Chlark Fanfic: The Fallen Sky, Chapter 23
I'm back! For now, at least. Enjoy! :-)
Title: The Fallen Sky
Author: BabyDee1
Pairing: Chlark
Rating: NC17 (this chapter PG)
Timeline: Season 8 (Hex - Doomsday) Season 9 (My version)
Disclaimer: All characters belong to the CW & DC comics.
Summary: Months after walking away from her in Doomsday, Clark returns to Chloe…but finds that she’s a changed woman from the one he left behind.
Feedback: …always welcome. :)
Awesome banner by ellashy.
Read previous chapter here.
Read story from the beginning here.
Chapter 23
Unlikely Allies
Chloe made sure she was at her desk by ten to seven. Knowing Clark as she did, he was sure to be late; there would be some emergency or hold-up that would delay his arrival, assuming he was still in the rescue business, that is. Not that it mattered. All she wanted was an excuse to can his sorry ass before he even started, and it would be oh so convenient if he handed her said excuse on a platter.
Her theory was proved wrong when he knocked on her door on the dot of seven.
“Morning,” he said, briefcase in one hand and coat in the other.
She turned and stared at his windswept hair and despite herself, a wave of nostalgia swept through her. Superspeed hair. Clearly he’d run all the way from Smallville at the last minute.
He looked slightly different today, and it took a moment before she realised what it was. Glasses. He was wearing glasses. What was that all about?
She tore her gaze away from his hair and fixed him with a non-committal look. “You made it.”
He smiled, almost proudly. “I did indeed, and I’m ready for the rules.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry?”
“The rules of journalism.”
She stared blankly at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“A list of Do’s and Don’ts,” he explained. “That I need to memorise.”
“If you’re as observant as you need to be, you’ll learn everything you need to know each day on the job, not by cramming lines on a piece of paper,” she said curtly. “Journalism Do’s and Don’ts? Whatever gave you that idea in the first place?”
His smile faded slightly. “Lois had a framed list of them; she called them her tried and trusted rules of journalism,” he said quietly. “I…assumed you had one, too.”
Chloe’s heart leapt at the mention of her cousin’s name. She’d all but forgotten that Clark had worked here with Lois, and the reminder of her lost relative almost had her in tears.
“There’s only one rule with me, Clark: you’re here to work,” she said stiffly. “I expect you to pay attention, and I expect you to apply everything you learn here to your professional development.”
“Understood,” he said. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I know you and Lois-”
“Like I said, you’re here to work,” she interrupted. “…not regale me with issues of a personal nature. I meant what I said, Clark. One wrong step from you, and you’re out.”
He pursed his lips. “Understood. Where do you want me to start?”
She grabbed a pile of thick files off the edge of her desk and walked over to him.
“With these,” she said, shoving them at his chest. “They’re solved cases that I haven’t had time to organise yet. Sort them in date order first, alphabetical second. Holler when you’re done.”
She turned and walked back to her desk. She had barely taken her seat when she heard him softly say ‘holler.’
It was eerily like old times. She pointed at another stack of files and folders on the other side of her desk. “Same with these, except they’re unsolved.”
He came over, and there was a whoosh of air lifting her ponytail and then: “Done. Where do you want them?”
Wow. As much as she’d kicked against having to mentor Clark, his particular skillset did have its uses. Her desk hadn’t been this tidy in forever.
“Unsolved cases stay on the desk,” she said. “Solved within the last six months go in my corner cabinet. Everything older goes down to archives, I trust you still remember the way.”
He blurred around her office, and she blinked as her hitherto chaotic workspace was immediately transformed into a bastion of organised neatness. Then he grabbed her completed files and disappeared.
Two minutes later he was back in the room, folders still in his arms. “It’s a mess down there,” he explained. “Worse than navigating a minefield. Almost everything is misfiled.”
“So make yourself useful and fix the lot,” she said matter of factly. “With your speed, you’re more than able. Just…”
“Just what?” he prompted.
Her mouth twitched as she fought the urge to smile. “Remember to lock the door before you start.”
***
It took him an hour to sort out decades of archived files in correct order. By the lunchtime, news of the spruced up archive was buzzing around the building, and Chloe felt a strange sense of pride at having come up with the idea for Clark to sort it out. Hopefully he’d had the sense to avoid getting caught by the hallway security cameras.
After lunch, she returned with an armful of thick texts from the office library and dropped them on his desk.
“Familiarise yourself with these,” she said. “You’re playing catch up to the college crowd, and I need you to have a working knowledge of journalism procedure before I can even think about taking you on the beat.”
She returned to her office and watched him through the open door as he opened the first of the books and started reading. He became absorbed, turning the pages slowly even though she knew he could read and assimilate much faster.
What exactly had he been up to in the last several months? And what was the deal with those glasses? Gone was the bumbling, insecure, indecisive boy she’d known. A man sat before her; a much changed man, and she was curious to know what had altered him.
He glanced up and she started as he caught her staring at him. Quickly she returned to her chair, deliberately positioning her head behind her computer screen.
He was probably staring at her through the screen, she thought with some amusement. She would either have to turn his desk around so he wouldn’t be able to stare directly at her without a 180-degree turn; or start closing her door, which she didn’t really want to do.
With a sigh, she focused on her computer screen and concentrated on the task at hand.
***
“All done?” she asked when he placed the last of the books on top of the pile several hours later.
He nodded. “All done.”
“So if I give you a pop quiz on all things journalism-related, you’ll pass it with flying colours?”
He smiled. “And then some.”
She didn’t doubt him. He probably knew more about the fundamental rudiments of journalism than she did right now.
“Okay,” she said. “Wear comfortable shoes tomorrow, because we’re going out on the beat.”
His eyes widened. “That soon?”
“You’re probably as ready as you’re ever going to be,” she conceded grudgingly. “And you’ve worked hard today, sorting out those archives. You’re done for the day.”
“Already?” he asked, staring at his watch. “I still have an hour left on my shift.”
“Which I have released you from fulfilling,” she replied. “Off you go. Unless you really don’t want to, in which case I’m sure I can find something for you to do.”
“What are you working on?” he asked, walking over.
“Results of a survey I conducted on the pending new state legislation bill,” she replied, tiredly rubbing the back of her neck. “The data’s all been compiled, I’m just working on the summation.”
“I’m really fast on the keyboard,” he offered. “If you dictate what you want to say, I can type it all down for you.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “That would be helpful.”
He came over to the side of her desk and gestured to her chair. “May I?”
Chloe stood and watched with veiled interest as he sank into her seat. “Right, where were you?”
Chloe cleared her throat and began speaking, and Clark’s fingers flew over the keys as he completed her report. Once he was done, she gave it the once-over, added a few finishing touches and nodded, satisfied.
“That’s okay to go to print,” she declared. She forwarded the file to the relevant department, and stood. “You did a good job today, Clark. Well done.”
He smiled. “I’m only as good as the hand that guided me, so…thank you.”
A blush began to creep up her neck, and she turned away and started gathering her things. “Remember what I said,” she quipped, all business. “Seven o’clock start, comfortable shoes.”
“I’ll be here on time. Listen, um…can I drop you off anywhere?” he asked.
“I don’t live too far from here, I’ll be fine,” she replied.
“Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll, uh… see you tomorrow,” he said lamely.
“Sure.”
He looked somewhat despondent as he picked up his belongings. Chloe watched as he left the office, and felt somewhat lonely now that his solid presence was no longer in the room.
God, it had been perilously close to being like old times at moments, except with a lot less laughter and snark. Despite her best intentions to throw up walls and negative vibes, It had been remarkably easy to be civil with him. They worked well together, always had, and apart from his initial mention of Lois early on, he’d kept to his end of the bargain and remained entirely professional. Which was what she wanted, of course.
Wasn’t it?
Chloe shook her head and gathered up her own belongings. Having Clark here was opening up a lot of windows in her soul that she’d thought had been permanently nailed shut when her baby boy had died, and far from causing her pain and grief as she’d thought it would, she actually found she could think about her son for the first time without that harsh, stabbing pain that had hitherto accompanied any thoughts of him that sprang to mind. Inexplicably, having Clark close by had somehow helped.
But that was not a valid enough reason to forget the events of the last several months. Too much water had gone under the bridge, and a professional, working relationship with Clark was the only one that she would accept from him now.
With a sigh, she shrugged her coat on and made her way downstairs and out of the building, pulling the collar up high as the wind picked up slightly.
Professional, she reminded herself. She would stick to that, and make sure he did, too.
Even if she was dying to know the story behind those glasses.
***
“So how has it been, working with Chloe?” Lana asked as she handed him a cup of coffee.
Clark smiled. “Better than I thought it would be, if I’m honest. She’s a great mentor, and this first week has been hard work, but very rewarding. I’m really learning a lot from her.”
“Wow,” Pete said, surprised. “And she hasn’t hidden green chunks of kryptonite around your office?”
“No, not at all. In fact, I’ve made myself very useful to her and saved her a lot of time and space.”
“Time and space?” Pete and Lana echoed.
“Space, in that I’ve archived all the old files that had been sitting on her desk gathering dust, so there’s more room in her office now. Time, in that I’ve volunteered to be her own personal typist, which means she gets everything done three or four times faster than she has in the past, so she’s turning out articles at a crazy rate now.”
“That’s great!” Lana said excitedly. “So when are you going to talk about… everything?”
Clark sighed. “I don’t know if we can,” he replied. “Things are okay as long as there’s no mention of anything personal; she’s all business. I mentioned Lois the other day again, and she damn near bit my head off.”
“Huh,” Lana mused.
“I want to talk to her, I really do. I have so many questions, but if I make one wrong move, I’ll be out of a job. Things are okay at the moment, and I can’t take the risk of losing what we have now.”
“Geez, that sounds awfully familiar,” Pete sad wryly.
Clark frowned. “Come on, Pete. I want to talk to her, but how?”
“Maybe you should try an alternative method of communication,” Lana suggested. “For the personal stuff.”
“She doesn’t want me calling, or texting, or emailing unless it’s related to work,” he said glumly. “She made that clear.”
“So try another avenue!”
“Like what?” Clark asked, exasperated.
Lana shared a glance with her husband and rolled her eyes. “Like a pen and paper, genius. Write her a letter. By hand.”
***
To be continued…