Chlark Fic-a-thon
A story I wrote for a fic-a-thon that was due last Thursday.
Pairing: Chloe/Clark
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst
Summary: Chloe is kidnapped. A short caption into what that horrifying experience would be like for her and the person who loves her most. I am thinking of goging further with this. Let me know what you think.
The first thing she notices when she opens her eyes is how hot the room is. The seasons have turned and it is winter now, but the heat that generates from an as yet unknown source is too much even for the weather. It is almost suffocating. She tries to sit up-she’s been arranged to lie flat on her back-but that sudden motion proves to be too much. Head spinning from her efforts, she falls back on the hard floor with a groan, a million thoughts racing through her head at once.
Where is she? Who would want to kidnap her? The last thing she remembered before finding herself lying here is a man wearing all black running towards her. She had seen the inevitable coming when his hand, holding what looked like a long wooden block, took a swing at her head. But she had been too slow to stop it.
It has only been 2 minutes since she’s become conscious of her surroundings and it is illogical to think that her kidnappers would appear now just because she’s woken up, but still…is it too much to ask for them to make their intentions known? For them not to draw out the suspense? Otherwise her mind is free to wander, and the things she conjures up are far worse than what her captors hold in store.
Aren’t they?
The only thing Chloe wishes for now is that they won’t rape her. She is sure she can survive other means of torture, but she isn’t sure she can survive that.
Suddenly something occurs to her then that sends a jolt of fear through her heart. She has assumed too much. What if rape is the least of what they do? What if they are planning to kill her? What if the rape makes her crazy, like her mother, and then they kill her?
Chloe’s thoughts race along this track for several panicked moments as she stares at the ceiling. Abruptly, she tries to force calm upon herself. Counting backwards from 25 to 1 aloud and taking deep breaths eases the pain in her chest, but still her mind is overwrought by the morbid undertaking of her thoughts.
Thankfully, there is no reason to lose it just yet. There is Clark. Clark will save her. Clark always saves her, even when the situation seems worse than hopeless. And now will be no different.
She turns on her side and curls into a ball hoping to God that she is right.
***********************************************************
There is no toilet for her to pee in, so when the sensation becomes unbearable, she stoops in a corner and relieves herself with as much dignity as she can muster. Hopefully there are no cameras in the room. Still, cameras are the least of her worries now. Now, the heat mixed with the scent of urine causes Chloe’s eyes to cross from the stench.
It has been 24 hours according to her watch, and still no sign of her captors or savior.
She paces the length of the small room, up and down, stepping over her discarded jacket and shirt as she goes. There is a sound from somewhere outside, the first sign of activity she’s received since being here, and she stops in her tracks. Chloe is unwilling to take even a breath as that single act could prevent her from hearing more. Slowly she makes her way over to the hard plastic wall of her cell and puts her ear to the door.
After 5 minutes of straining to hear something new but failing, Chloe reminds herself to be patient. She did hear a sound. There will be another. And maybe then she can start to piece together where she is and who has taken her. After 10 minutes Chloe begins to convince herself that maybe the sound was imagined. Perhaps these were the first signs of insanity? She shakes her head no. It has only been 24 hours and quick sounds are easy to imagine. This is by no means a sign that she is losing her mind.
Her stomach grumbles then, a blessed relief as it causes her to shift her attention elsewhere. Her head is hurting more than ever now and her ears are ringing but she has, until this point, chalked these symptoms up to the blow she received earlier. But maybe she is feeling this way because she’s had nothing to eat for the last 2 days. Chloe slides down the wall and plants her hand firmly over her belly. Perhaps this shift in attention is not so blessed after all. This is the first time since she’s awoken that she’s thought of food.
Maybe they are planning to starve her to death.
*********************************************
It has been 3 days since her waking and still no sign of her captors or Clark. Though the room is hot and the stench is just as unbearable, the metal molding of the wall is cool. Her head is resting there now, trying to stave the nausea from eclipsing her completely.
She had tried to escape, searching for some inconsistency in the walls surface, but there were none. At least nothing that she could use. This thought brings her mind back to Clark-Clark who she has been waiting on to save her. It is during this time of waiting that she remembers who she is. She is Chloe Sullivan investigative reporter and is prone to occasionally saving her own ass. Which is why she is in this predicament now, completely winded from banging, clawing and yelling for her release.
Even before her rampage the room swayed and her head was light. But now her hands are trembling and her mouth is dry. These are symptoms for something, that much she is sure of, and only when she thinks back to her high school health class does it finally hit her.
Closing her eyes she wonders morbidly how long it takes a person to dehydrate.
**********************************************
Chloe is desperate. It has been 5 days since she has awakened and no one has made any signs of contacting her. She is sitting in a corner, arms wrapped around her knees, teeth chattering. It is no longer unbearably hot but unbearably cold. As of yet she cannot say which extreme is better. All she can say for sure is that she is just as uncomfortable as before. But now, her nose is no longer assaulted. Now, if she takes shallow breaths she cannot smell the urine from the other side of the room. She had been afraid that she would need to relieve herself in other ways, but thankfully fear has frozen her bowels.
The cold and the smell of urine-or the lack thereof-are not the cause of her desperation however. It is that terrible thing called silence which trumps all of these other discomforts. It is the silence that causes her to grip her calves so painfully. The silence which makes her rock back and forth. It is the silence which threatens to take her over the edge.
She swallows the scream that is building inside of her mouth and lets out a strangled moan. Her throat is sore, tired from when she had sought to sing…and pray…then sob when no relief from the silence came. Now she sits, staring at nothing thinking of everything, tears leaking from her eyes.
She will never see Lois again. She will never see Clark…poor Clark. With everything that has been happening to him recently she is sorry for what her death will do to him. He loved her only as a friend to be sure, but that is enough. Enough for the grief that will surely take him when they find her. If they find her. A shudder passes through her at the thought. What if she is never found and her body remains in this room, or worse yet, buried in some anonymous hole in the ground.
She is starved, dehydrated, and injured-a lethal combination given her circumstances. She can see her death approaching:
fast
uninterrupted
clear.
Inconceivably, it is in this moment-when she thinks she has died-that hope asserts itself in the form of a small box. One which opens and closes, pushing in a small tray of food and water. She looks at it, distrusting of the contents at first, but eventually hunger wins. After she eats, she realizes quite suddenly that she is not alone. There is someone there, outside of this box. Someone who has thought to give her food and drink, and that realization gives her comfort. Lying down and curling into a ball she falls asleep.
***************************************
He is not the same and everyone knows it. This is why they have taken to staying out of his way. Where he was pleasant he is cantankerous. Where he was helpful he is disagreeable. Those who do not know think it is because he’s finally broken away from his farm boy manners and is now embracing the aggressive attitude brought on by city life. Those who know pity him, but avoid him all the same. No one wants to be on the receiving end of his fury. Not like poor Elizabeth from editing who merely told him how sorry she was for Chloe’s disappearance. Everyone stopped to stare when he yelled “Chloe isn’t dead yet” and watched, stunned, as Clark “the nice guy” stormed out of the Planet. This happened 2 days ago and no one has seen him since. The boss says that he called out sick.
But now it is day 7. A whole week and still not a sign of who has taken Chloe or where she is. 7 days of frustration, anger, pain, and now… desperation.
He has talked to people, he has worked with them and he has even threatened them, but to no avail. He sits in his room now thinking of what will happen if he can’t find Chloe-the authorities surely won’t-if she dies. Sure there is his mom, but excluding her, there will be no one left. His father is dead, Lana is as good as dead, Pete left, and Lois is…Lois.
And this is the problem.
Each of these people has or had a specific place in his heart that can’t be replaced by the other. Though Lois is special, she is not Chloe. She cannot fill the gap that Chloe’s death would bring. Chloe is his friend, his best friend. She is the bearer of his secret. She is the one he goes to for help, who covers for him.
Clark’s chest constricts then with realization. He bows his head and a few tears, which he refuses to let fall, prickle his eyes. She is the one he loves. Sweet, reliable, beautiful, aggravating, intelligent, snarky Chloe. Clark is angry with himself and he squeezes his fist. The plastic covering and the object that lies inside some how remains remarkably intact. Maybe because the substance is just as alien as he is.
God, why did it always take these life altering moments for him to figure out the things that matter most?
At least, he thinks sullenly, this answers his question. He has given thought to it for some time, but was unsure until now. Control is never a thing one can relinquish easily. To save the one he loves, however, he will do that and more. Taking a deep breath, Clark opens his hand. In it lies the plastic case that contains the glowing meteor rock, and he looks at it acceptingly. Perhaps he doesn’t have the nerve, the daring or the ruthlessness to find Chloe.
But Kal-El certainly did.
Clark closes his eyes and puts on the ring containing Red Kryptonite. When he opens them again they are stormy and dark and savage.
Kal-El splays his fingers and looks contemplatively at both hands. It has been quite some time since he’s been let out, and sadly, that single consideration is as far is his thoughts can go. Whatever further musings he was set to engage in are cut short at the sight of his clothes. Where did the farm boy come up with these outfits?
Taking his time, he unbuttons his shirt revealing the black Tee underneath. Throwing the offensive material aside, Kal-El strides to the closet and searches until he finds what he is looking for. The cold doesn’t bother him much, but for appearances sake he knows that a coat is necessary. Quickly he slides on the black jacket he finds hanging in the back.
Next he takes off his jeans and boots, opting instead to wear black dress pants and sensible black shoes. Thank God the farm boy occasionally went to church. Before he leaves, he looks at himself in the mirror and admires what he sees there. One didn’t have to go on a search and rescue mission looking bad, right? No.
Kal-El smirks, an arrogant looking thing, and makes his way towards the door. Just as he is about to step into the corridor, a picture of a smiling blonde girl catches his eye. He looks at it intently, knowing this to be the one he is searching for. The girl that he loves. The girl that has been stolen from him. At this thought, the smirk is instantly wiped off of his face and replaced with something much more sinister. Kal-El clenches his fists.
Someone has actually had the nerve to take what is his. The fire which lay dormant a few seconds prior is stoked inside of him now, and he rips the picture off the wall, unmindful that the edges have torn. Folding it carefully, he slips the photo in his jacket pocket and stalks out of the house. It is lucky for Clark’s mothers that she is not home and is working on another campaign. The murderous look on her sons face would have killed her.
******************************
Pairing: Chloe/Clark
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst
Summary: Chloe is kidnapped. A short caption into what that horrifying experience would be like for her and the person who loves her most. I am thinking of goging further with this. Let me know what you think.
The first thing she notices when she opens her eyes is how hot the room is. The seasons have turned and it is winter now, but the heat that generates from an as yet unknown source is too much even for the weather. It is almost suffocating. She tries to sit up-she’s been arranged to lie flat on her back-but that sudden motion proves to be too much. Head spinning from her efforts, she falls back on the hard floor with a groan, a million thoughts racing through her head at once.
Where is she? Who would want to kidnap her? The last thing she remembered before finding herself lying here is a man wearing all black running towards her. She had seen the inevitable coming when his hand, holding what looked like a long wooden block, took a swing at her head. But she had been too slow to stop it.
It has only been 2 minutes since she’s become conscious of her surroundings and it is illogical to think that her kidnappers would appear now just because she’s woken up, but still…is it too much to ask for them to make their intentions known? For them not to draw out the suspense? Otherwise her mind is free to wander, and the things she conjures up are far worse than what her captors hold in store.
Aren’t they?
The only thing Chloe wishes for now is that they won’t rape her. She is sure she can survive other means of torture, but she isn’t sure she can survive that.
Suddenly something occurs to her then that sends a jolt of fear through her heart. She has assumed too much. What if rape is the least of what they do? What if they are planning to kill her? What if the rape makes her crazy, like her mother, and then they kill her?
Chloe’s thoughts race along this track for several panicked moments as she stares at the ceiling. Abruptly, she tries to force calm upon herself. Counting backwards from 25 to 1 aloud and taking deep breaths eases the pain in her chest, but still her mind is overwrought by the morbid undertaking of her thoughts.
Thankfully, there is no reason to lose it just yet. There is Clark. Clark will save her. Clark always saves her, even when the situation seems worse than hopeless. And now will be no different.
She turns on her side and curls into a ball hoping to God that she is right.
***********************************************************
There is no toilet for her to pee in, so when the sensation becomes unbearable, she stoops in a corner and relieves herself with as much dignity as she can muster. Hopefully there are no cameras in the room. Still, cameras are the least of her worries now. Now, the heat mixed with the scent of urine causes Chloe’s eyes to cross from the stench.
It has been 24 hours according to her watch, and still no sign of her captors or savior.
She paces the length of the small room, up and down, stepping over her discarded jacket and shirt as she goes. There is a sound from somewhere outside, the first sign of activity she’s received since being here, and she stops in her tracks. Chloe is unwilling to take even a breath as that single act could prevent her from hearing more. Slowly she makes her way over to the hard plastic wall of her cell and puts her ear to the door.
After 5 minutes of straining to hear something new but failing, Chloe reminds herself to be patient. She did hear a sound. There will be another. And maybe then she can start to piece together where she is and who has taken her. After 10 minutes Chloe begins to convince herself that maybe the sound was imagined. Perhaps these were the first signs of insanity? She shakes her head no. It has only been 24 hours and quick sounds are easy to imagine. This is by no means a sign that she is losing her mind.
Her stomach grumbles then, a blessed relief as it causes her to shift her attention elsewhere. Her head is hurting more than ever now and her ears are ringing but she has, until this point, chalked these symptoms up to the blow she received earlier. But maybe she is feeling this way because she’s had nothing to eat for the last 2 days. Chloe slides down the wall and plants her hand firmly over her belly. Perhaps this shift in attention is not so blessed after all. This is the first time since she’s awoken that she’s thought of food.
Maybe they are planning to starve her to death.
*********************************************
It has been 3 days since her waking and still no sign of her captors or Clark. Though the room is hot and the stench is just as unbearable, the metal molding of the wall is cool. Her head is resting there now, trying to stave the nausea from eclipsing her completely.
She had tried to escape, searching for some inconsistency in the walls surface, but there were none. At least nothing that she could use. This thought brings her mind back to Clark-Clark who she has been waiting on to save her. It is during this time of waiting that she remembers who she is. She is Chloe Sullivan investigative reporter and is prone to occasionally saving her own ass. Which is why she is in this predicament now, completely winded from banging, clawing and yelling for her release.
Even before her rampage the room swayed and her head was light. But now her hands are trembling and her mouth is dry. These are symptoms for something, that much she is sure of, and only when she thinks back to her high school health class does it finally hit her.
Closing her eyes she wonders morbidly how long it takes a person to dehydrate.
**********************************************
Chloe is desperate. It has been 5 days since she has awakened and no one has made any signs of contacting her. She is sitting in a corner, arms wrapped around her knees, teeth chattering. It is no longer unbearably hot but unbearably cold. As of yet she cannot say which extreme is better. All she can say for sure is that she is just as uncomfortable as before. But now, her nose is no longer assaulted. Now, if she takes shallow breaths she cannot smell the urine from the other side of the room. She had been afraid that she would need to relieve herself in other ways, but thankfully fear has frozen her bowels.
The cold and the smell of urine-or the lack thereof-are not the cause of her desperation however. It is that terrible thing called silence which trumps all of these other discomforts. It is the silence that causes her to grip her calves so painfully. The silence which makes her rock back and forth. It is the silence which threatens to take her over the edge.
She swallows the scream that is building inside of her mouth and lets out a strangled moan. Her throat is sore, tired from when she had sought to sing…and pray…then sob when no relief from the silence came. Now she sits, staring at nothing thinking of everything, tears leaking from her eyes.
She will never see Lois again. She will never see Clark…poor Clark. With everything that has been happening to him recently she is sorry for what her death will do to him. He loved her only as a friend to be sure, but that is enough. Enough for the grief that will surely take him when they find her. If they find her. A shudder passes through her at the thought. What if she is never found and her body remains in this room, or worse yet, buried in some anonymous hole in the ground.
She is starved, dehydrated, and injured-a lethal combination given her circumstances. She can see her death approaching:
fast
uninterrupted
clear.
Inconceivably, it is in this moment-when she thinks she has died-that hope asserts itself in the form of a small box. One which opens and closes, pushing in a small tray of food and water. She looks at it, distrusting of the contents at first, but eventually hunger wins. After she eats, she realizes quite suddenly that she is not alone. There is someone there, outside of this box. Someone who has thought to give her food and drink, and that realization gives her comfort. Lying down and curling into a ball she falls asleep.
***************************************
He is not the same and everyone knows it. This is why they have taken to staying out of his way. Where he was pleasant he is cantankerous. Where he was helpful he is disagreeable. Those who do not know think it is because he’s finally broken away from his farm boy manners and is now embracing the aggressive attitude brought on by city life. Those who know pity him, but avoid him all the same. No one wants to be on the receiving end of his fury. Not like poor Elizabeth from editing who merely told him how sorry she was for Chloe’s disappearance. Everyone stopped to stare when he yelled “Chloe isn’t dead yet” and watched, stunned, as Clark “the nice guy” stormed out of the Planet. This happened 2 days ago and no one has seen him since. The boss says that he called out sick.
But now it is day 7. A whole week and still not a sign of who has taken Chloe or where she is. 7 days of frustration, anger, pain, and now… desperation.
He has talked to people, he has worked with them and he has even threatened them, but to no avail. He sits in his room now thinking of what will happen if he can’t find Chloe-the authorities surely won’t-if she dies. Sure there is his mom, but excluding her, there will be no one left. His father is dead, Lana is as good as dead, Pete left, and Lois is…Lois.
And this is the problem.
Each of these people has or had a specific place in his heart that can’t be replaced by the other. Though Lois is special, she is not Chloe. She cannot fill the gap that Chloe’s death would bring. Chloe is his friend, his best friend. She is the bearer of his secret. She is the one he goes to for help, who covers for him.
Clark’s chest constricts then with realization. He bows his head and a few tears, which he refuses to let fall, prickle his eyes. She is the one he loves. Sweet, reliable, beautiful, aggravating, intelligent, snarky Chloe. Clark is angry with himself and he squeezes his fist. The plastic covering and the object that lies inside some how remains remarkably intact. Maybe because the substance is just as alien as he is.
God, why did it always take these life altering moments for him to figure out the things that matter most?
At least, he thinks sullenly, this answers his question. He has given thought to it for some time, but was unsure until now. Control is never a thing one can relinquish easily. To save the one he loves, however, he will do that and more. Taking a deep breath, Clark opens his hand. In it lies the plastic case that contains the glowing meteor rock, and he looks at it acceptingly. Perhaps he doesn’t have the nerve, the daring or the ruthlessness to find Chloe.
But Kal-El certainly did.
Clark closes his eyes and puts on the ring containing Red Kryptonite. When he opens them again they are stormy and dark and savage.
Kal-El splays his fingers and looks contemplatively at both hands. It has been quite some time since he’s been let out, and sadly, that single consideration is as far is his thoughts can go. Whatever further musings he was set to engage in are cut short at the sight of his clothes. Where did the farm boy come up with these outfits?
Taking his time, he unbuttons his shirt revealing the black Tee underneath. Throwing the offensive material aside, Kal-El strides to the closet and searches until he finds what he is looking for. The cold doesn’t bother him much, but for appearances sake he knows that a coat is necessary. Quickly he slides on the black jacket he finds hanging in the back.
Next he takes off his jeans and boots, opting instead to wear black dress pants and sensible black shoes. Thank God the farm boy occasionally went to church. Before he leaves, he looks at himself in the mirror and admires what he sees there. One didn’t have to go on a search and rescue mission looking bad, right? No.
Kal-El smirks, an arrogant looking thing, and makes his way towards the door. Just as he is about to step into the corridor, a picture of a smiling blonde girl catches his eye. He looks at it intently, knowing this to be the one he is searching for. The girl that he loves. The girl that has been stolen from him. At this thought, the smirk is instantly wiped off of his face and replaced with something much more sinister. Kal-El clenches his fists.
Someone has actually had the nerve to take what is his. The fire which lay dormant a few seconds prior is stoked inside of him now, and he rips the picture off the wall, unmindful that the edges have torn. Folding it carefully, he slips the photo in his jacket pocket and stalks out of the house. It is lucky for Clark’s mothers that she is not home and is working on another campaign. The murderous look on her sons face would have killed her.
******************************