Chlark Fanfic: Crisis, Chapter 9
I know I sound like a broken record, but sorry for the long wait on this one, people! Good news is that the next chapter is almost now ready.
Enjoy.
I love feedback, by the way. ;-)
Hauntingly beautiful banner by doomedxdream . Many thanks for your kindness! :-)
Title: Crisis
Author: BabyDee
Pairing: Chlark/Kaloe
Rating: NC-17 (this chapter PG-13)
Warnings: Some bad language
Timeline: Season 2-3 (Exodus - Exile; Clark’s RedK Summer)
Disclaimer: All characters belong to the CW & DC comics.
Summary: A violent encounter between Chloe and Clark threatens to destroy their friendship forever.
Feedback: …is love. J
Read previous chapter here.
Read story from the beginning here.
Chapter 9
Clark took a slight step back to ease the nauseous agony from the green rock that sat not far from Chloe’s left hand.
“Um…” he swallowed hard. “I’m not quite sure exactly where to begin-”
“”Thirty seconds gone,” she said coldly.
“I wasn’t born anywhere near here,” he said quickly. “And I wasn’t legally adopted via Metropolis United Charities like my adoption papers said.”
“Why are you wasting valuable time telling me shit I already know?” she said stonily. “Shit you wouldn’t have even known about if I hadn’t made you aware? I told you ages ago that yours was the only ‘adoption’ handled by that Luthor-funded organisation; even an idiot would know something was up with that.”
“I’m trying to explain why I pleaded with you to stop digging into my past,” he said patiently. “When my parents adopted me, I was about three years old, and -”
“I don’t believe this,” she said incredulously. “Is where you say that you had a rough childhood, and by the time the Kent’s got to you, it was too late because your psyche was already irreparably damaged? How fucking original.” She picked up her phone again and started dialling 911.
“The whole adoption was a sham!” he blurted out nervously. Chloe paused before hitting the dial button and narrowed her eyes.
“I’m waiting,” she said impatiently, tapping her foot.
He gulped and continued. “My parents found me in the cornfield on the day of the meteor shower; I was naked but unharmed,” he said. “The reason they went through with the fake adoption was to protect me.”
Chloe shook her head. “I know your parents, Clark,” she said stiffly. “Your dad can’t even run a red light, let alone go through with a fake adoption funded by none other than Lionel Luthor.”
“They didn’t have much of a choice,” he said quietly. “When they picked me up, they saw that I had…I had just emerged from a…from a spaceship that had arrived with the meteor shower.”
On hearing the word spaceship, Chloe stared hard at him for several seconds.
“Okay…” she said slowly when she was able to speak. “So, what you’re saying is that you’re a…a…” she trailed off, and he finished her sentence for her.
“I’m an alien.”
Her already wide eyes widened even further, but then narrowed skeptically after a few seconds. “Funny; you look a lot like the rest of us puny humans. And you bleed red blood.”
“It’s because I have a similar physiognomy to humans that I was sent to earth in the first place,” he explained, but she wasn’t having it.
“I don’t buy that crap,” she said flatly, folding her arms and went on. “You’re not an alien Clark; you’re just a pathetic little meteor freak who’s trying to blame his reprehensible actions on a bold-faced lie.”
Clark shook his head slowly. “I’m not lying to you, Chloe.”
“Yeah, well tell it to the cops.” She reached for the phone again.
“I have a lot of unusual abilities,” he said gently. “More than the average meteor infected person.”
Her hand stilled again and she regarded him warily. “Such as?”
He paused. “I’m invulnerable, and I can move really fast.”
“That much I gathered. What else?”
“I can see through solid objects, as long as they don’t have any lead in them.”
She glanced down at the innocuous-looking little box which currently housed the green rock, which was pulsing and glowing lightly. “The lead acts as a neutraliser,” she thought aloud.
He nodded. “I think there are some components in it that mirror the geological structure of my home planet, before it imploded.”
“Home planet?” she echoed. “Where exactly are you from?”
“Krypton, it was called.”
She snorted. “Couldn’t you think up a better lie than that, Clark? I don’t need to remind you that we both memorised the Periodic Table in your loft in a single afternoon.”
He took a deep, steadying breath. “I’m telling you the truth, Chloe. You remember Joseph Willowbrook, who knew about the markings in the Kawatche caves? He spoke of his ancestors having received a visitor from the sky, bringing great power, knowledge and culture with him, some of which he shared with them.”
She frowned, and he could see her thinking rapidly, connecting the dots.
“So let me get this straight,” she quipped, “You dropped out of the sky in the meteor shower; Mr and Mrs Kent found you wandering in a field next to a spaceship, surmised you weren’t from around here and adopted you out of the goodness of their hearts, and have kept your true identity a secret ever since?”
He nodded. “That’s about right.”
She scowled at him. “Assuming you’re telling the truth,” she drawled, “what’s anything you’ve just told me got to do with you being a rapist?”
The ugliness of that word never failed to jolt him. “There’s some other things I need to explain; I’m not trying to shift blame or look for excuses, but I would never have attacked you if I hadn’t been exposed to -”
“Excuse me - Chloe? Clark?” called a voice from the doorway. Both of them turned, startled as the school football coach strode into the Torch, flanked by Sheriff Nancy Adams and two police officers.
“Coach Brodie,” she said evenly, slipping her gun stealthily into her pocket. “Good evening. How can we help?”
Clark was more than grateful that Chloe, as always, managed to think on her feet and maintain a schooled facial expression, even in the most perilous of situations. He tried desperately not to shuffle his feet as the Sheriff hooked her fingers into her beltloops and fixed her piercing gaze on him, clearly determined to pick out any tell-tale changes that would doubtless cross his face sooner or later. Casually he crossed his arms over his chest, obscuring the scorched, gaping bullethole over his heart, and attempted lamely to stare back.
“Sheriff Adams and her colleagues are responding to an emergency call made from here about five to six minutes ago,” Coach Brodie explained.
“Which one of y’all called the police?” interrupted the Sheriff, still glaring pointedly at Clark.
Chloe held up a hand. “I did,” she replied smartly.
The sheriff’s gaze slide to her, eyes narrowed. “You never struck me as the prank call type, Miss Sullivan.”
“I’m not,” she hastened to reassure her. “I was in here with Clark, and we thought we heard a gunshot, but just as I’d connected to 911 I saw a dusty-looking truck rumble by which made the same noise again, only more quietly.”
“A truck?” Sheriff Adams echoed. “You sure about that?”
Chloe nodded. “Clark saw it too, didn’t you, Clark?”
“Uh…yeah…yes, I did,” he said, his face flushing a tell-tale red. “Though I didn’t get a very good view, more like just disappearing taillights down the road.”
“What colour was the truck, Ms Sullivan?” she asked bluntly. “Seeing as Mr Kent here always seems to develop selective amnesia whenever I’m in his orbit.”
“Come on, Sheriff, you can see how dark it is!” Chloe argued. “And the driver didn’t stop by to say hello, if that’s your next question.”
Sheriff Nancy Adams folded her arms and stared Chloe down. “See, the thing is, everyone out on the football field heard a ‘gunshot’ too,” she said, glaring at each one of them sternly. “Only they didn’t see no truck, neither did they hear a second noise, like you did.”
“That’s because the football field is all the way on the other side of campus,” Chloe responded wisely, staring the older woman in the eye. “There’s no way they can see the road from over there. And I did mention that the second bang was considerably less audible than the first.”
“Hmm. Is there a chance that the truck driver was aiming his gun at either one of you?” she said bluntly.
“Sheriff, please!” Chloe exclaimed. “Why on earth would anyone want to take potshots at a couple of nerdy High School students?”
“Well, the stack of mysteriously unsolved casefiles and near misses on my desk as long as my arm are more than good enough reason,” Sheriff Adams replied slyly. “Especially when they’re peppered with your name, Miss Sullivan - and Mr Kent’s name appears in each and every one of them.”
***
Chapter 10…