then rose to do it again.

Clark didn’t let it – bully Troy was, but whatever or whoever was doing this, it was crossing the line. “Troy!” he called, rushing around the corner with Pete in tow. “Are you okay?”

They found him just as the weight landed back on the floor – evidently, the unseen attacker had backed off, at least for now. “What happened?” Clark asked, though he already had his suspicions.

“It attacked me,” Troy said, eyes wide with fear and disbelief. “It was like a ghost.”

Clark and Pete glanced at each other, then went to help him up. Had they glanced over their shoulders instead, they might have seen something to bear out Clark’s suspicions…but no. By the time they looked that way, there was nothing but steam from the showers.

They had completely missed the ghostly outline of a person that had passed through that steam, paused to glance at them, then vanished like smoke.

* * * * *
“So you didn’t actually see anyone?” Lana clarified as they received their cups of coffee at the Beanery after school.

Clark shook his head. “Nobody. By the time we got around the corner, Troy was already on the floor.”

“And he didn’t see anyone either?” Chloe wanted to know. The boys shook their heads again, and she sipped at her nonfat no-foam latté thoughtfully as they walked towards a table. “What about hearing things? Did he mention a voice?”

“Nope,” Pete said. “What are you thinking, Chloe? That the locker room’s haunted?”

She snorted skeptically. “Not unless the meteor rocks can conjure up the ghosts of jocks, which I seriously doubt even they can do.”

“Here you go,” said a waitress, clearing off a table by the window for them. Much to their bemusement, it was the same table they’d sat at back in November, a few days before Thanksgiving.

“Thank you,” Clark and Lana said, sitting together – Pete and Chloe took the other side. “Well,” Clark continued, “it’s nice to see you still have your standards.”

“Yeah,” said Chloe quietly. “I mean, where would I be without them?” She glanced down at her cup, looking…sad.

Lana exchanged looks with Clark and Pete, then said just as quietly, “Hey…what’s wrong?

Chloe started, then looked guilty. “Oh…sorry. I got lost in thought for a minute there.”

Lana tilted her head, understanding in her eyes. “Is this about last week?” she asked gently.

“Yeah,” Chloe murmured, dipping her head.

Lana placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright, Chloe,” she said, her voice soft yet earnest. “I’ve already forgiven you for that.”

“We both have,” Clark agreed, mirroring the gesture. “You don’t need to beat yourself up about it.”

“I’m trying not to,” Chloe said, sounding a little wobbly. She cleared her throat and admitted, “It’s not just about what I did. It’s also about what happened to Justin.”

Her friends frowned at that. On the night of Monday the 7th, the very day that Chloe had thoroughly apologized to Clark and Lana – especially Lana – and begun their friendships anew, Justin Gaines – the cartoonist for the Torch – had been struck by a car while crossing the street. Luckily, a pedestrian had found him and called the hospital in time to save his life – but he was still far from recovered. Lex had stepped in and transferred him to the Metropolis Children’s Hospital, citing it as having more specialists in cases like Justin’s.

Even though Chloe was the only one of them to have really known Justin, all four of them had emailed him with messages of support and encouragement, hoping they could help him get through his ordeal. So far, they hadn’t heard back from him. “I just feel like I should be doing more to help him,” Chloe admitted, her eyes glistening. “He’s probably going through hell thanks to whatever *sshole hit him, and I’m just carrying on without him, and—” She broke off, rubbing at her eyes, and Clark and Lana winced at her pain, wishing they knew how to take it away.

“I know what you mean,” Pete said gently, putting an arm around her. “Sometimes, I feel like I could’ve done more to help Jodi. Even though I know that there wasn’t really anything else to do, I still feel like there was. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Chloe.”

She sniffed, then nodded her gratitude and leaned into him for a long moment. Clark and Lana looked away, letting their friends comfort each other. Finally, Chloe took a sip from her latté, then smiled at them. “Don’t worry about me,” she said, sounding more normal. “I’ll pull through.”

“We can’t help but worry, Chloe,” Lana said, though she was smiling. “It’s part of being friends.”

“True,” the blonde conceded. She sipped some more, then glanced at her watch and frowned. “Nuts – I have to get going in a minute. The Torch needs to be tucked in for the night.”

“We wouldn’t want your baby to get cold,” Pete agreed, smiling. She gave him a look, but then smiled back and began drinking the rest of her latté. A thought occurred to him. “Hey, Lana – think we could volunteer a pint for tomorrow?

Lana smiled. “Let’s find out.” She looks over her clipboard, then suggested, “How about 9:45? That’s still open.”

Chloe drained her cup, wiped her mouth with a napkin, then nodded. “Works for me,” she said with a bright smile.

“Me too,” Pete agreed with his own smile.

“Great,” Lana said, adding her own smile – easily the brightest and warmest, Clark thought. “Thanks.”

Chloe nodded again, then rose from her seat. “Well, I’ll catch you guys later.”

Pete considered something for a second, then rose as well. “Hey, Chloe, wait up – I’ll help you out.”

She blinked, but then beamed. “Thanks, Pete.” She waved to Clark and Lana. “Bye, guys.”

“Bye,” Lana called, waving back along with Clark. As their friends left, she turned to him. “So, Clark, what time can we schedule you?”

He blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry?”

“We didn’t pick a time for you yet,” she clarified. “When can I put you down?”

“Oh…” Clark felt very awkward all of a sudden. “Actually, Lana, I’m not sure about that,” he admitted. “Can I get back to you?”

She could feel his uncertainty as well as see it, and she figured she knew why he had it. “Sure,” she nodded. “Not a problem.”

Even though she wasn’t offended, he felt bad immediately. “Well, it’s just…I figure I could more actively help out.” He shrugged hopefully. “You know, sign people up, pass out cookies.”

He was rewarded with another of her beautiful smiles. “That’d be great too. Thanks, Clark.”

He smiled back, relieved. “Anytime, Lana.”

“Hi, guys.”

They started and looked up. The speaker was a blonde girl of modest height and pretty-plain features – though, in their opinion, that put her well ahead of supposed bombshells like Felice Chandler and Dawn Stiles. “Oh,” she said, looking guilty. “Am I interrupting?”

“Hey, Amy,” Clark greeted her. “And no, it’s fine.” He looked at her for a moment, sensing something was amiss. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” said Amy Palmer, whose parents worked as servants at the Luthor Mansion – she and her brother Jeff worked there part-time. “Just, um…you know, a little awkward at the mansion.” She sat down at Clark’s inviting gesture. “Everything was fine until Victoria dropped in.”

Ah, yes, Lana thought sympathetically. Miss Victoria Hardwick. Good Lord – whoever came up with her family name had a more twisted sense of humor than Dad ever did. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about the British beauty – on the one hand, she seemed nice enough, but on the other hand, she had been looking at Clark a little too appreciatively for Lana’s comfort the night they’d met her. Somehow, she suspected Amy was having an even worse time of it.

“Oh, well,” Amy sighed. “You two are Lex’s friends. What do you think of her?

Clark glanced at Lana, then admitted, “We really don’t know her that well. I don’t think it’s our place to pass judgment.”

“Mmm,” Amy nodded. She glanced around, then leaned in a little. “Well, I think I know why she’s sticking around. I saw her in Lex’s bedroom, going through his things.”

Clark raised his eyebrows at that. “Um…don’t take this the wrong way, but what were you doing in Lex’s bedroom?”

Amy leaned back, looking awkward. “Helping my mom,” she said almost defensively.

Lana wasn’t any surer of that than Clark. “And Victoria didn’t see you?” she asked.

“Nope,” said Amy grimly. “But then, most people don’t. Lex is the only one who’s ever treated me like I was there.” She sighed again, the sound more wistful this time. “He deserves better than her.”

That could very well have been the case – but, as Clark had said, neither he nor Lana was ready to pass judgment just yet. They shared a quick look that Amy missed, then cleared their throats at the same time. “Well,” they began – then they stopped and looked at each other again. Amy noticed this time and tried not to giggle.

Clark nodded, and Lana spoke up first: “Well, Amy, I don’t mean to cut this short, but I need to get some things worked out for the blood drive.”

“Oh, right,” Amy said. Then she smiled, a little nervous but determined. “When can you put me down?”

* * * * *
Unfortunately, Clark still had some chores and homework to get done – even at super-speed, he could only do it so quickly. He wished he could’ve stayed longer and helped Lana – luckily, she understood completely, and they agreed to meet up the next night. He was finishing up some problems after dinner when his mother picked up a pamphlet. “Clark, what’s this?” she asked.

He glanced at it. “The blood drive at school. Lana’s running it. I told you yesterday, remember?”

“Oh,” she murmured, nodding. “Right – sorry, I forgot.”

Jonathan sighed slightly. “Clark, you know that you can’t donate.”

Clark tried not to sound annoyed or impatient as he answered: “Yes, Dad, I know that.” He shrugged imploringly. “But what am I supposed to tell her?”

Martha frowned – his frustration was already evident, and she hated seeing it. “Well,” she suggested, “technically, you do have a problem with needles. Just tell her that.”

He wasn’t pleased at the idea. “Oh, great,” he muttered, rising from the table and pacing a little. “So not only do I lie to my girlfriend, but I look like a total wuss – assuming she doesn’t figure out that I’m lying.” He stopped, rubbed the bridge of his nose, then turned to them and asked softly, “Is that really what I’m supposed to do? Hide the truth from her? After all we’ve been through?” He spread his arms in a half-shrug. “There has to be another way.”

Jonathan shared an awkward look with Martha, then cleared his throat. “Clark, uh…” He shook his head. “I can’t even believe I’m actually going to say this, but…I guess you can’t always be honest with people, even Lana. It’s one of the prices you pay for your abilities. I don’t know if there is any other way.”

Clark was silent for a long minute, thinking that over. Then he, too, shook his head, his face setting with resolve. “No,” he said quietly. “I may not be able to donate, but I’m not going to lie to Lana either.”

“Clark—”

He held up a hand, cutting off Jonathan’s protest before it could begin. “I can’t do that to her, Dad,” he said firmly. “Even if I don’t have the guts to tell her the whole truth yet, I owe her far more than a lame excuse. I didn’t volunteer to help her just so I could come off as a coward – or worse, a liar.” He lowered the hand, shaking his head as his face softened. “I love her, Dad. I love her the same way you love Mom. And I could never live with myself if I chose to lie to her, no matter what I told myself about it.” He looked at Jonathan pleadingly. “Can you understand that?”

His parents stared at him – not with shock so much as awe. He hadn’t made any secret of his feelings for Lana – especially not after that whole mess they called the Madness, when they had almost been driven to destroy her as if she was indeed a threat to his life by knowing some of his powers. They’d had quite a long talk after that, and they’d come to some realizations…at least, Clark hoped they had.

For a long moment, not a word was spoken. Jonathan looked down slightly, and Clark and Martha waited. Then he sighed a little, a sound of concession. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “Of course I can understand that, son.” He smiled weakly. “And I’m sorry for forgetting that.”

Clark let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, then smiled back more firmly. “Apology accepted, Dad. I know you want to protect me, but some things are more important.”

“True,” Jonathan nodded again. “No matter how much I might think otherwise, keeping you away from everything doesn’t work anymore, assuming it ever did.” He frowned, mentally chiding himself. “I guess I need to keep remembering that in the end, as much as I want to help shape your life, it’s your choice who to share that life with. It has to be – otherwise, everything we’ve taught you has been for nothing.”

“Exactly,” said Martha, walking over to him. “Besides, if anyone can handle the secret, it’s Lana.” She smiled warmly. “She’s stronger than she realizes.”

“I’ve always believed that,” Clark said solemnly. “I just hope that I can help her to realize that strength. She really needs it, now more than ever.”

* * * * *
Where is it? Where is it?!

Lex all but threw the cushion off the couch in his haste to find what had gone missing. It wasn’t there, nor was it under the next cushion. He wanted to groan in frustration – he knew he’d had it earlier! Where could it have gone?!

He crouched lower and tried looking under the couch itself – no luck. This was just ridiculous—

He stopped, feeling an odd shiver run down his spine. Somehow, he had the eerie sensation that he was no longer alone…that someone was watching him. He gathered his nerve and turned around—

“Looking for something?” Clark asked. He smiled almost sheepishly, apologizing for startling Lex. Most of his tan jacket and blue-white plaid shirt was obscured by a crate full of tulips, their white petals showing very light hints of pink.

“My watch,” Lex said, smiling in delight at the crate as he climbed back to his feet and cleared off the coffee table. “The tulips look great.”

“Yeah, you cleaned us out,” Clark agreed, setting the crate down on the table. “Mom said if you want any more, you’ll have to call Holland.”

Lex chuckled, then took one of the flowers and sniffed it. “They’re Victoria’s favorite,” he said.

Suddenly, the crate slid off the table and landed on its side with a thud, startling them both. Lex rose to his feet and stared at it, then at Clark. “What was that?”

Clark grimaced. “Not sure…but this feels familiar.” He squatted by the crate, turned it right-side up, and began gathering the flowers. “You and Victoria must be getting pretty close,” he remarked.

Lex walked over to help, smiling in amusement. “You sound surprised.”

Clark started guiltily, then frowned. “Well…yeah, I guess I am. I mean, I don’t know her that well, but…” He shrugged awkwardly as Lex sat beside him and picked up some tulips. “She doesn’t seem like your type.”

Rather than be offended, Lex chuckled. “Believe it or not, relationships aren’t always about love, Clark,” he explained. “Sometimes, they’re about mutual goals.” He gestured with a recovered flower. “Not every girl is Lana Lang.”

No…but I wish more were like her, Clark thought. Then he chided himself – he shouldn’t have intruded. “Yeah, I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly, taking the crate and getting back to his feet. “It’s really none of my business.”

“It’s okay,” Lex assured him, brushing off his hands. “I admire your standards. Don’t ever lose them.”

Clark felt better at that, and nodded as he set the crate back on the table. “Don’t worry, I won’t.” He watched Lex move past the scaffolding and behind the couch, then start looking under it again. “Don’t you have another watch?”

Lex popped his head back up. “I have hundreds of them,” he agreed, “but this one’s special.” He rose to his feet again – the couch definitely wasn’t hiding his quarry. “My mother gave it to me right before she died.”

That changed the whole situation as far as Clark was concerned. He began looking around the room from where he stood – and his vision flashed to the blue-white tint of the x-ray. But even with it to help him, he had no more luck than Lex. His vision flashed back to normal as he said apologetically, “I don’t see it.”

Lex smiled in amusement again. “What are you, part bloodhound?”

I only wish – it’d be better than being all alien. “No,” Clark answered aloud, “but I live on a farm. I’m pretty good at finding needles in haystacks.” He shrugged a little, then had a thought. “How about I go check the library?”

“Be my guest,” Lex agreed, and began looking around the room again. Clark headed down the hall and reached the library – but as he went in, he found something he hadn’t expected at all. Victoria was sitting at a laptop, one he was quite sure belonged to Lex – and the moment she spotted him, she clicked out of whatever she’d been looking at. He regarded her, trying not to give away the suspicion he felt—

Thunk! Thud!

They both looked up, startled at the sudden pounding noise. What the heck? Clark thought, and hurried out through the double doors, aware of Victoria following him. He found Lex coming out of the antiques room, and they looked upstairs as the noise continued. They ran up and quickly spotted the source of the noise – a door at the end of the upper hallway was banging against its frame, an eerie white light shining out through the edges.

“What’s going on?” Victoria asked, sounding spooked.

“Wait here,” Lex gestured to her, and he began slowly approaching the pounding door with Clark close behind. The noise and light didn’t stop, and Lex reached warily for the doorknob—

—and as he grabbed it, the noise and light did stop. He glanced at Clark, who felt no less confused, then slowly turned the knob—

—and was almost hauled into the room as the door flew open with a last flash of light. Some unseen thing rushed past Lex, throwing him back – but Clark caught him easily. They shared a bewildered look, then walked into the now-dark room. Enough illumination came from the hall – and from a window in the room itself – to show them countless pillow feathers drifting around.

Feeling very uneasy, Lex found the switch by the door – only to find that the normal light had been replaced by a black light. The eerie blue-purple luminescence showed what had been done to the room – and Clark suddenly realized that it had to be Victoria’s bedroom. Big fluorescent letters had been spray-painted all over the walls, carrying very harsh messages:

Go away! You don’t belong! You’ve been warned! Leave or die! Go to hell, b*tch! Get lost now!

* * * * *
“Doesn’t leave much room for interpretation, does it?” Chloe said grimly, tacking a picture of one of the messages to the Wall of Weird the next day.

“No room at all,” Clark agreed, looking at the picture. “It was pretty weird – even by our standards, I mean.” He walked over to the desk, gesturing with a pen. “When we first got there, the door was shaking and a white light was pouring out. When we got close, the noise and light stopped – then it blew open, and Lex said he felt something rush past him.” He sat down, remembering that part unhappily. “It almost knocked him over.”

Chloe frowned and folded her arms, sitting against the other desk. “You’re right – that is weird.” She shrugged. “I dunno, Clark. Maybe that Scottish castle came with its very own poltergeist, free of charge.”

“Maybe,” Clark admitted – after what he’d seen, he couldn’t rule that out just yet. “But the police think it’s just vandals. They don’t know many ghosts who write in spray-paint and own a black light.”

Chloe sighed, rolling her eyes. “No wonder these problems are so far from solved – the authorities have no imaginations whatsoever.”

Clark smiled re-encouragingly. “Good thing you do.”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I just hope that we can make a real difference.” Then she cleared her throat, snapping out of it. “Speaking of which, how’s the blood drive going?”

Clark grinned. “Funny you should ask. Lana and I are getting together to work on it tonight.”

Chloe raised her eyebrows. “Really? Where?”

“At her aunt’s place,” he provided. “The Beanery is too noisy, and we’d rather not bug Mom and Dad. I figure the porch will work nicely.”

Chloe whistled softly. “Wow. That’s…very romantic. And bold. And possibly suicidal, but who’s counting?”

He gave her a look. “Suicidal? Come on, Chloe – Nell may be shortsighted and biased—”

“And nuttier than a squirrel,” she added. “Just look at how much she idolizes Whitney.”

“There’s that too,” he agreed, “but I don’t think she’d actually try to kill us for spending time together.” He thought about it, then grimaced. “At least, I hope not.”

“Ditto,” said Chloe, not even trying to hide her concern. “You and Lana have been keeping your real relationship mostly hidden all this time. But if Nell catches you doing anything non-platonic out there, that’s all over. She’s bound to spread the word around town.” She rolled her eyes a little, smiling. “Not that anyone here would be shocked, assuming they’ve been paying attention. Even when you two are pretending to just be friends, you’re far too close.”

He chuckled, knowing that she was right. “Touché. We never have been that good at hiding it, have we?”

“Nope,” she confirmed. “Whether or not people want to see it is a different story.” She frowned. “Believe me, I know.”

He took in her expression and sighed. “Chloe—”

“It’s alright, Clark,” she said softly, holding up a hand in surrender. “Really, I’m not beating myself up over it. I’d rather not dwell on the time I wasted wishing for something that was never going to happen. My point is that I know what it’s like to blind yourself to the truth, even when it’s staring you right in the face.” She shook her head. “I know how Nell Potter’s mind works, at least in that way. And if she gets slapped in the face with reality tonight, it won’t go well – for either you or Lana. She won’t want to give up her fantasy.”

No, she won’t, Clark thought, frowning. She’s never wanted to do that. He mulled it over…then he shook his head. “I don’t care about that, Chloe. After everything she’s done to Lana, I don’t give a damn about her opinion. If she catches us out there, so be it. It’s long past time that she woke up and saw reality anyway.”

Chloe stared at him for a long and silent moment, impressed. Then she nodded and rose from the desk. “Well, in that case…all I can do is wish you luck.” She touched his arm gently. “And whatever happens, promise me you won’t waste any opportunity you have. You both deserve better.”

He smiled gently and nodded. “Don’t worry, Chloe. I won’t. And I’m certain Lana won’t either.” He glanced at the clock, then rose from his seat and grabbed his navy blue jacket, slipping it on over his light blue long-sleeve, then retrieved his backpack. “I have to get going.”

“Okay,” Chloe nodded, smiling encouragingly. “Go get ‘em.”

He grinned and headed out, bound for his locker. As he reached it and fetched his books, he felt a sudden prickle and glanced to his left. Someone else was getting his books – someone he didn’t particularly want to see, now or ever. Whitney didn’t seem to have noticed him, however – he looked very preoccupied.

“Whitney?” One of the guidance counselors came up to him. “Your mother called – she filled me in.”

The jock king didn’t look at all pleased. “She shouldn’t have,” he muttered.

“She’s just concerned,” the woman said gently. “Look, I’m not here to push. If you need anything, my office is just down the hall. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Whitney, but he didn’t sound sincere. She left him alone, and he shut his locker and turned – and promptly dropped his books. Clark frowned at the sight – as much as Whitney had done to get on his bad side lately, it sounded like something was very wrong. Besides, he knew all too well what it was like to fumble his books.

He made up his mind and went over, kneeling to help Whitney pick up the dropped items. The jock didn’t even seem to notice him at first, and Clark picked up the first thing he saw. It wasn’t a book, he realized – it was a white bag marked “Smallville Rx Pharmacy”. He blinked, confused—

—and Whitney suddenly snatched it away, glaring at him. “Hands off my stuff, Kent,” he growled, grabbing the rest of his things.

Clark winced. “Sorry…” But Whitney was already leaving, and he stood back up, feeling a little stung. “You’re welcome,” he murmured. Then he frowned and focused on Whitney’s backpack. His x-ray vision immediately found the white bag, which held a bottle of pills. He focused on the label – particularly on the names of both the drug and the patient.

“Amlodipine?” Clark murmured, his brow furrowing. What kind of medicine was that? Why would Whitney have it? The patient’s name had been “George Fordman” – wasn’t that Whitney’s father? He turned and walked away, another mystery on his mind.

* * * * *
The only thing on Lex’s mind later that day, however, was indulging himself in one of the simplest pleasures of all – making out with a beautiful woman. Granted, women were quite a mystery unto themselves, but some things about them were not at all difficult to understand…or to enjoy. The touch and taste of Victoria’s lips was one such thing, and he was happy to enjoy it—

The doors suddenly swung open noisily, startling the pair out of their intimate moment on the couch. Lex felt a surge of pure annoyance and anger as the interrupter came closer. “Lex…you have disappointed me.”

Lex smirked, not letting his anger show just yet. “Nice to see you too, Dad.”

Lionel Luthor stared at them both, wearing a long black coat over his business attire as was his habit. “Would you mind telling me what she’s doing here?” he said coldly.

“Right now?” Lex said, playing dumb. “Working on my neck.” Indeed, her nimble fingers were rubbing at it skillfully. “But knowing her, I think that’s just the start.”

Lionel let out that ragged, mocking laugh of his. “Is this some kind of ploy to get my attention? Well done, it worked.” He walked over to the little liquor trolley.

Lex frowned deeply, dropping the act. “I know this will come as a tremendous shock, but my life does not revolve around you – especially not lately.”

“Oh, I see,” said Lionel, pouring himself a drink. “So you’re simply…being swindled. Hmm…” He sipped from his glass, never taking his eyes off them, then said, “Would you excuse us, Miss Hardwick? My son and I need to have a little chat about family loyalty.”

“That’s quite all right,” said Victoria smoothly. “I’ll go fetch us something from the wine cellar.”

She planted another kiss on Lex, who readily returned it. “I’ll look forward to whatever you bring back,” he said just as smoothly.

She smiled and rose, walking past Lionel. “I’ll send Sir Harry your regards,” she said to him.

“Swell,” he drawled. She walked out of sight, and he sipped at his liquor again, then put the glass down.

“What?” Lex asked mildly. “This is pleasure. It’s hardly business at all.”

“Many generations of Luthors would beg to differ,” said Lionel firmly. “Everything is business, especially where the Hardwicks are concerned. Lex, can’t you see that she was sent here to distract you? Sir Harry has been nipping away at LuthorCorp for months!”

“And I should care why, exactly?” Lex retorted, scowling as he rose to his feet and stared the older man in the eye. “LuthorCorp is your company, your would-be monopoly.” He shrugged sarcastically. “I’m just one of its countless expendable employees, as you made abundantly clear when you exiled me to this town – and even clearer when you were willing to let me die to cover up your dirty experiments on Level Three.”

“Oh, don’t play the moral card with me,” Lionel snarled, his expression ugly indeed. “Do you really think that you can afford to be so cavalier?” His voice rose to a near-shout: “Empires are not brought down by outside forces! They are destroyed by weaknesses from within!” He shook his head, disgusted. “I’ve told you this before, Lex – Smallville is your test, and right now, you’re failing.”

“Considering what I’m being tested for, that might not be a bad thing to fail at,” Lex retorted. “So thanks a lot for the update, but I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“No, you don’t,” Lionel snorted, almost rolling his eyes. “She is throwing out the only bait she has – and you, like a naïve schoolboy, are swallowing it hook, line, and sinker. Soon, you will be choking on that mistake.”

“Even if I do, it’s my mistake to choke on,” said Lex firmly. “You have plenty of your own to mull over. My personal life is my own business.”

“Incorrect – when it affects my company, it’s my business,” said Lionel coldly. He sighed and shook his head again, then met his errant offspring’s gaze, determined to bring him to heel. “Lex, listen to me for once. If you sell out your family, then you will truly be alone in the world.”

Lex didn’t look away from those cold, dark eyes. “You may be my blood relative, but you are not my family,” he said, never raising his voice. “You proved that amply last month. As for my being truly alone…well, I have a few friends who would shout you down if they heard you make that claim.”

Lionel scoffed. “Ah, yes – the illustrious Clark Kent and Lana Lang. I can’t say I appreciate the way they interrupted me that night at the plant.”

“Get used to it,” Lex retorted, “because they don’t have any patience for your lies – and neither do I.”

Lionel sighed as if disappointed. “Such a shame, really – young people are so sure of themselves, no matter what generation.” He shook his head. “You’ve always kept unhealthy company, Lex, but those two in particular—”

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll kill you right here and now,” Lex growled, his eyes flashing. “There is nothing unhealthy about those two – except for the people who keep trying to bring them down and break their spirit. Lana’s aunt in particular has a nasty habit of doing that.” He half-smirked. “I can’t imagine whom she learned that from – can you?”

Lionel answered with another mocking laugh, not intimidated. “Oh, Lex,” he sighed. “Lex, Lex, Lex…still ruled by your emotions, I see. Do you really think you can scare me?” He widened his eyes. “Oooh…I’m quivering where I stand.”

“You should be,” Lex said quietly, “because you’re standing on thin ice.”

“Au contraire, my son,” Lionel said smoothly. “You’re only endangering your own position. You couldn’t take me in a fencing match – do you really expect to do any better in a match of wills?” He smiled very smugly. “No…you are far too weakened by those very emotions. They’ll only lead you to your own destruction.”

Lex stared at him in silence for a moment, then shook his head. “You just don’t get it, do you? Maybe I am weak. Maybe I am ruled by my emotions.” He leaned in and narrowed his eyes. “But at least I have them to be ruled by. You’re ruled by nothing but greed and contempt and more than a little pride.” He smirked. “Do you really think those won’t guide you to destruction? Trust me, Dad – they will.”

The smug smile dropped from Lionel’s face, and Lex felt a surge of victory. “Now,” he said, turning his back on the older man, “I think you know the way out. Or would you prefer an armed escort?”

Lionel scowled, his eyes flashing. “You won’t win this game, Lex. I’m warning you—”

“And I’m warning you!” Lex snapped, rounding on him. “I’m not playing your games anymore! You’re not welcome in Smallville – not after what you’ve done. And that includes this mansion.” He snorted and turned away again. “Get the hell out of here, old man, before I have you forced out.”

For a moment, there was dead silence. Then Lionel stalked past Lex, unable to hide his fury and upset, and threw the doors open once more. He left his defiant offspring behind, dark thoughts in every corner of his mind.

He paused abruptly and glanced to one side, then tilted his head as if listening to something. Then he sniffed and continued on his way, feeling a little less insulted. “Fetch a little something from the wine cellar” indeed. Who does she think she’s fooling? And an even better question—

Is Lex truly as naïve about her as he seems, or is he playing everyone on the subject…including me?

[superman_lives_on]

The Chronicles of Smallville: Shimmer

* * * * *
But Luthor and Hardwick family politics weren’t even factors in Clark and Lana’s thinking that night. They were far too busy with something far more important. “I have an opening at 5:00,” Clark informed his girlfriend, looking over his clipboard with its papers on the blood drive.

Lana nodded and marked something on one of her papers. “I can shift mine to 4:30 at station B, which makes us…”

“Done,” he finished for her, putting the board in his lap.

“Done?” she echoed, looking at him in astonishment. “You’re kidding.”

He shook his head. “Nope, I’m serious.”

“Really?” she said, starting to smile. “We’ve done everything?”

“Everything,” he nodded, grinning. “We own this town.”

“Wow!” she said, laughing in delight. She looked over her board, then blinked. “Oh…we never found a time for you to donate.”

A surge of embarrassment and guilt threatened to turn his cheeks scarlet as she looked at him again. “Um, actually…” He cleared his throat, feeling all kinds of awkward. “Lana, I don’t think I can donate.”

“Why?” she asked gently, not accusing. “Because of your powers?”

And because I’m not even human, a very strong and dark part of him thought. God only knows what my blood would do to whoever received it. “Basically, yeah,” he said, trying to keep those dark thoughts buried. “I don’t…” He sighed, deciding he might as well admit it. “I don’t think a needle would work with me. Not unless there was a meteor rock present.”

“Oh,” she said, grimacing again. “Then you’re right – you can’t donate. Nor should anyone expect you to.” She touched his arm, smiling reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it, Clark. You’ve done so much to help already – not just here, but with everything else we’ve been through. You’re a lifesaver, and don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

He found himself smiling back and nodded. “Okay, Lana – I won’t. But only so long as you don’t let that happen either.”

She blushed at that, but also nodded, not losing her smile. “Deal.” Then she rose from the wicker bench, putting her clipboard down and stretching a bit. “Mmm…I’m so glad we’re done with this. Don’t get me wrong, I love being able to help – but I couldn’t have made it without you.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he said, putting his clipboard down by hers and rising as well. “I meant what I said yesterday, Lana – what you’re doing is amazing. Not many students would do all these different things.”

She sat on the porch railing, trying to stop her blush from deepening. “I’m just trying to find my place in the world,” she said modestly. “I don’t want to only be remembered as that girl in pink dresses – that’s not really me.”

“I know that,” he assured her, sitting on the railing as well. “But for what it’s worth, Lana…you’re beautiful no matter what colors you wear.”

The blush won its battle, but she didn’t care – she felt far too warm inside at his words for that. “Thank you, Clark,” she whispered. “I could say the same about you.”

Now he felt just as warm, and it showed in his smile and his eyes…those gentle green eyes that she had always found easy to get lost in. For a moment, she almost let it happen…then she cleared her throat and glanced away, her blush deepening. He smiled widely, dipping his head, then said, “In any case, I still think you’re going above and beyond the call of duty. I wish more people were like you.”

“Right back at you,” she said, her grin both aided and hampered by the butterflies in her stomach. “I can’t thank you enough, Clark.”

He shrugged modestly. “It’s a great cause, being led by a great girl. How could I not help?”

At that, she frowned, remembering what had happened that very Monday. “Ask Nell,” she said softly. “When I mentioned that I was doing this, she wasn’t keen on it at all. She seemed to think I should’ve been practicing cheers and trying to get back my place on the squad.”

“Seriously?” he said. She nodded, and he scoffed in disgust. “I’ve heard some ridiculous things from her, but that has to take the cake.”

“Tell me about it,” she sighed. “Sometimes, I still can’t believe the things that come out of her mouth. I still remember when I used to trust her so easily.” She shook her head, feeling horrible, and her voice became unsteady: “When I let her pull me away from you…from what really mattered…I just…”

“Ssssh,” he murmured, slipping an arm around her and hugging her gently. “It’s okay, Lana. It’s okay. That’s over now.”

“I know,” she whispered, wiping at her eyes lest her face become streaked with tears. “But she’s still trying to control me…and it hurts. It hurts to know how much she’s deceived me about.”

He nodded, hating to see her like this. “Because you used to care about her opinion. You used to value it.”

“Yeah.” She sighed and wiped at her eyes some more, then cleared her throat. “I know I shouldn’t anymore – I know it shouldn’t matter what she thinks.” She considered for a moment, then admitted, “I guess I don’t really care as such – it’s just that she’s still a strong presence in my life. But now, I can see how dark a presence she is.”

“And compared to how highly you thought of her before, it really stings,” he summarized.

“Right,” she nodded. “But I can’t keep letting her get to me like that. She’s wrong about everything, Clark – you, your parents, my friends, school, the Luthors – everything. She’s living in a fantasy world, and it’s going to come around to bite her one day – probably soon.”

“Hopefully sooner rather than later,” he agreed. “Believe me, Lana, you aren’t the only one who’s noticed how blind Nell is to the truth.” She arched her dark eyebrows inquisitively. “When I was talking with Chloe today – about what happened last night at the mansion – she gave me some insight into how Nell’s mind must be working.” He half-smiled. “It was kind of eerie, really.”

“I bet,” she murmured. She glanced at the house before them – no sign of its mistress. They’d managed to avoid her, and with any luck, she was already asleep. “You know what’s even more eerie?” she said. “The fact that my aunt and your dad used to date.”

“I know,” he said, almost laughing. “He’s never told me much about it – all I know for sure is that it didn’t end well.”

“Same here,” she nodded. “Whatever happened between them, she must’ve taken it hard.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. Then he really did smile. “But I don’t dwell on that much, Lana. I’m just grateful that you and I have become so close.”

“So am I,” she beamed. “That’s the thing about you, Clark – you’re not always there when we want you, but you are always there when we need you.”

“I try to be,” he agreed, gazing into her eyes. “I wish I could always be there when you want me.”

“I know,” she whispered, gazing right back…and this time, she didn’t fight the urge to get lost in his eyes. “I’m glad for the times you can be there.”

“Like now?” he murmured, reaching his free hand over to take hers.

“Like now,” she confirmed, rubbing the smooth skin of his hand with her thumb. “You’re the one who’s there to help me out.”

He nodded slightly, his eyes searching hers. “Yeah…and you’re the one who’s there to cheer me on.”

She gave her own slight nod. “You’re the one who actually listens to me.”

He drew her a little closer. “You’re the one who’s willing to wait for me.”

Her eyes glanced to his lips and back again. “You’re the one who believes in me.”

“You’re the one who believes in me,” he echoed, glancing at her own lips…and knowing from vivid memory how soft and warm they were.

They formed a slight smile, remembering the same about his. “You’re the one who keeps saving me,” she whispered. “You’re a true hero, Clark.”

“If I am,” he breathed, their noses almost touching, “it’s because of you, Lana. You’re my hero…my angel.”

Her own breath caught at those words, her eyes widening slightly in wonder. He gazed back at her, pure and beautiful truth in his own eyes…and she swallowed, then moved a little closer. It had already been too long since she’d tasted those lips.

He knew the same…but there was something else he’d gone too long without doing. In fact, he’d never actually done it – rather, he’d never actually said it. He’d whispered it to the wind on a starry night at the end of November, but he’d never spoken it to her face…and now, he couldn’t imagine why he’d hesitated. He had to tell her…he had to let her know. “Lana,” he whispered, trying to begin…

“Sssh,” she breathed, touching his lips with her finger for a moment. Then her eyes fluttered closed…his eyes followed suit…

…and their lips met for the first time in far too long, and the world fell away.

Even though it had only actually been a few days, it felt like it had been a lifetime. Given how busy the blood drive had kept her, she’d barely managed to see him outside of the classes they shared – so it had come as a great relief and pleasure when he had volunteered to assist her. And now, they were once again lost in one of the most beautiful expressions of their bond ever created.

He had wanted to tell her with words – three simple little words – what she meant to him. He still wanted to tell her…but his lips were otherwise occupied, and his mind was focused entirely on savoring them. So he tried to tell her that way, to express without words how much he cherished her, how much he wanted and needed her. She answered in kind, slipping her arms around his strong neck and exploring his mouth eagerly, feeling him exploring hers as his hands held her gently and firmly…she leaned into him, feeling warmer and happier by the second—

Bam! The door swung open so fast and hard that it stuck the wall. They jolted out of the kiss, startled, and looked towards it…and their hearts abruptly threatened to sink as they thought at the same time: Oh, crap.

Nell hadn’t fallen asleep after all. She stood in the doorway, staring at them with an expression that blended many emotions…and none of them were positive. A seeming eternity later, she sucked in a breath, then said very slowly and darkly, “Lana…what…are…you…doing?”

Lana scowled at her, supremely irritated. “What do you think we’re doing, Nell?” she said coldly, standing straight from the railing. “What does it look like? We’re having a private moment – at least, we were until you barged out here and interrupted us.”

“‘We’? ‘Us’?” Nell echoed, speaking as if the words were foreign. “Who are you talking about, Lana?”

“Exactly whom I meant,” Lana said, gesturing to herself and Clark. “My boyfriend and I.”

He arched his eyebrows, impressed. Nell didn’t, for she clearly wasn’t. “Boyfriend?” she all but spat, half-laughing. “No, no, no – your boyfriend is Whitney. You have nothing whatsoever to do with Clark Kent – do I make myself clear?”

Oh, that does it, Lana thought, grinding her teeth together. She’d had enough of this insanity. First the lies about her mother, then the refusal to believe she hadn’t slept with Whitney, and then the messes on her birthday and Christmas Eve – it was just too much, and she no longer gave a Goddamn about keeping a civil tongue around this madwoman. She swallowed hard, then turned to Clark and said very quietly, very calmly, “Could you excuse us for a moment, please? This won’t take long.”

“Sure,” he said quietly, recognizing the look on her face. Lips pursed tightly, jaw held steady, little button nose flaring, hazel eyes narrowed as they flashed with the gathering storm – and he knew exactly whom she was going to unleash that storm on. And despite the seriousness of the situation, that look was incredibly attractive to him – probably because he was lucky enough to not be her target. He slipped from his place against the railing and headed down the stairs, moving around the house and out of sight – but he remained within earshot, not wanting to abandon Lana.

She turned to Nell and folded her arms, inhaling deeply through her nose. “I’m going to put this very simply,” she said, keeping quiet and calm. “Whitney Fordman is not my boyfriend. He hasn’t been my boyfriend since early September. He broke all my trust and hasn’t done a thing to earn it back. He lied to me more than once and stole the credit for rescuing me from the real hero – the same guy he strung up in a field as part of a dangerous prank. That hero has been saving lives on a regular basis for months now, and I am blessed to have him in my life, let alone to have his friendship and trust.” An inner smile threatened to break her composure, but she reined it in. “And a little something more, too. Clark is my boyfriend, not Whitney, and I’m glad he is. Period.”

Nell scowled and folded her arms, staring back at her niece. “This is ridiculous, Lana. I’m not having any more of this nonsense. Now you listen to me—”

“No,” Lana cut her off. “You listen to me. I’ve had it up to here with your arrogance, your stupidity, and your delusions. You’re wrong, Nell. You’re wrong about everything, and I won’t put up with it anymore.” She shook her head firmly. “You don’t have a clue about Clark, or Whitney, or the Luthors, or anything else. You think that I should be stuck as the pink fairy princess forever. You think that I should enslave myself to the fickle whim of an attention-demanding man-child. And you think that I should turn my back on the only true friends I’ve ever had for the sake of idols and power and God only knows what else.” She scoffed. “Well, it’s about time you got used to disappointment – because I’m never going to be what you want me to be.”

Nell looked like she was about to tear someone’s head off. “How dare you,” she began—

“How dare you?!” Lana retorted, her voice rising a little as her arms unfolded. “You’re so obsessed with images and illusions that you won’t accept the truth even when it’s staring you right in the face! I never slept with Whitney! I haven’t spared him any time since he tried to force me to do that! I’d much rather spend one more second with Clark than a lifetime with that selfish jackass!”

“That’s insane!” Nell spat. “Choosing a stupid farm boy over a football hero?! Why would you spend any time with that sim—”

“GODDAMMIT, NELL, I LOVE HIM!”

The words cracked across the lawn like a rifle shot. Nell rocked back as if she’d been punched, and Lana breathed heavily, regaining her composure. “I love him,” she repeated, clenching her hands into fists. “Get that through your thick skull already – I love Clark Kent. I don’t love Whitney Fordman – I never did, and I never will. And he never loved me, nor will he ever – he only sees me as a trophy, a piece of arm candy and eye candy. But Clark knows that I’m a person, and he truly believes that I’m special and worthwhile. Why else would he keep saving my life, in so many ways? He’s not the stupid one – you are.”

She shook her head again, not giving Nell a chance to speak. “I’m not going to live by your insane, superficial rules anymore – I’m going to live by real rules, the kind of rules that Clark and his parents live by. And when the time comes, I’m going to get out of here and away from you. I’m already making my own choices, Nell. I am going to make my own life. I am going to spend it with my true family. And you are not going to be part of it.” She leaned forward and growled through clenched teeth, “Leave. Us. Alone.”

Nell stared at Lana for a long minute in dead silence, the tension in the air so thick that only a chainsaw could’ve cut through it. The older woman’s mouth opened once, but promptly closed – no sound would come forth. Then, abruptly, she spun on her heel and marched back inside, slamming the door behind her. Lana let out a breath, half-sigh and half-groan, then turned around and walked off the porch. Clark walked over to meet her and slipped a strong arm around her shoulders, feeling the tension ebbing away.

For a moment, he thought about what she had yelled at her wicked aunt…and the words she had used made him smile. He wanted very much to tell her the same, albeit gently and soothingly…but something, some part of his instinct, told him that now was not the right time. As he tried to think of when would be the right time, she cleared her throat and looked up at him. “Are you okay?” she asked softly.

He blinked down at her. “Uh…shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”

She laughed at that, her nose crinkling adorably. “Good point.” Then she nodded and smiled gently. “I’ll be fine, Clark. I think I just need a good night’s sleep. Then we can move on and forget about her.”

“I’m all for that,” he murmured, smiling. Then he remembered something. “Oh…I need to swing by Lex’s mansion in a few.”

She blinked, then remembered why. “You need to tell him about what you saw Victoria doing.”

“Right,” he nodded. “And I think I could use his advice on what I found out about Whitney.”

“The medicine in his bag,” she said softly. “God…I may despise him, but I really hope his dad is okay. He’s not like Whitney – he’s a good man.”

“I’m sure he is,” he agreed. “I just wish he could’ve been given a better hand in life.”

“Me too. Nobody deserves to have a child like that.” She thought about it, then admitted, “Well, I guess that’s not quite true. No decent person deserves to have a child like that. I can’t say the same for people like Lionel Luthor.”

“Neither can I,” he sighed, wishing that Lex had been given a better father. He glanced at the starry sky, then suggested, “How about I drop you off at the farm? I’m sure I’ll be back soon.”

“You’d better be, mister,” she said, grinning.

He grinned back. “And I bet we could catch a beautiful sunset in the loft tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, loving the idea. “That’s the great thing about sunsets – they’re unique. You always see things you never noticed before.”

“I know the feeling,” he murmured, gazing at her. She beamed, leaned up to give him a soft kiss, then let him lead her to the truck. If Fate was kind, it wouldn’t be long before she never had to come back here…but she wasn’t going to hold her breath just yet.

Shortly after they had gone, Nell came outside again, struggling to keep a hold on her own breath. She looked around, but saw neither of them…and a moan of frustration and anger escaped her. She rubbed at her face, feeling something she absolutely hated to feel – powerless.

How could this be happening? How could everything be falling apart so completely? What was she going to do?

“…Eleanor…”

She jolted, then darted her head left and right. What was that?

“…Eleanor…”

A voice…a strange whisper on the air…but whose was it? And how did it know her name?

Well, she was never going to find out by just standing around. She cleared her throat nervously. “Hello?” she called. “Is someone there?”

“…yes…”

She jolted again and looked around, but saw no-one there. She was alone…or so it looked. “Who are you?” she whispered.

“…you will see very soon…”

She should have felt fearful at that, uncertain…but somehow, she did not. She only felt intrigued, curious…and she yearned for “very soon” to mean “right now”…

“…come to me, Eleanor…”

She nodded slightly, then walked slowly down the steps of the porch. She reached the hard ground and cast her gaze about the yard…and suddenly, it fell upon the little pool. It was no pond, though it looked like it could have been one…it was merely for decoration.

And yet, she could not turn her eyes away from it. She found herself walking to it, drawn by some eerie force…and as she finally reached it, she saw that the water had changed. It did not gleam with moonlight or starlight…in fact, she could not see the bottom of the pool.

The water was pure black.

She knelt before it, her mouth open in wonder…then she reached her hand into it. The water felt very cold on her skin…but rather than cause her to recoil, it urged her to reach further, deeper…and the surface remained still, not rippling at all…

Her arm stilled, her fingers finding something…then she closed them around it and drew her hand up. It emerged from the still black water, and she gazed upon her prize…

…and suddenly, a fey light was cast upon her eyes…or perhaps it was coming from her eyes. Perhaps it was coming from the pool, or perhaps it was coming from what she now held…or perhaps it came from all of those things. It encircled her, drifted through her, filled her…

“Hello, Eleanor.”

The voice was no longer a mere whisper…it resounded clearly through her ears and her mind, smoother than the finest silk, deeper than the largest lake, and more melodious than the most trained singer. She breathed in, feeling its very presence flowing into her lungs, then whispered as her eyes fluttered, “Who are you?”

“I am your salvation. Soon, all that you desire shall be yours…and none shall stand in your way.”

Her eyes stilled…then widened in sudden, absolute understanding…and the coldest, blackest smile, devoid of all humanity, took over her face.

* * * * *
By contrast, the smile on Victoria Hardwick’s face was very warm with anticipation. She stood over the tub in one of the mansion’s bathrooms on the second floor, brushing at her long and silky hair as she waited for it to fill up. She walked towards the sink’s mirror, the bottom of her patterned black-and-white robe brushing the floor, and checked herself over once. Satisfied with her appearance, she set the brush down and glided back to the tub – it was just right. She switched it off, then moved her fingers to the front of the robe.

It came off easily enough, and she let it drop to the floor, revealing her naked body…a body of such perfection that it had driven many men near-insane with lust. Lex was not the first, and he wouldn’t be the last. She bent over, feeling the water – perfect. Then she carefully stepped into the tub and submerged herself, loving how it felt on her smooth skin. Her head came back up after a moment, and she leaned back, her feet lightly treading the water.

It was a perfect fit, much to her delight. She lay there for a moment…then she blinked. She could’ve sworn she’d just heard footsteps near the door. She lifted her head and glanced that way, already feeling a smile of anticipation touch her full lips.

But whoever was at the door, it wasn’t Lex – he was downstairs, looking over the laptop in his study/library. He glanced up at the sound of the door opening, then smiled in delighted surprise. “Hey, Clark,” he said, turning off the screen and closing it. “What brings you over so late? Doing a little ghost hunting?”

“No,” Clark chuckled, “but I’m sure I’ll get to that soon enough. I actually came here to talk to you about Victoria.” He glanced around. “Um, where is she?”

Lex shrugged. “She’s upstairs, taking a bath. Why? Is there a problem?”

Clark nodded and walked over to the desk, trying to figure out how to break the news. “Last night, when I was in here, I saw her…” He stopped by the wall, leaning against it and chuckling awkwardly. “I…I don’t really know how to say this.”

“She was going through the files on my computer?” Lex suggested.

Clark blinked in surprise. “How’d you know?”

Lex shrugged again. “Very little happens in this house without my knowledge.”

Clark frowned and walked to the chair before the desk. “You don’t seem very upset about this.”

“Why should I be?” Lex said mildly. He chuckled. “We’re playing chess, Clark. It’s a game. Like I said, we’ve known each other for a long time.”

“But you don’t love her,” Clark said, sitting down, “and she goes behind your back…” He shrugged, puzzled. “So why do you want to keep her around?”

Lex frowned a little. “Suffice it to say that it’s a very complicated situation, and you’re lucky that you don’t have to deal with it.” The frown melted into a smile. “Thanks for the heads-up, though.”

“That’s what friends are for,” Clark said modestly. He glanced aside. “I guess I shouldn’t mention that Amy has an obsession with you.”

“No need to mention that,” said Lex calmly, dismissively. “It’s a teenage crush – nothing more. Anything else on your mind?”

Clark nodded, his manner becoming firm. “I found out something about Whitney. I saw a prescription in his bag. It’s for Amlodipine, it’s a—”

“Heart medication,” Lex finished. Clark blinked, and he explained, “My mother was on it before she had her surgery.”

“Is that what…oh.” Clark immediately felt terrible for bringing up the memory. “I’m sorry, Lex.”

Lex shook his head slightly. “It’s okay, Clark. She was sick for a long time. The watch I lost? She gave it to me when she knew she was getting close.” Clark raised his eyebrows, inviting him to continue, and he smiled in remembrance. “She found a Napoleon franc from 1806 and had it made into the face.”

Clark leaned forward, intrigued. “Why Napoleon?”

“You ever see the painting The Coronation of Napoleon in Notre Dame by Jacques-Louis David?” Lex inquired.

Clark shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

“Ah,” Lex nodded. “Napoleon’s mother couldn’t make it to his coronation. But when he commissioned the painting, Napoleon told David to paint her in as if she were there, right in the center. Even though she couldn’t be there physically, he brought her into his life through sheer force of will…there to share in his greatness.”

Clark couldn’t help but smile at the thought. He leaned back in his seat. “That’s a good story.”

Lex nodded. “It’s a good watch.” He tilted his head, then asked, “So did you want some advice on the quarterback?”

For a moment, Clark mulled things over. Then he admitted, “Actually, I think I know what to do about it.” He rose from his seat, deciding to not keep Lana or his parents waiting. “I hope you find your watch soon.”

“Thanks,” said Lex. As Clark moved toward the door, he asked, “By the way, how’d it go over at the Potter house?”

Clark paused and looked back at him. “Well, the bad news is, Nell caught us kissing out on the porch.” Then he smiled. “But the good news is, Lana verbally let her have it for all her actions.” He chuckled. “Nell was actually speechless for once – she just stalked back into the house and let us leave.”

Lex barked out a laugh. “It’s about time! Give Lana my regards – and congratulations.”

“I will,” Clark promised. He headed out of the library and down the hall, feeling better for having had that little talk—

Crash!

The sound of shattering glass reached his ears – and it had just come from upstairs! He immediately sped towards it, reaching the bathroom door and all but knocking it off its hinges. He hurried inside and over to the tub – Victoria was lying motionless in it. Grimacing, he gathered her into his arms and carefully laid her on the floor, grabbing the robe she’d dropped and covering her with it.

He’d been not a moment too soon – she started coughing and gasping for breath. She seemed to be trying to speak, but no words would come. “Just take it easy, Victoria,” he said gently. He focused on her robed body and made sure the actual x-ray switched on – luckily, the water hadn’t done any permanent damage that he could see. “You’re going to be okay.”

Wham! Something slammed into him, sending him flying clear across the room – Crash! He struck the big mirror by the sink, throwing pieces of glass all over the floor, then landed on his side. Shaking his head, he pushed himself up and stared at the door, trying to focus.

His vision flashed again – but it wavered, pulsing between x-ray and normal vision. Nonetheless, he saw something – a skeleton walking over to the door and clawing at it. It got the door open—

—and the x-ray cut out completely just before the door swung shut again. Clark stared at it in frustration, then glanced at the floor—

—and there, among the many pieces of glass, he saw one split down the middle. On one edge was sticky red blood – on the other was a gleam of green.

Meteor rock.

* * * * *
“It’s definitely blood,” he remarked the next morning at the Torch, looking over one of the pieces of glass.

“Which ghosts don’t have a habit of leaving,” Chloe pointed out wryly. “That means whoever attacked you and Victoria in the bathroom…was invisible?”

He nodded. “Must’ve been. And look at that other piece.”

She did as he suggested. “What – aha. Green stuff.” She got some of it onto her fingers and sniffed at it, putting the glass down. “Smells like roses.” She bent down to get a better look…then slowly rose, staring at her fingers. “Uh…Clark?”

He looked up, then all but dropped the first piece in his surprise. The tips of her fingers had vanished. “What happened?”

“I just touched it!” she exclaimed. She waved her fingers around – the tips remained invisible. “Okay, I’m officially freaked out now. What is this?!”

“I don’t know for certain,” Clark said, realization striking home, “but if you rubbed that all over, you’d be—”

“Naked?!” she said, half-panicking.

“Invisible,” he corrected gently.

She looked at him, then grabbed a piece of tissue and wiped off her fingers one by one. Sure enough, they returned to normal, and she looked them over, still a little freaked out. “What is that stuff?” she murmured.

He frowned, thinking…then he remembered something. “You said it smelled like roses, right?” She nodded. “I bet that’s what it came from. It must be oil from a rose that was mutated by the meteors.”

“Okay, I can buy that,” she said, “but how does that explain the invisibility?”

“Remember what they taught us a couple of months back in chemistry class?” he said. “Not all plants absorb light – some of them refract it. And without light, we wouldn’t be able to see anything. The mutation in the rose must’ve amplified the refraction – and because of that, the oil can actually hide things from sight.”

But, as his x-ray vision had revealed, the invisibility only went skin deep. Whoever was walking around naked and covered in the oil, they could still be seen under the right circumstances. That meant so long as they could figure out who it was, he stood a good chance of stopping them.

Chloe grimaced, something else occurring to her. “Wait – didn’t you say that the attacker knocked you across the room?”

“Yeah,” he murmured – then he sighed, catching on. “The oil must give their muscles a little boost too.”

“Figures,” she muttered. “So what should we do? Call the police?”

“And report an invisible person?” he said. “That isn’t enough. We need a viable suspect first.”

“Good point,” she conceded. “Well, who’s got a problem with Lex’s old British flame?”

“Amy Palmer,” he said immediately. “She said that she saw Victoria snooping around Lex’s bedroom. She also said Victoria didn’t see her.”

“No wonder,” Chloe agreed. Then her brow furrowed. “Wait – didn’t Amy give blood?”

“Yesterday at 3:45, station B,” Clark provided immediately. “Right before her brother, Jeff.”

Chloe’s eyes bugged out. “Whoa. You have a freakishly good memory.” She shook herself a little, getting back on track. “Okay, I’ll get the blood type on the broken piece of glass and see if I can check it against Amy’s. The blood bank should have it by now.”

“Good luck getting it from them,” Clark remarked, but he didn’t doubt her resourcefulness. “Let me know what you find out?”

“Of course,” she said immediately. He turned to go, but she cleared her throat: “And, even though I doubt you need it…good luck tonight.”

He smiled and nodded his thanks, then headed out of the Torch. He ran into Pete outside and filled him in on the recent events. Not surprisingly, his friend focused on one particular event. “‘I bet we could catch a beautiful sunset in the loft?’ You actually had the guts to say that?”

“Yep,” Clark nodded.

Pete grinned, impressed. “I bet your stomach was in the knots the whole time.”

“Yep.”

Pete chuckled. “Man, if I were you, I’d start scripting what I was gonna say now.”

That time, Clark definitely didn’t agree. “But you’re not me, Pete,” he pointed out lightly. “I’d much rather play it by ear – you know, fly by the seat of my pants. It’s worked before.” And it had – every single time he’d been with Lana, the words had just come naturally.

Pete clearly didn’t believe him. “I hate to disappoint you, Clark, but you’re not the flying type. I’ll make you some notes.”

Clark shook his head firmly. “Thanks, but no thanks. This is something I have to do on my own.” He stopped at his locker, wanting to get his books before class.

Pete shrugged and quipped, “If you insist – just don’t screw it up.” He walked on, having already fetched his books.

I really hope I don’t, Clark thought, getting the door open. Lana deserves a perfect evening with no interruptions…and she deserves to know what she really means to me.

* * * * *
The day was halfway done – and Clark was that much closer to the moment he had anticipated for nearly his whole life. He was heading to the Torch with his bag lunch, preferring it to the noise of the cafeteria – but he stopped in his tracks, looking inside said room. Whitney was sitting alone at one of the tables, picking over the things on his tray.

For a moment, Clark hesitated – should he even try to talk to the guy? Would it do any good? Then he shook off that cynical thought – he wouldn’t know for sure until he tried. He swallowed, gathering his nerve, then walked into the cafeteria and made a beeline for the table. He stopped on the other side from the blond and cleared his throat. “Whitney…”

“Whatever it is, Kent, I’m not interested,” said the jock king flatly, not looking up at him.

Clark didn’t let that stop him – instead, he just came out with it. “I saw the heart medication in your bag yesterday. What’s going on?”

Whitney looked this time, scowling at him, then sighed. “If you really have to know so badly, it’s my dad. He’s been in Metropolis all week for tests.”

Clark cautiously sat down, looking at the jock in genuine concern. “Is he going to be okay?”

Whitney shook his head. “I don’t know. The doctors say they don’t know either – maybe they just don’t want to tell me.”

Maybe, Clark thought, or maybe they really don’t know. He decided against saying that. “I’m sorry,” he offered.

The jock snorted softly. “Why should you be? When has your dad ever been so sick?” He shook his head. “You don’t know what I’m going through, Kent.”

“Not first-hand,” Clark admitted – Jonathan never had been sick, beyond a few allergies and the common cold, that he could recall. “But I can imagine how much it hurts. If anything did happen to my dad, I don’t know what I’d do.”

Whitney rolled his eyes. “Why are you even bothering, huh? Putting on this sympathy act? You can save it – I don’t want it.”

Clark frowned deeply, but tried to fight off the sting. “It’s not an act, Whitney,” he said gently. “No matter what’s gone on between us, you didn’t ask for this.”

“I didn’t ask you to steal my girl, either,” Whitney spat, smacking a piece of what was supposed to be food so hard that it went flat. “I didn’t ask you to kill my coach. But you still did.” He scowled very darkly. “You always find a way to mess things up.”

It was all Clark could do to not groan in frustration. “Not this again,” he muttered. “Whitney, I already told you—”

Smack! Another piece of not-food turned paper-thin. The jock king glared at the farm boy, who stared back at him without heat or hesitation. Then he snorted again. “You really don’t get it, do you?” he muttered. “You’ve helped ruin my life, Kent. You might not have gotten my dad sick, but you sure as hell haven’t done anything to make him better.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Clark sighed, spreading his arms wide. “I’m not God, Whitney. I can’t magically cure people, no matter how much I might want to.”

Whitney looked at him grimly, then admitted, “No, you can’t. But if you really want to show me some support, there’s something you can do.”

“What?” Clark asked, feeling uneasy.

“Give Lana back to me,” said Whitney, as if it should’ve been perfectly obvious. “She’s been through this kind of thing before, and you haven’t. She can help me get through it.”

Clark grimaced, trying not to feel angry – but he might as well have tried to stop an ocean tide. “That’s not an option,” he said quietly.

“Of course not,” the jock sneered at him. “Because she’s so into you.” He scoffed again. “Give me a break, Kent. Who’d ever want you when she could have me?”

Clark sat up straight, his hands clenching. “Insulting me won’t help your cause, Whitney,” he said calmly, his voice steel-hard. “And you don’t sound very genuine for someone who wants support.”

Whitney smacked both hands onto his tray and abruptly loomed over him, his pale blue eyes blazing. “You don’t know a damn thing, Kent!” he snarled. “All you know how to do is ruin my life! First Lana, then Coach, and then sicking your buddy Earl Jenkins on me – all you do is screw me over!” Then he sneered again. “And now that fling of Lex Luthor’s is in the hospital because of you. How does it feel to know you’ve hurt so ma—”

Thwack! He dropped back into his seat, coughing and clutching at his throat, and Clark rose to loom over him. “Shut up, you filthy liar,” he growled. “None of that’s true, and you know it. I never got you into any messes – you got into them yourself.” He shook his head. “I don’t have time to listen to you spewing garbage, and neither does Lana.”

He stepped out of the seat and walked away, calling over his shoulder, “Hope you enjoy the garbage you’re eating, jerk.”

* * * * *
Though the Beanery was noisier than the cafeteria had proved to be, Clark actually felt more at ease there. He found Lex at one of the tables easily. “Hey,” he greeted, sitting on the other side. “How’s Victoria?”

“She’ll be okay,” Lex said, clearly glad to be able to say that. “She’s resting up in Metropolis for a few days until I can get some answers.” Clark nodded, not fully focused on the conversation – and Lex, keen as ever, noticed. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” Clark admitted. “Have you ever gotten information you wish you hadn’t?”

“In my experience, there’s no such thing as too much information,” said Lex. “Are you talking about the quarterback?”

Clark nodded again. “Yeah. His father’s sick.”

Lex frowned. “Ouch. That’s a shame.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” Clark said, feeling the ghosts of anger and disgust return. “But that’s not the worst part. When I talked to him about it, he actually tried to play on my sympathy and make me give Lana back – as if she was just some possession I’d stolen from him.”

Lex stared at him for a moment, then scowled, appalled. “Yeah, I know,” Clark said. “Can you believe that?”

“Unfortunately, I can,” said Lex grimly. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen someone try to take advantage of the goodwill of others. And I’m all too familiar with women being treated as disposable commodities, thanks to the old man.”

“Yuck,” Clark murmured, feeling even more disgusted. He shook his head, refocusing on the present subject, then sighed. “I just don’t know what to do about him, Lex. No matter what happens, no matter what terrible choice he makes, he always spins it to make himself look like the victim and me look like the bully. He’s so full of it that he could almost be used for fertilizer – but I don’t think our plants would like him,” he amended, half-smiling.

“Whose would?” Lex agreed, chuckling sardonically. He sobered a moment later and said, “All I can advise for now is to keep a close eye on him. No matter how smart your opponent may be or imagine himself to be, sooner or later, he will make a mistake – and if you’re watching when it happens, you can pounce on it and defeat him. With any luck, Whitney will screw up sooner rather than later, and you can be free of him.”

“I hope so,” Clark said quietly. “I don’t want anyone to have to spend the rest of this year worrying about what he’ll do – especially not Lana.”

Lex smiled at that. “Of course you don’t, Clark,” he said. “And I don’t want you to have to worry about the quarterback anymore.”

Despite the grim subject matter, Clark couldn’t help smiling back. “Thanks.”

“Hi, Lex.”

“Amy,” Lex said as they both turned to see her standing by their table. “This is a surprise.”

She giggled and shifted nervously on her feet. “Oh, well, I just saw your car outside, so I thought I’d come in and say hi.”

Clark didn’t doubt that – but he wondered why she was wearing her sleeves so low. He focused on them as Lex said, “Well, thank you. I appreciate the gesture.”

Amy nodded, beaming. “So, now that Miss Hardwick is gone, hopefully things will be back to normal.”

Lex tried not to chuckle in bemusement. “Victoria will be back in a few days.”

“Oh,” said the girl flatly, clearly disappointed.

Lex shook his head gently. “She’s really not as bad as you think, Amy.”

“Oh,” Amy started guiltily. “I – I never thought that.” She laughed nervously, giving the lie to that claim, then said, “Well, bye.”

“Bye,” Lex said, watching her go for a moment. He looked back to Clark – and saw equal parts dread and suspicion on his face. “What is it?”

Clark sighed, wishing he didn’t have to say this. “Call it a hunch, but…I don’t think your watch went missing. And I think I know who attacked Victoria.”

Mere minutes later, Mrs. Palmer – a homely woman dark of hair and eye – was leading the two young men into her daughter’s bedroom. “I don’t know what to say, Mr. Luthor,” she said, trying to keep calm. “Amy’s been having some trouble in school, but I can’t imagine she would actually try to hurt Miss Hardwick.”

Lex walked into the room with Clark close behind, both of them in their jackets. Clark looked around, his x-ray vision switching on. “I hope I’m wrong,” he murmured, “but…” He found a cabinet and opened it. Inside was a shrine to Lex, full of pictures and hearts and what-not. Clark grimaced as Lex walked over to join him. “It looks like she’s been collecting you.”

Lex stared at the shrine, then felt around inside – and pulled something out from behind one of the pictures. “My watch,” he whispered. The hands ticked quietly around the circumference of the Napoleon franc.

“We had no idea, Mr. Luthor,” said Mrs. Palmer, horrified. “Please don’t call the police.”

“I won’t,” Lex said immediately, straightening. “I’m not interested in retribution or publicity. What matters is that Amy needs help. Counseling, medical treatment – whatever it takes, just send me the bill. Even so, I think it’d be best for everyone if you left the mansion tonight.”

Mrs. Palmer nodded. “Yes, of course.” She walked out of the room, clearly upset, and Lex closed the cabinet. Clark sighed sadly – this was another terrible example of the lengths some people would go to when obsession drove them.

He just wished that he’d been wrong about this example.

[superman_lives_on]

The Chronicles of Smallville: Shimmer

* * * * *
Unfortunately, another example – and one he’d already seen more than a little of – was unfolding across town. Nell came to the front door of her house and opened it. “Whitney,” she said gently. “What’s wrong?”

Whitney had tears in his eyes as he walked inside, straightening his light blue shirt. “Everything’s going wrong, Nell,” he said without preamble. “My dad’s gotten sick, my mom can’t keep the store running by herself, and my worst enemy still has my girl hanging off him.”

Nell sighed, nodding sadly. “Unfortunately, I know all too well what you mean,” she said. She guided him to the couch in the living room and sat with him. “Now, what exactly set this off?”

He sniffed and wiped at his eyes, then said quietly, “Kent did. I was just sitting in the cafeteria, minding my own business, when suddenly he barged in and started asking nosy questions about the medicine in my bag. I finally told him what it was for just to shut him up, but he kept talking – he started insulting my dad and my mom, mocking me about how he took Lana away – I yelled at him to stop, but he kept on doing it, and—”

He broke off, shuddering, then cleared his throat. “He ruined my whole lunch, too,” he said grimly. “He grabbed my tray and threw it on the floor, then laughed in my face and told me to enjoy my garbage. Then he left.”

He looked over at Nell, who was clearly incensed. “That little sh*t,” she whispered. “I always knew he was bad news. I knew that no good would come of Jonathan’s rebound raising a child with him.” She shook her head, then sighed. “I’m so sorry, Whitney. That was just appalling.”

“You’re telling me,” he muttered. “Kent really is a lousy son of a b*tch – literally.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “And he’s caused so much trouble already.”

“And how,” he growled, anger replacing his self-pity. “First he steals my girl, then he murders my coach, then he rolls around in the hay with that shapeshifting freak, then he ruins our party at the lake, then he sends that psycho farmhand to attack me – and now, he gets Luthor’s girlfriend sent to the hospital and mocks me for my dad being sick!” He punched the couch’s arm, furious. “I want him to pay for all that!”

“He will, Whitney,” Nell said, stroking his arm soothingly. “I’ll make sure of it – don’t worry.”

He settled back down, looking at her imploringly. “How?”

She smiled darkly, her eyes gleaming in an intriguing way…one that he found to his liking. “For now, let’s just say that things are about to change drastically. Lana’s little streak of rebellion is going to wither and die in its tracks – and then, she’ll be all yours again.”

He smiled back, feeling a surge of delight. “Good. And hey – I’m not unreasonable. All the guys have been wanting to know what it’s like to have her.” He coughed a bit. “That is, assuming you don’t mind.”

“Mind?” she purred. “Of course I don’t mind, Whitney. I see nothing wrong with my niece making new relationships.” Her tongue flicked out and over her lips for a brief second. “Mmm…I only wish that I could be there to see it.”

He raised his eyebrows, amazed to hear that…then he grinned. “Well, why don’t you join us, then?” he suggested. “I’m sure the guys won’t mind a little extra company.”

She laughed aloud at that. “Goodness me! What a proposition!” Then she sighed wistfully. “Ahhh…it’d be so nice to enjoy that sort of thing again. You know, I never quite managed to bag the one man I was after in high school.”

Whitney blinked, confused. “You mean Jonathan Kent?”

She nodded. “Believe me, I wish I had. But no – I was robbed of the chance. Still, that’s not to say I never got to have any fun.” She winked at him. “A girl has to keep her options open.”

“I know just what you mean,” he chuckled.

She looked him up and down once, nodded slightly, then turned a little ways on the couch so that she faced him fully. “In fact, Whitney,” she said, her voice softening, “I’d like to explore some options. How about you?”

He looked back at her for a moment…then found himself smiling widely. “I’d like that a lot, Nell.” He turned to face her fully as well, kicking his shoes off, and placed his strong hands on her shoulders.

She hummed at his touch, her eyes fluttering…then the two pairs of blue met, his pale and hers dark. “You’re such a handsome man,” she whispered.

“Damn right, baby,” he purred, flashing his teeth. Then they leaned in…and, suffice it to say, began to seal the deal.

* * * * *
Clark was blissfully unaware of those horrible events as he walked up the stairs into the loft. Lana was already there, and she turned to him with a delighted smile. “You made it.”

“I promised,” he said, returning her smile – she looked amazing in her dark blue jeans and purple sweater. “Sorry I’m late.”

She gestured out the window. “It’s alright – it’s just getting to the good part.” She was right – the setting sun had painted the cloudy sky in tongues of fire, from vivid orange-red to bright yellow-gold, and left patches of dark blue here and there. He gazed out at it, marveling at the rich colors and textures, memorizing every detail so that it would last a lifetime.

“What do you think?” she asked softly, marveling at it as well.

He looked at her, smiling warmly. “I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said solemnly.

She turned to him, her breath catching at the look in his eyes…and her own traveled over him, admiring how well his jeans and his red sweater fit him. “Me too.” She swallowed a little, trying to recover her nerve, then met his gaze again. “Last night, on the porch…I felt you were trying to tell me something.”

He nodded gently. “I was…but,” he chuckled, “of course, Nell’s timing was impeccable.”

She stepped a little closer to him. “Well, she’s not here now,” she whispered.

“No,” he agreed, also whispering. “And I’m glad she’s not.” His hands reached out and gently took hers, and she glanced at them for a moment before locking gazes with him again. He swallowed, then admitted, “Lana, I should’ve told you this a long time ago…and I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

She nodded, her eyes firmly on his. “It’s okay, Clark. I’m listening now.”

He nodded back, his heart pounding against his chest – but he was not going to chicken out. Not now, not ever again. “Things have really changed for me lately,” he began. “I like to think I’m pretty used to constants…but I’ve had more than a few changes in my life, especially in the past few months. And the best one of all has been you.”

She nodded slightly, inviting him to continue. He cleared his throat, feeling more nervous with every second, but pressed on. “You’ve changed me, Lana. You’ve changed my life in so many ways. Not just lately, either – ever since we first met when we were five, you’ve redefined everything. Even before I fully understood what the world was like, I knew that you were the center of mine. And now, you’ve become my whole world.”

Her breath caught again, her eyes shining. And in that moment, he knew – no matter who or what tried to tear them apart, it would never work. No matter what his own guilt and self-loathing tried to tell him, it would never overcome the truth that kept his heart beating. He took a deep breath, held her eyes with his own, and spoke the words that would change their lives and all of time and space forevermore:

“Lana Lang…as God and His angels are my witnesses…I love you. I’ve loved you ever since I first saw you…and I always will love you, even if the stars should fall from the sky.”

An eternal moment of joyful silence followed the last syllable, as if the whole world was holding its breath…then Lana let out a little sound, neither quite a gasp nor a sob. “Oh…” Her lips spread into a smile that would have pierced even the bitterest, most cynical heart…and then, swallowing hard, she found the words to answer him.

“Clark,” she whispered earnestly, not bothering to wipe at her eyes. “Before I met you, I thought I’d lost everything. My world had been torn away from me, and I was scared that nothing would ever be right again. But then, that one day in the field between our houses, I saw the cutest boy ever…and all my fears just melted away, as if they’d never existed.”

He tilted his head, smiling warmly, and she continued with little if any hesitation. “When we got separated because of my necklace and Nell’s cruelty, I felt my world shatter all over again. After that, every time I saw you was a blessing – even if we never managed to say more than a few words to each other. Then, that night in the cemetery, you finally came back to me…and for the first time in years, I was no longer alone. And now I know that with or without special powers, you’ve always had the power to make my life right again.”

The words touched him in a way that no further words could ever explain. She saw it in his eyes, in his smile, and she suddenly knew – it had all been worth it. All those years of frustration and loneliness, all those pointless awards and stupid pink dresses, all those fake friends and meaningless conversations…they had all been worth it. And so, she vowed with every fiber of her being:

“Clark Kent…I swear upon my soul and my parents’ grave…I love you, too. I always have, even when I was too terrified to admit it…and I always will, no matter what happens.”

With that, all restraint vanished – she sprang into his arms, and he pulled her close – their lips crashed together, searing into each other with fiery intensity – their tongues tangled and dueled for dominance as their breaths merged – and all the while, their minds and hearts and bodies sang with purest joy. This was no mere kiss – it was a homecoming for both of them. It was a new beginning for their young lives.

It was, indeed, a second first kiss.

It seemed to go on forever…but when they parted, gasping for breath, and looked outside, the sun was still visible. “Oh, wow,” she whispered, leaning into his chest. “Look, Clark – we didn’t miss it.”

“No,” he agreed, smiling with enough wattage to power the whole planet. “And we never will again.”

* * * * *
A light fog was gathering around the Luthor Mansion as the Palmers packed their things into the red minivan. Amy walked down the steps past Lex, then paused and turned to him, looking very awkward and upset. “I just wanted to…feel close to you,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” he replied quietly, offering her a tiny smile. She returned it hesitantly – then she continued down to the car, joining her father, and put her brown briefcase into the trunk, casting one last look upwards before she got in.

Her mother came up to Lex. “Jeff is going to pack everything else,” she said. “My husband will be back in the morning to pick it up.” Lex nodded, and she shook her head nervously. “Again, Mr. Luthor—”

He held up a hand. “It’s okay, Mrs. Palmer. I’d rather not assign any blame.” He gave her a small smile too. “Drive safely.”

She nodded, looking truly grateful, then went to the car. Lex watched silently as Mr. Palmer got into the driver’s seat and shut the door, then started up the engine and pulled out of the driveway. Sighing softly, Lex turned away and pulled his cell phone out of his long black coat, dialing the number for Metropolis General Hospital. He lifted it to his ear and waited, then said, “Yes, I’d like to leave a message for Victoria Hardwick.”

Something slapped the phone out of his hand, and it clattered onto the hard ground. He stared at it – he hadn’t seen anything, but that blow had felt strong…and familiar.

His gut suddenly felt heavy as the truth dawned on him, and he looked around, trying not to show any fear. “Who’s there?” he called.

No answer. He set his jaw, in no mood for games. “Come out and show yourself.”

Whump! Something struck him squarely on the head – stars exploded in his vision as he dropped—

—then everything went black.

* * * * *
Clark moaned in pleasure as he sat on the couch, feeling Lana’s warm lips and wet tongue working at his jaw. “Mmmm…” He cleared his throat and managed to say, “How are you…doing that?”

She pulled away with a chuckle and grinned at him. “Practice makes perfect,” she said lightly.

He grinned back. “Then practice away, milady.”

“As you wish,” she purred, and moved back in—

“Clark? Lana?”

They jolted apart, then sat up on the couch nervously as Martha came up the stairs. “Hi, Mom,” Clark said, smiling awkwardly.

“Mrs. Kent,” Lana said, trying not to blush.

Martha smiled. “Well, looks like you two were enjoying yourselves up here.” They dipped their heads, and she laughed. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It happens to all the best of us.”

“I guess it does,” Clark agreed, glancing at his lady love. “What’s up?”

“Dinner’s just about ready,” said his mom. “If you two would care to join us…”

“God, yes,” Lana moaned, her stomach growling. “Thank you.”

“Hello?” Another visitor came up, and Clark and Lana couldn’t help a chuckle – the loft had certainly become popular. “Hey, guys! Hey, Mrs. Kent.”

“Chloe, hi,” Martha said, delighted. “What brings you over?”

“Shop talk,” Chloe provided, pulling out some papers. “My contact at the blood bank came through.”

“Ah,” Martha nodded – Clark had filled her and Jonathan in about his latest case. “Well, I’ll just be inside.”

Clark and Lana nodded, then moved over so Chloe could join them on the couch. “Well,” she said, “I’m afraid I have bad news on the Dracula front. The drop of blood we found on the mirror is Type A. Amy Palmer is Type O.”

“What?” Clark said. Amy wasn’t the attacker? “But she had that shrine to Lex in her room.”

“She’s definitely obsessed with him,” Chloe agreed, “but she’s not the one who tried to kill Victoria. Check the paper.”

Clark looked it over – and suddenly stared at one key piece of information. “Wait – Amy’s blood type doesn’t match, but Jeff’s does.”

Chloe’s brow furrowed. “Her brother?”

“Of course,” Lana whispered, her eyes widening. “He’s always been so quiet.”

“Practically invisible,” Clark agreed. He shot up from the couch. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Lana nodded, and Chloe watched him hurry downstairs, then looked over at her with a wry smile. “Does he do this a lot?”

“You have no idea,” Lana sighed, pressing her hands together. Please let him get to Lex in time.

* * * * *
“Why couldn’t you understand? She loved you. How could you just send her away?!”

Lex stirred, then found himself lying on the floor in the darkened antiques room, his arms tied behind his back. “Who are you?” he murmured.

“Suddenly you care?” the voice sneered. “Master Lex with his castle, his plant, his expensive cars, his hot women? When have people ever mattered to you?”

Lex got to his feet, looking around. “Jeff?” he realized, starting to walk in the direction he thought the voice had come from. “Where are you?”

“I’m surprised you even know my name,” Jeff Palmer’s voice replied. “Did you forget the unspoken rule? Servants are supposed to be invisible. We tried to hide, fade into the woodwork. My parents learned to live with it, pretend that it didn’t matter – but Amy couldn’t do that. She wanted more. And I’m through pretending!”

Wham! A vicious blow knocked Lex right back onto his chest. He gasped in pain and shook his head. “What did I ever do to you, Jeff?” he wondered.

“Not to me, you idiot – to my sister,” the voice spat. “She loved you, but you were so busy smacking on that British tramp that you couldn’t see it. And now you’ve thrown her out like she was garbage.”

Lex rolled onto his back, still feeling short of breath. “I thought she was attacking Victoria,” he said.

“No,” Jeff said coldly, “that was me. I wanted to scare that b*tch, make her leave. I wanted everything to go back to the way it was before. I wanted Amy to have her chance with you. But you’re obviously not interested in love, are you?”

“That kind of love could get me arrested,” Lex said, disgusted at the voice’s tone. “She’s a little young for me, Jeff. Can’t you see that?”

“I can see clearly, Luthor!” Jeff snapped from thin air. A sword suddenly came off the wall and began swinging around in swift strokes. “You ruined her life! Our lives! I’m not going to let you hurt her again!”

The sword whipped around – then came flipping through the air. Thunk! It struck the wall right beside Lex’s head, just barely missing him. He tried to move away—

—but another sharp blow knocked him onto his front. He gasped and tried to push himself up—

—and suddenly, he heard the side door rattle. “Lex!” a familiar voice screamed. “It’s me, open up!”

“Clark!” he yelled, feeling desperate—

Thud! The invisible attacker slammed his head against the wall, knocking him out cold. A moment later, Clark appeared from the hall. He spotted Lex immediately – but something shoved him back before he could get there.

“Stay away from him, Kent!” Jeff’s voice spat. “This is your fault too. You ruined everything for Amy.”

Clark looked around, then managed to switch on his x-ray vision. The image was blurry and unsteady again, weakened by the presence of meteor rock, but he found his quarry – a skeleton standing in front of the lit fireplace. “Jeff,” he said. “What happened with you?”

“Didn’t you pay attention in chemistry, Kent?” Jeff said caustically. Clark ignored the insult, wanting him to keep talking. “Some plants don’t absorb light; they refract it.” He began walking to one side – but the x-ray vision cut out again, and he vanished completely. “I found a weird green rose on the grounds and I studied it, and then I used the oils to become what I’ve always been.”

There was a long pause, and Clark looked around, trying to turn the x-ray back on – no luck. Then Jeff spoke again: “To Lex Luthor, to his flings, to the people at school, to my own parents – everyone but my sister just ignored me, pretended I didn’t exist. But now, they’re all going to wish I really hadn’t.”

Clark’s instincts suddenly screamed a warning, and he whirled – just in time to see a mace swing towards him. Crash! The spiked ball shattered against his cheek, throwing him against the wall – no doubt its wielder had imparted some of that eerie strength the rose oils had given him along with the invisibility.

“That’s right!” Jeff exclaimed in a tone of discovery as Clark tried to shake off the blow. “I’ve heard Luthor talk about you, like you’re something special. Well, I’m special too, Kent – but you won’t be for much longer.”

Another warning lurched in Clark’s gut – just before he found himself hauled back by the neck. He grabbed at the unseen hands, groaning and struggling to throw the attacker off – but to no avail. “All this time,” Jeff growled from behind him, “I’ve been – ignored at best – and spat on at worst – and my sister has been – my only friend! Now you’re all – going to pay!”

Despite the dire circumstances – despite the fact that if he didn’t do something fast, he would be choked to death – Clark felt some sympathy for that. “I know what – what it is – to be treated – like dirt, Jeff,” he managed to get out, tugging at the hands. “I know what it means – to be spat on.” Anger and determination surged in him, and he snarled: “But that – doesn’t excuse – what you’ve done!”

He drove his elbow back at the last word – and Jeff gasped in pain as he was thrown back, completely off Clark—

Bang! The scaffolding nearby bent inward, smashed by the sudden weight. The cans of paint atop it unbalanced and fell over, spilling rivers of red and yellow – and there, right before Clark’s eyes, Jeff’s body came into partial view. He was lying against the metal frame, clearly out cold – defeated.

Clark rubbed at his throat, then sighed – it looked like it really was over now. Then he hurried over to Lex, finally managing to switch his x-ray vision back on – this time, it clearly showed him what was up. Luckily, the head injury didn’t look fatal, and he turned to fetch a little water to wake Lex before he called an ambulance.

* * * * *
“I really hope they’re okay,” Chloe said, wringing her hands as she paced around in the loft. “Those oils don’t just make Jeff invisible – they give him extra strength. He might be too much for Clark and Lex to handle.”

“I don’t believe he will be,” Lana said calmly, sitting on the couch. “I have faith in Clark. He’s never failed to save the day before.”

Chloe stopped and looked at her, then nodded and sighed. “You’re right – I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so cynical.” She shook her head. “I guess old habits really do die hard.”

“I hear that,” Lana murmured. “God knows I wish that Nell would drop her habit of treating Claack!”

She doubled over, clutching at her stomach. “Whoa!” Chloe said, rushing over to her. “Are you okay?”

Lana coughed, then cleared her throat. “Yeah, I think soaaACK!” She keeled to one side, gasping. “Ugh…okay, maybe nooaAAAAAH!”

She pitched forward and off the couch, landing on her hands and knees. “Lana?!” Chloe exclaimed, dropping down with her. “What’s wrong?!”

She tried to answer, but all that came out of her mouth was another cry of pain. She dropped onto her side, her face twisting up – tears began to well up in her eyes—

“Lana?” Chloe said, her concern amplifying with every second. “Lana?!”

Lana let out a loud gasp, then tried to stretch her arms out, tried to get back up – Chloe tried to help her—

—but Lana’s hands slipped right out of her grasp. The brunette stared at them in shock – then her eyes went wide with horror. Her hands were glowing – eerie light was playing over them, pulsing deep purple and blue—

No. Not light at all. Tendrils of blackness began appearing as well, surrounding her hands – her horror became realization, and she tried desperately to speak as the not-light shimmered and spread – but all she could get out was a strangled, “Chloe…”

“Lana—?!”

There was a sudden blinding flash of not-light, a surge of not-sound, and Chloe fell back. When she came to and sat up, she was alone. Lana had vanished.

“LANA!” she screamed, scrambling to her feet. She looked wildly around, then dashed downstairs and outside. “MRS. KENT!” she cried. “MR. KENT!”

“What – Chloe?!” Martha came rushing over. “What is it?!”

“It’s Lana,” she gasped, trying not to panic even more – but it was no use. “She – she’s gone!”

“Gone?” Martha echoed, concerned. “What do you mean—”

“I mean gone!” Chloe exclaimed, frantic. “She just vanished right in front of me! And right before, she looked like she was sick!”

“Oh, God!” Martha gasped, her blue eyes widening. “Oh, no—”

“Martha?” Jonathan came outside, bewildered and concerned. “Chloe? What’s wrong?”

“Lana’s vanished,” Martha explained, turning to him. “I don’t know how – she just disappeared.”

Chloe nodded desperately. “She kept doubling over and crying out, like she was really sick – then some weird light was playing over her – and then—” She threw her hands out demonstratively. “Bam! Just gone!”

“Oh, Lord,” Jonathan murmured, his eyes wide. Then his jaw set. “Well, wherever she’s gone, we have to find her!”

“I know!” Chloe said. “And we have to tell Clark right now – he needs to—”

But her words were lost forever as a sudden detonation of not-light and not-sound engulfed them – the world lost all reason for a moment—

Then it was gone, and they stood there, looking bewildered. “Uhhhh…what were we doing again?” Chloe said, furrowing her brow.

“Um…” Martha thought about it for a moment, then glanced at Jonathan. “Oh – I think we were about to have dinner.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Right.”

“Oh,” Chloe said, laughing a little. “Okay. Well, in that case, I won’t intrude. Tell Clark I said hi and bye?”

“Sure, Chloe,” Martha assured her, smiling. She and Jonathan headed back inside to wait for their son to get home while Chloe went to her car and fished out her keys. Everything was normal, they were sure.

There was nothing to worry about…

* * * * *
“What do you think will happen to Jeff?” Clark asked as he and Lex came down the stairs of the mansion, watching the unconscious would-be murderer being wheeled into the ambulance on a gurney.

“A lot of serious therapy,” Lex surmised, rubbing at his head. “The bigger question is, how did he make himself invisible?”

Clark frowned and glanced at him. “Promise you won’t go nuts over it?” Lex tilted his head, puzzled. “I think it was the meteor rocks again. Chloe and I found green oil from a rose on a piece of glass he stepped on. He told me that he used it to become what he’d always been.”

“Ah,” Lex murmured, nodding slightly – and wincing at the motion. “Looks like he had a sense of irony.”

“Yeah,” Clark said quietly. “How’s your head?”

“Oh, I’ve survived worse,” Lex replied, grimacing a little more. Then he chuckled. “Can’t say the same about my father’s antique collection.”

“Sorry,” said Clark, smiling sheepishly.

Lex smiled back. “Don’t be. My mother always hated that room. ‘War is in our nature,’ she said. ‘We don’t need to put it on display.’”

Clark could definitely understand that. What he couldn’t understand was why, a minute ago, his skin had turned violently cold, then gone back to normal the next instant. He wondered if it was his instincts’ latest attempt to warn him of something…

…but that thought died away before it could get going. I’m sure it was nothing, his inner voice said. There’s nothing else to worry about tonight. I should just go home and get some dinner.

Yeah – that sounded like a pretty good idea. He should go home and get some dinner. There was nothing to worry about…

* * * * *
…where am I?

Lana stirred, then moved a hand to her head, rubbing at it. “Owwww,” she hissed. “It hurts…”

For a moment, she couldn’t think clearly…nor could she see anything. It’s so dark…why is it so dark…

Then, suddenly, the migraine faded – and comprehension dawned. Because your eyes are closed, dummy.

She snapped them open and glanced around, not daring to move just yet. Funny…this place looked familiar. She pushed herself off her side and into a sitting position, then looked around cautiously. She was in a bedroom…her bedroom at the Potter homestead.

“What?” she murmured. “But I was just at—”

The memory slammed into her head, clear as day – and she scrambled to her feet, looking at her hands hysterically. No not-light on them – but how had it gotten there?! Why had she been brought here?! She whirled to the door and reached for the knob—

—and it swung open, forcing her to get back. “Well, well, well,” said Nell quietly, looking her over. “Did you have a nice little nap, sweetie?”

There was nothing loving or friendly about her tone of voice – it sounded sick, mocking. Lana swallowed hard and planted her hands on her hips, glaring at the older woman. “I don’t have time for games, Nell,” she said flatly. “How did I get here?”

Her aunt frowned. “That’s no way to speak to your guardian, young lady,” she said calmly, her voice colder than glacial ice.

“You’re not my—”

SMACK!

Lana was too caught off guard to even cry out – the backhanded blow knocked her onto the floor, sending a wave of fresh pain through her body. She looked up at Nell, suddenly terrified. “You’ll soon learn some manners,” the woman said, looming over her with folded arms. “For that little outburst, you just lost your dinner.”

“What?” Lana gasped, unable to believe what she was hearing. “Nell, what are you—”

Nell bent down over her, far too quickly for her to react, and delivered another sharp blow to her cheek – SMACK! Her head collided with the floor, and her vision exploded with stars and pain. “And now, you’ve just lost tomorrow’s breakfast,” Nell said in that same horribly cold tone, straightening. “Another outburst like that, and you’ll get no dinner for a week.”

Lana rolled her head, the mere effort an agony, and stared up at the madwoman – for there was no longer any doubt in her mind or her heart. Nell had gone certifiably insane – she must have. And now, because of whatever had happened in the loft, she was at the woman’s mercy.

“There,” Nell cooed, her voice turning sickly again. “That’s more like it, sweetie. Why don’t you have a nice long nap? I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to think your actions over tomorrow.”

What the hell is going on here?! Lana thought. Where did that not-light come fro—

SMACK! SMACK!

She couldn’t even scream as Nell shot back down and delivered two more sharp blows – and this time, her sharp nails dug at Lana’s skin, drawing blood. “That does it, you little b*tch!” she spat – literally; saliva flew from her mouth and landed on Lana’s forehead. “No dinner for a week! Keep this up, and you’ll starve for it! Is that clear?!”

Lana gulped and nodded, not daring to say or even think anything. “Good,” said Nell, smiling icily. “We’re going to squash those foolish little dreams of yours, sweetie – we’re going to free you from your delusions. You’ll see – soon enough, you’ll learn your place.” She reached to her neck and fondled a silver chain around it. “Oh, yes – you’re going to be educated very thoroughly.”

She took hold of the chain and pulled up, drawing it out – and with it came the object that hung from—

Lana’s mind froze. Her mouth fell open, but no sound came – her eyes saw, but she could barely comprehend. That chain…that silvery chain…that perfect circle hanging from it…that five-pointed star within the circle – no, that pentagram – and that symbol set in the pentagonal center, an upside-down Y with an extra prong in the middle—

…oh.

Oh…no.

“Yeeesss,” Nell half-hissed, half-purred, her eyes flickering with purple-blue-black not-light. “We’re going to teach you the error of your ways, darling – and by the time we’re finished, you’ll be thanking us profusely. You’ll be back where you belong…and you’ll never wander astray again.”

With that, she backed out of the room, fondling the unholy pendant – Dawn Stiles’ pendant – and pulled the door shut—

—and Lana suddenly found enough strength to push herself back to her feet, though her head spun with pain. She shook it hard, then dived at the door, grasping the knob—

—and cried out, immediately pulling her hands back. The knob was searingly cold – not hot, cold! She exhaled on her hands and rubbed them together, looking the door over—

Oh, God. It was locked – bolted – jammed! She saw multiple padlocks and bolts and stops and keyholes, all running up and down the unhinged side – and along the top!

She looked away from the door, feeling her breath catch in her throat – she was on the verge of hysteria, or worse—

The window! She might have a chance there! She rushed toward it and pulled at the curtains—

—and saw thick black bars running vertically and horizontally over it, almost set into the glass.

“NOOOO!” she screamed, falling back in horror. “Oh please, God, NO!”

She whirled around, looking desperately at every corner of the room – but there was nothing to help her. There weren’t even any toys in here – the place was barren, she now saw. Only the bed and the hard floor and the walls stood here – and even the bed was devoid of its soft pillows and blanket. There was only a mattress that looked like concrete.

Lana collapsed onto the floor, squatting, and buried her face in her hands. She didn’t want to cry, but she couldn’t avoid it…the tears came free, and she couldn’t stop them from falling…

The last thing she remembered doing before she passed out from terror and exhaustion and sorrow was lifting her blurry eyes to the barren ceiling and whispering, so quietly that she could hardly hear it:

“Please, God…Clark…help me…”

~ * To Be Continued… * ~

[QueenClana]

excellent update, can't wait for the next, please don't make us wait.

[Kirk]

That was an outstanding update. Clark will notice immediately of course when he gets home that Lana is missing. An obvious place for him to look would be at her aunt's house. However, I somehow have the feeling that it may not be easy for him to get to her. I assume the next story will be on Hug. I wonder how those two mental masters will feature in this one. Please update soon.