Smallville Big Bang 2012
Human Nature
Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3.
Chloe placed the receiver back into the cradle of the phone and folded her arms around herself. Her body trembled and she tried to make herself as small as was humanly possible. She’d picked at her pie, contemplating the conversation she’d had with Clark’s father mere minutes before and decided that she’d need to call Lois. As nice as it was to be able to wear Clark’s clothes, if she was going to help him, she needed something a little more fitting, a little less daring.
She had cringed as she relayed the message to Lois. Chloe sensed that Lois had been tickled pink, something about the opportunity to finally put her Florence Nightingale skills to the test. She sighed. Why did she even bother? Clark’s biological father was mild in comparison. He was all talk.
Chloe froze. Back in the hospital, back in Yukon. Clark had made the comment in jest and they’d laughed it off as the futile ramblings of a tired old artificial intelligence, a lonely old man pining for life, nothing but memories filed away for the benefit of the prodigal son.
Your actions will have consequences.
Chloe swallowed thickly. In hindsight, the statement did not engage her in merriment.
But how was that possible? Clark’s long-dead father was little more than a synthesized image, a download of brainwaves, not even capable of rational thought.
“Martha,” Chloe called, “Misses Kent,” She rushed to the coat rack at the front door. “I have to go.”
The hinges rasped and creaked as Chloe pulled back the old farm door. It bumped her hip as she used her hands to fold over the sweats that she wore. She toed on a pair of scuffed trainers that she kept by the door and crossed the threshold with her destination in mind.
With frantic footsteps Martha descended the staircase first leaving Jonathan to bring up the rear. Chloe sighed. How the hell was she supposed to get away from them now?
“Chloe, Honey,” Martha called through the filigree mesh of the screen that stood between them, like the chinks in a chain-mail armor.
Chloe raised her hands in front of her face, palms flat and face up, the universal sign for cessation.
“Don’t try to stop me, I have to do this for Clark,” Chloe tried to reason with the older woman.
“Okay, okay,” Martha raised her own two hands hesitantly, unconsciously mimicking the same actions that Chloe had displayed only moments before.
“Just tell us where you’re going,” Jonathan Kent’s voice carried over his wife’s shoulder. His hands clasped her forearms tightly and he struggled to maintain his composure in the face of Chloe’s obvious turmoil. Clark would never forgive lax behavior on his fathers watch, and with his sons life in the hands of fate the very least that Jonathan could do was to make sure that Chloe was safe.
“The fortress, I’m going to the fortress,” Chloe spoke as she stepped away from the door and turned towards the steps at the front of the house.
Jonathan stepped past his wife and threw the door open, long legs giving him the advantage as he paced across the streaky timber stoop that wavered beneath the weight of his strides.
“I can’t let you do that, Chloe, it’s too dangerous.” He shook his head and blocked her escape route, pleading with her not to go.
“But it could save Clark, you have to let me go, I’m the only person who knows how to get there.”
Again, Jonathan shook his head. “I’ve dealt with Jor-El before, Chloe. I know what he’s like.
Chloe threw her hands into the air. “So then come with me, please. You have to do this for Clark,” she gasped, finally taking the breath that she hadn’t realized she was holding.
Martha stood back from the pair and folded her arms. Quietly, she contemplated Chloe’s heartfelt plea. It was clear that her emotions were navigating her reckless behavior, leading Chloe astray, but Martha had long ago realized that emotions were not meant to be logical, she herself found it difficult to rationalize her feelings on the matter. Could she really allow Chloe to risk her life for the sake of her ailing son? Where was the fairness in that? Then again, without Clark, there would be no hope for the future. He deserved the chance to fulfill his destiny; at the very least he deserved the chance to make that choice for himself.
“I think the two of you should go,” Martha spoke calmly and clearly.
“Martha,” Jonathan turned on his heel to confront his wife.
“No, Jonathan. Clark needs help. Do you want him to die?”
“Of course I don’t want him to die,” he said, and his voice wavered between reluctance and acceptance. The guilt weighed upon his conscience, gnawing a hollow in his resolve to accomplish the impossible task.
Chloe gripped the thick timber railing and pulled herself back onto the landing. She cleared her throat and condensed her sentence down to facts, plucking her words with grammatical focus and stringing them together like a vibrant succession of tiny fairy lights suspended high above the apex of the loft trussing.
“I love your son,” She admitted shyly, and turned her gaze to the tips of her shoes. “Clark is worth so much more than my life. I don’t think any of us could forgive ourselves if we just sat back and allowed the inevitable to happen. I know this is dangerous, but I’m doing this for Clark.”
Jonathan’s nostrils flared as he exhaled through his nose and with his gaze fixed on Chloe, he spoke to his wife over his shoulder.
“I guess that means you’ll have to pull out the winter garb, Honey. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to be prepared.”
Chloe’s smile brightened and she couldn’t suppress the mew of delight that burst from her larynx.
“Warm clothes,” Martha repeated as Chloe passed her in a blur of anticipation.
“This is dangerous, Jonathan.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I know,” he nodded, and beckoned for his wife to come closer. “But it’s Clark.”
He pressed his forehead against hers and wrapped his arms around her securely. No words were spoken, there was no need. They knew that there was a chance that both Chloe and Jonathan would not return.
“Okay,” Chloe stood in the doorway, her shoulders cloaked with tightly woven nylon, fleecy lining and faux fur trim. Velcro wrist openings and built in neck warmers completed the ensemble. Knitted gloves protected her dainty fingers and Clark’s woolen scarf had been draped around her neck several times. Jonathan’s snow jacket hung from the crook of her finger.
“Ready when you are, Mister K.”
Martha and Jonathan watched Chloe bound down the drive and across the patch of front yard adjacent to the big red barn. The squeaky truck door announced her intentions and Jonathan sighed.
“Be safe, come back to us,” his wife whispered.
“I’m afraid it’s more likely that Chloe will throttle me if I don’t make a move …”
“I love you,” Martha cut him off abruptly.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her. Just look after Clark. I love you too.”
Martha heard the motor kick over and watched as the vehicle came to life, rolling tires back in reverse.
“We’re going to be able to help Clark, right?” Chloe asked Jonathan.
“Of course we are.” He watched as she wrung her hands together in her lap, over and over, her knuckles continually taking the rap.
She only hoped that he was right.
They were en route to the Kawatche caves, those underground caverns that spoke of Clark’s ancestry, the dated and unforgettable masterpiece enclosed in both time and space. Chloe clutched the octagonal key in the palm of her hand, nimble fingers unfurling time and again as she tried to tap into Clark’s aura.
Millers Bend grew closer as she watched the woodlands pass by the dusty windscreen.
A bitter cold wind swept around them and Chloe hastened her steps as the dank luminance threw shadows onto the walls around them. She pulled her parker around her small frame tightly and shuddered, trying to stave off the chill.
“Chloe,” the baritone voice behind her spoke. “We can go back you know, we can find some other way to help Clark. You don’t have to do this.”
Chloe shook her head defiantly and inched her way towards the looming platform that stood proudly like an altar, maintaining its purpose as one of the last few remaining Kryptonian teleportation arrangements.
Her hands shook as she extended her arm and she fought to keep her composure. She swallowed thickly and like a child with a toy, her fine motor skills took charge and she slotted the relic into the ornately carved crevice. Eight sides all in sequence.
Before she could warn Clark’s father, the two were enveloped in a flash of streaming bright white, like tiny slivers of shattered glass, like a sonic boom and the flailing rapture of observing the frigid air trail left behind in its wake.
Chloe lifted her face from the cold hard floor of the fortress and groaned as she cupped her cheek where the impact had occurred. Her head ached and she blinked rapidly, trying to form some sense of cohesive apprehension. Beside her, Jonathan stirred and managed to push himself into a kneeling position.
“Chloe,” he crawled towards her on his hands and knees, hissing as the ice bit into the skin on the palm of his hands.
Chloe furrowed her brow and opened her mouth to say something. She observed her surroundings and turned her face to the heavens as she shouted.
“Jor-El, I know you’re here. What have you done to Clark?”
For a moment there was silence, and Chloe felt her heart in her mouth as her belly plummeted, and then the voice of Clark’s late biological father came to fruition.
“Chloe Sullivan. You have no business here, lest you fail to recall the events of your most recent dwellings here in the Fortress of Solitude.”
Jonathan pulled Chloe to her feet and she tottered, the cold suddenly confined to the marrow of her bones, it had gone right through her and her teeth began to chatter, her lips were blue.
“What did you do to Clark?” She repeated the question. “I know you had something to do with this.”
“My son chose to defy me. The consequences of his actions were set in motion long before this day. He did not listen. I am afraid he must now suffer. There is nothing I can do.”
“Clark will die if you don’t help him,” Jonathan held Chloe at his side, one arm around her shoulders as the two huddled together.
“Then perhaps I have done my son a disservice by leaving him in your care, Jonathan Kent.”
“How dare you …” Jonathan stepped forward with his fist raised, and Chloe’s legs swayed and her body threatened to buckle.
“You have to help him, please,” Chloe pleaded mercy for Clark, but Jor-El was not a reasonable man. He was little amused and refused to hear them out.
“You mean well, but this is not your war. Innocents must be spared.”
“Clark is innocent …” Chloe trailed off, her feet fell from under her and the darkness claimed her.
Her forehead felt feverish as she swiped at her fringe with the back of her hand. Her cheek was throbbing and she was sure it was swollen. Her legs ached, but try as she might, Chloe could not open her eyes. She wiggled her nose and sighed.
“I think she moved,” Lois said from her position at the head of the bead. She loitered there waiting for Chloe to wake.
“Are you sure?” Clark asked from his seat where his mother had bundled him and left Lois to keep guard over the two currently residing in the luxury of Chez Kent.
“Yes. Look,” Lois lowered her gaze and pointed her index finger at the tip of Chloe’s nose.
“Why are you here again?” Clark asked Lois who was concentrating on the rise and fall of Chloe’s chest, her face pressed as close to her cousin as she could possibly manage.
“Chloe wanted me to bring her some clothes,” she replied without blinking. “It’s weird you know, she must have caught your flu or something, because she was fine yesterday. You were fine yesterday.”
“Yeah,” Clark intoned and rolled his eyes as he plucked at the frayed hem of his mothers worn chenille blanket. “Weird.”
“Cl-ark.”
At first Clark had been sure that he’d mistaken the voice, raspy though it was, Chloe had been old cold when his father had staggered up the front steps with Chloe draped in his arms. It was just his mind playing tricks, another side affect of his sudden mysterious illness.
“Clark.”
Clark’s head whipped around and he looked at Chloe. He’d definitely heard it the second time. As sure as he was Kryptonian, that had been Chloe’s voice. Clark pushed his hands onto the arm rests of his chair and forced his feet to lift his body, but Lois waved him off with a flick of her wrist.
“No, Honey, its Lois. I’m right here. How are you feeling?”
“Thirsty,” Chloe gasped and winced through the pain of trying to clear her dry throat through chapped lips.
“I’ll get you some water,” Lois fussed with Chloe’s pillow, tucked the comforter in around Chloe’s body and smiled as she headed for the door. “No funny business you two,” she threw the idle comment over her shoulder unaware of the predicament that both Chloe and Clark had found themselves in before Chloe had left for the fortress.
“Hey,” Clark said as he shuffled himself over to the other side of the bed where Chloe was resting. “I’m glad you’re okay, Chloe. You had me worried.”
Chloe opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t. She closed her eyes. The sight of her obvious discomfort did nothing to ease Clark or his conscience.
“Don’t talk. Just get better.”
Clark leaned sideward’s, resting his weight upon the mattress as he hovered over Chloe. He craned his neck to press his lips against her temple and settled in for the long haul, exactly the same way that she had.
Chapter 4
Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3.
Chloe placed the receiver back into the cradle of the phone and folded her arms around herself. Her body trembled and she tried to make herself as small as was humanly possible. She’d picked at her pie, contemplating the conversation she’d had with Clark’s father mere minutes before and decided that she’d need to call Lois. As nice as it was to be able to wear Clark’s clothes, if she was going to help him, she needed something a little more fitting, a little less daring.
She had cringed as she relayed the message to Lois. Chloe sensed that Lois had been tickled pink, something about the opportunity to finally put her Florence Nightingale skills to the test. She sighed. Why did she even bother? Clark’s biological father was mild in comparison. He was all talk.
Chloe froze. Back in the hospital, back in Yukon. Clark had made the comment in jest and they’d laughed it off as the futile ramblings of a tired old artificial intelligence, a lonely old man pining for life, nothing but memories filed away for the benefit of the prodigal son.
Your actions will have consequences.
Chloe swallowed thickly. In hindsight, the statement did not engage her in merriment.
But how was that possible? Clark’s long-dead father was little more than a synthesized image, a download of brainwaves, not even capable of rational thought.
“Martha,” Chloe called, “Misses Kent,” She rushed to the coat rack at the front door. “I have to go.”
The hinges rasped and creaked as Chloe pulled back the old farm door. It bumped her hip as she used her hands to fold over the sweats that she wore. She toed on a pair of scuffed trainers that she kept by the door and crossed the threshold with her destination in mind.
With frantic footsteps Martha descended the staircase first leaving Jonathan to bring up the rear. Chloe sighed. How the hell was she supposed to get away from them now?
“Chloe, Honey,” Martha called through the filigree mesh of the screen that stood between them, like the chinks in a chain-mail armor.
Chloe raised her hands in front of her face, palms flat and face up, the universal sign for cessation.
“Don’t try to stop me, I have to do this for Clark,” Chloe tried to reason with the older woman.
“Okay, okay,” Martha raised her own two hands hesitantly, unconsciously mimicking the same actions that Chloe had displayed only moments before.
“Just tell us where you’re going,” Jonathan Kent’s voice carried over his wife’s shoulder. His hands clasped her forearms tightly and he struggled to maintain his composure in the face of Chloe’s obvious turmoil. Clark would never forgive lax behavior on his fathers watch, and with his sons life in the hands of fate the very least that Jonathan could do was to make sure that Chloe was safe.
“The fortress, I’m going to the fortress,” Chloe spoke as she stepped away from the door and turned towards the steps at the front of the house.
Jonathan stepped past his wife and threw the door open, long legs giving him the advantage as he paced across the streaky timber stoop that wavered beneath the weight of his strides.
“I can’t let you do that, Chloe, it’s too dangerous.” He shook his head and blocked her escape route, pleading with her not to go.
“But it could save Clark, you have to let me go, I’m the only person who knows how to get there.”
Again, Jonathan shook his head. “I’ve dealt with Jor-El before, Chloe. I know what he’s like.
Chloe threw her hands into the air. “So then come with me, please. You have to do this for Clark,” she gasped, finally taking the breath that she hadn’t realized she was holding.
Martha stood back from the pair and folded her arms. Quietly, she contemplated Chloe’s heartfelt plea. It was clear that her emotions were navigating her reckless behavior, leading Chloe astray, but Martha had long ago realized that emotions were not meant to be logical, she herself found it difficult to rationalize her feelings on the matter. Could she really allow Chloe to risk her life for the sake of her ailing son? Where was the fairness in that? Then again, without Clark, there would be no hope for the future. He deserved the chance to fulfill his destiny; at the very least he deserved the chance to make that choice for himself.
“I think the two of you should go,” Martha spoke calmly and clearly.
“Martha,” Jonathan turned on his heel to confront his wife.
“No, Jonathan. Clark needs help. Do you want him to die?”
“Of course I don’t want him to die,” he said, and his voice wavered between reluctance and acceptance. The guilt weighed upon his conscience, gnawing a hollow in his resolve to accomplish the impossible task.
Chloe gripped the thick timber railing and pulled herself back onto the landing. She cleared her throat and condensed her sentence down to facts, plucking her words with grammatical focus and stringing them together like a vibrant succession of tiny fairy lights suspended high above the apex of the loft trussing.
“I love your son,” She admitted shyly, and turned her gaze to the tips of her shoes. “Clark is worth so much more than my life. I don’t think any of us could forgive ourselves if we just sat back and allowed the inevitable to happen. I know this is dangerous, but I’m doing this for Clark.”
Jonathan’s nostrils flared as he exhaled through his nose and with his gaze fixed on Chloe, he spoke to his wife over his shoulder.
“I guess that means you’ll have to pull out the winter garb, Honey. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to be prepared.”
Chloe’s smile brightened and she couldn’t suppress the mew of delight that burst from her larynx.
“Warm clothes,” Martha repeated as Chloe passed her in a blur of anticipation.
“This is dangerous, Jonathan.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I know,” he nodded, and beckoned for his wife to come closer. “But it’s Clark.”
He pressed his forehead against hers and wrapped his arms around her securely. No words were spoken, there was no need. They knew that there was a chance that both Chloe and Jonathan would not return.
“Okay,” Chloe stood in the doorway, her shoulders cloaked with tightly woven nylon, fleecy lining and faux fur trim. Velcro wrist openings and built in neck warmers completed the ensemble. Knitted gloves protected her dainty fingers and Clark’s woolen scarf had been draped around her neck several times. Jonathan’s snow jacket hung from the crook of her finger.
“Ready when you are, Mister K.”
Martha and Jonathan watched Chloe bound down the drive and across the patch of front yard adjacent to the big red barn. The squeaky truck door announced her intentions and Jonathan sighed.
“Be safe, come back to us,” his wife whispered.
“I’m afraid it’s more likely that Chloe will throttle me if I don’t make a move …”
“I love you,” Martha cut him off abruptly.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her. Just look after Clark. I love you too.”
Martha heard the motor kick over and watched as the vehicle came to life, rolling tires back in reverse.
“We’re going to be able to help Clark, right?” Chloe asked Jonathan.
“Of course we are.” He watched as she wrung her hands together in her lap, over and over, her knuckles continually taking the rap.
She only hoped that he was right.
They were en route to the Kawatche caves, those underground caverns that spoke of Clark’s ancestry, the dated and unforgettable masterpiece enclosed in both time and space. Chloe clutched the octagonal key in the palm of her hand, nimble fingers unfurling time and again as she tried to tap into Clark’s aura.
Millers Bend grew closer as she watched the woodlands pass by the dusty windscreen.
A bitter cold wind swept around them and Chloe hastened her steps as the dank luminance threw shadows onto the walls around them. She pulled her parker around her small frame tightly and shuddered, trying to stave off the chill.
“Chloe,” the baritone voice behind her spoke. “We can go back you know, we can find some other way to help Clark. You don’t have to do this.”
Chloe shook her head defiantly and inched her way towards the looming platform that stood proudly like an altar, maintaining its purpose as one of the last few remaining Kryptonian teleportation arrangements.
Her hands shook as she extended her arm and she fought to keep her composure. She swallowed thickly and like a child with a toy, her fine motor skills took charge and she slotted the relic into the ornately carved crevice. Eight sides all in sequence.
Before she could warn Clark’s father, the two were enveloped in a flash of streaming bright white, like tiny slivers of shattered glass, like a sonic boom and the flailing rapture of observing the frigid air trail left behind in its wake.
Chloe lifted her face from the cold hard floor of the fortress and groaned as she cupped her cheek where the impact had occurred. Her head ached and she blinked rapidly, trying to form some sense of cohesive apprehension. Beside her, Jonathan stirred and managed to push himself into a kneeling position.
“Chloe,” he crawled towards her on his hands and knees, hissing as the ice bit into the skin on the palm of his hands.
Chloe furrowed her brow and opened her mouth to say something. She observed her surroundings and turned her face to the heavens as she shouted.
“Jor-El, I know you’re here. What have you done to Clark?”
For a moment there was silence, and Chloe felt her heart in her mouth as her belly plummeted, and then the voice of Clark’s late biological father came to fruition.
“Chloe Sullivan. You have no business here, lest you fail to recall the events of your most recent dwellings here in the Fortress of Solitude.”
Jonathan pulled Chloe to her feet and she tottered, the cold suddenly confined to the marrow of her bones, it had gone right through her and her teeth began to chatter, her lips were blue.
“What did you do to Clark?” She repeated the question. “I know you had something to do with this.”
“My son chose to defy me. The consequences of his actions were set in motion long before this day. He did not listen. I am afraid he must now suffer. There is nothing I can do.”
“Clark will die if you don’t help him,” Jonathan held Chloe at his side, one arm around her shoulders as the two huddled together.
“Then perhaps I have done my son a disservice by leaving him in your care, Jonathan Kent.”
“How dare you …” Jonathan stepped forward with his fist raised, and Chloe’s legs swayed and her body threatened to buckle.
“You have to help him, please,” Chloe pleaded mercy for Clark, but Jor-El was not a reasonable man. He was little amused and refused to hear them out.
“You mean well, but this is not your war. Innocents must be spared.”
“Clark is innocent …” Chloe trailed off, her feet fell from under her and the darkness claimed her.
Her forehead felt feverish as she swiped at her fringe with the back of her hand. Her cheek was throbbing and she was sure it was swollen. Her legs ached, but try as she might, Chloe could not open her eyes. She wiggled her nose and sighed.
“I think she moved,” Lois said from her position at the head of the bead. She loitered there waiting for Chloe to wake.
“Are you sure?” Clark asked from his seat where his mother had bundled him and left Lois to keep guard over the two currently residing in the luxury of Chez Kent.
“Yes. Look,” Lois lowered her gaze and pointed her index finger at the tip of Chloe’s nose.
“Why are you here again?” Clark asked Lois who was concentrating on the rise and fall of Chloe’s chest, her face pressed as close to her cousin as she could possibly manage.
“Chloe wanted me to bring her some clothes,” she replied without blinking. “It’s weird you know, she must have caught your flu or something, because she was fine yesterday. You were fine yesterday.”
“Yeah,” Clark intoned and rolled his eyes as he plucked at the frayed hem of his mothers worn chenille blanket. “Weird.”
“Cl-ark.”
At first Clark had been sure that he’d mistaken the voice, raspy though it was, Chloe had been old cold when his father had staggered up the front steps with Chloe draped in his arms. It was just his mind playing tricks, another side affect of his sudden mysterious illness.
“Clark.”
Clark’s head whipped around and he looked at Chloe. He’d definitely heard it the second time. As sure as he was Kryptonian, that had been Chloe’s voice. Clark pushed his hands onto the arm rests of his chair and forced his feet to lift his body, but Lois waved him off with a flick of her wrist.
“No, Honey, its Lois. I’m right here. How are you feeling?”
“Thirsty,” Chloe gasped and winced through the pain of trying to clear her dry throat through chapped lips.
“I’ll get you some water,” Lois fussed with Chloe’s pillow, tucked the comforter in around Chloe’s body and smiled as she headed for the door. “No funny business you two,” she threw the idle comment over her shoulder unaware of the predicament that both Chloe and Clark had found themselves in before Chloe had left for the fortress.
“Hey,” Clark said as he shuffled himself over to the other side of the bed where Chloe was resting. “I’m glad you’re okay, Chloe. You had me worried.”
Chloe opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t. She closed her eyes. The sight of her obvious discomfort did nothing to ease Clark or his conscience.
“Don’t talk. Just get better.”
Clark leaned sideward’s, resting his weight upon the mattress as he hovered over Chloe. He craned his neck to press his lips against her temple and settled in for the long haul, exactly the same way that she had.
Chapter 4