Fic
Disclosure (1/1)
By: Pen37
Rating: PG (for language)
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue.
Fandoms: Smallville Xover
Characters: Chloe, Clark
Pairing: None
Summary: Chlois theory. Clark learns that there is more than one kind of alien out there.
Beta:
xtremeroswellia
A/N: I wrote a non-Chlean fic. Go figure?
I wrote this drabble to fulfill the week 2 prompt for
firstline_fic
Prompt: The only sound that she could hear was the pounding of her heart in her chest.
The story is also being submitted for the Crossovers100 challenge. Prompt #25 Strangers. The table is here.
The only sound that she could hear was the pounding of her heart in her chest. She blinked owlishly at Clark as he stared at her with wide eyes. The jig was up, to quote an old film noir.
Lois thought she had been sneaky enough to slip away. But apparently her attempts at stealth caught her new partner's attention. Enough so that he followed her to the stairwell. Enough so that he saw her make the coffee stains on her new blouse vanish just by waving her hands over it.
Damn reporters and their damn snoopy instincts.
The universe was ironic that way. If she hadn't been standing there, hands still hovering over the incriminating spot on her blouse, gaping at an equally wide-eyed Clark Kent, it might have even been funny.
Damn and double damn.
She really liked Clark, which was why she was trying her hardest to keep him at arm’s length. He was a nice guy. Nice to the core. He helped old ladies across the street and cried at the pledge of allegiance.
Nice guys didn't deserve to get involved with people like Lois. Sooner or later, she attracted the kind of trouble that leads to moving to another state, changing your identity and hoping the authorities didn't find you this time.
Not that she was bitter or anything.
“Something the matter, Clark?” She raised her eyebrows questioningly. Maybe if she played it off, Clark would think he was seeing things.
Instead, his whole demeanor seemed to shift. Suddenly he was . . . taller. Less bumbling. Not quite so mild-mannered. As if he became a whole new person. And wow, his eyes were scary-blue--like Ice.
“I was just wondering what happened to your coffee stains, Lois.”
More Damn.
“I blotted them off.” She tried for nonchalant.
He shook his head. “Try again.”
Aw Hell. Wasn't he supposed to be nearsighted?
“There's a logical explanation,” Lois hedged. A logical explanation, which in no-way resembled the truth.
“I'd love to hear it.” Clark crossed his arms over his chest. Wow again. Why didn't she notice how broad his chest was before?
Lois sighed deeply, and then looked furtively around the stairwell. If she was going to come clean, she wasn't going to do it here, where anyone could walk in on their conversation. “It's a long story. Have you got a few days to spare?”
He frowned at her, but nodded his head.
“Then come on.” She motioned toward the exit. After taking three steps, she realized that he wasn't following her. She glanced back, and for the first time noticed a little bit of uncertainty in his face. “Well you don't expect me to bare my soul here, do you?” she snarked.
He nodded, and suddenly Clark-the-bumbling-farm-boy was back. And for the first time, Lois realized that it was all an act. She blinked in surprise as she led him out of the Daily Planet, and down the street toward her apartment building. How the heck did she fail to pick up on that?
I must be losing my touch, she muttered to herself.
* * *
There is something about being on familiar ground that gives you a bit of psychological courage, Lois reflected as they walked through her front door. On her own turf, Lois was unfazed, even though Clark dropped the who-me-I'm-totally-unremarkable-nothing-to-see-here act.
Don't try to freak me out, farm boy. I've seen weirder things than you before my morning coffee.
Speaking of which:while she busied herself with the coffee maker, she tried to figure out what to tell Clark. What would be believable? How much would he accept. The whole truth -- people had died for it's sake. She wouldn't allow that to happen again. Not over her. Especially not to a nice, seemingly-normal guy like Clark.
“What did you see - exactly?” she asked at length.
He seemed to be studying her with those unnerving ice blue eyes.
“I saw you wave your hands over your blouse, and the stains just vanished.”
“You make me sound like a box of Tide.” Lois recognized the snark as her way of dealing with a tense situation. To his credit, Clark smiled at her sheepishly, and shrugged his shoulders.
“Look Clark.“ Lois sighed. It was time to play the shell game. Time to lift up all her little cups and hope he didn't notice that the red rubber ball was up her sleeve. “How do you think I can do that?”
Clark shrugged. “To be honest Lois, I have no idea. It could be anything from magic to genetics.”
Lois blinked in surprise. She hadn't expected an open-ended theory. Was he one of those closet conspiracy geeks? She bit her lip thoughtfully.
“Clark, do you mind if I speak frankly?”
“When do you ever not?” He chuckled.
Lois rolled her eyes. “Okay, staying on topic. I don't know you, Clark. I know you're a good reporter, and a pretty decent guy, but that's all I know. I can do these things - I've got this secret that people would be willing to kill over -- have killed over. Right now? I'm thinking that the less you know, the safer we both are. Can you deal with that?”
She held her breath, aware that her future was balanced on the keen edge of a razor blade. Her mind flashed briefly to the packed knapsack in the bottom of her closet. If Clark said the wrong thing, she could bolt in minutes.
He seemed to be studying her face as he thought about what she said. Finally, he seemed to resolve whatever mental battle he had been fighting.
“What if we made a deal?” he asked.
“What sort of deal?” Lois's voice was wary.
“Quid pro quo. I tell you something about me -- you tell me something about you.”
Lois frowned. Considering some of her secrets, the deal seemed a bit skewed in Clark's favor.
“Don't answer yet.” Clark held up his hand. “Since I already know about the power of Tide, let me even the score. Then you can answer.”
Lois raised an eyebrow. What could it hurt? There was always the knapsack -- but she didn't really want to go that route if she didn't have to. As she watched, Clark's gaze intensified, and shifted. It was as if he was looking through her instead of at her.
“You broke your arm once,” he said shortly. “Both arms . . and three ribs . . . and your hip-bone?”
“And I cracked my skull,” Lois confirmed. She shivered as her mind shuddered away from the raw memory of a power blast, of falling and fire and the merciful blackness that took away the pain. The accident was how she nearly died. And the healing was how she gained her unique abilities. “How did you know that?”
“You have scar tissue,” he said shortly, his face a mask of confusion.
“You can see that?”
“X-ray vision,” he said shortly.
Lois sucked in a breath. He had powers, too. He looked so unassuming. Maybe that's the point.
“ think maybe I'd better sit down,” she said shakily.
They took up space on separate ends of the couch. In the wake of their mutual confession, neither seemed to know where to start.
Finally, Lois decided that someone had better say something.
“I was manipulating matter,” she blurted.
Clark looked across the couch to her with a bewildered look.
“It’s one of the things I do,” she said with a shrug. “I can change things on a molecular level.” To demonstrate, she touched the back of the couch, changing it's color from beige to blue and then back. “That was how I fixed the stains.” She was good at that. She could fix anything, really. Hair color. Identification. The witness relocation program were amateurs compared to her.
“Have you always been able to do that?” Clark asked.
Lois recognized that everything from that moment in the stairwell at the Daily Planet was leading up to this point where she laid her soul bare. She wondered how to answer the question. How could she explain about Max and Liz, the I-know-an-alien-club, and the Special Unit?
Those events belonged to another life -- one she had buried a long time ago. And now, here she was about to dig it back up so that Clark could pick through the bones.
“To start with, my name wasn't always Lois Lane. I was born Chloe Sullivan. And I grew up in Roswell, New Mexico.”
“Roswell?” Clark's voice rose in pitch.
“And before you ask- no, I'm not an alien,” Lois said with a tiny smile. “It's a long story, and the crash of 47 is part of it. But I guess the story really started my Sophomore year of high school. That's when my best friend, Liz Parker died. . . . and then she didn't.”
An: For those of you who guessed that this was a Roswell crossover -- gold stars all around. I wan't about to say something at the start. That would give too much away.
By: Pen37
Rating: PG (for language)
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue.
Fandoms: Smallville Xover
Characters: Chloe, Clark
Pairing: None
Summary: Chlois theory. Clark learns that there is more than one kind of alien out there.
Beta:
xtremeroswellia
A/N: I wrote a non-Chlean fic. Go figure?
I wrote this drabble to fulfill the week 2 prompt for
firstline_fic
Prompt: The only sound that she could hear was the pounding of her heart in her chest.
The story is also being submitted for the Crossovers100 challenge. Prompt #25 Strangers. The table is here.
The only sound that she could hear was the pounding of her heart in her chest. She blinked owlishly at Clark as he stared at her with wide eyes. The jig was up, to quote an old film noir.
Lois thought she had been sneaky enough to slip away. But apparently her attempts at stealth caught her new partner's attention. Enough so that he followed her to the stairwell. Enough so that he saw her make the coffee stains on her new blouse vanish just by waving her hands over it.
Damn reporters and their damn snoopy instincts.
The universe was ironic that way. If she hadn't been standing there, hands still hovering over the incriminating spot on her blouse, gaping at an equally wide-eyed Clark Kent, it might have even been funny.
Damn and double damn.
She really liked Clark, which was why she was trying her hardest to keep him at arm’s length. He was a nice guy. Nice to the core. He helped old ladies across the street and cried at the pledge of allegiance.
Nice guys didn't deserve to get involved with people like Lois. Sooner or later, she attracted the kind of trouble that leads to moving to another state, changing your identity and hoping the authorities didn't find you this time.
Not that she was bitter or anything.
“Something the matter, Clark?” She raised her eyebrows questioningly. Maybe if she played it off, Clark would think he was seeing things.
Instead, his whole demeanor seemed to shift. Suddenly he was . . . taller. Less bumbling. Not quite so mild-mannered. As if he became a whole new person. And wow, his eyes were scary-blue--like Ice.
“I was just wondering what happened to your coffee stains, Lois.”
More Damn.
“I blotted them off.” She tried for nonchalant.
He shook his head. “Try again.”
Aw Hell. Wasn't he supposed to be nearsighted?
“There's a logical explanation,” Lois hedged. A logical explanation, which in no-way resembled the truth.
“I'd love to hear it.” Clark crossed his arms over his chest. Wow again. Why didn't she notice how broad his chest was before?
Lois sighed deeply, and then looked furtively around the stairwell. If she was going to come clean, she wasn't going to do it here, where anyone could walk in on their conversation. “It's a long story. Have you got a few days to spare?”
He frowned at her, but nodded his head.
“Then come on.” She motioned toward the exit. After taking three steps, she realized that he wasn't following her. She glanced back, and for the first time noticed a little bit of uncertainty in his face. “Well you don't expect me to bare my soul here, do you?” she snarked.
He nodded, and suddenly Clark-the-bumbling-farm-boy was back. And for the first time, Lois realized that it was all an act. She blinked in surprise as she led him out of the Daily Planet, and down the street toward her apartment building. How the heck did she fail to pick up on that?
I must be losing my touch, she muttered to herself.
* * *
There is something about being on familiar ground that gives you a bit of psychological courage, Lois reflected as they walked through her front door. On her own turf, Lois was unfazed, even though Clark dropped the who-me-I'm-totally-unremarkable-nothing-to-see-here act.
Don't try to freak me out, farm boy. I've seen weirder things than you before my morning coffee.
Speaking of which:while she busied herself with the coffee maker, she tried to figure out what to tell Clark. What would be believable? How much would he accept. The whole truth -- people had died for it's sake. She wouldn't allow that to happen again. Not over her. Especially not to a nice, seemingly-normal guy like Clark.
“What did you see - exactly?” she asked at length.
He seemed to be studying her with those unnerving ice blue eyes.
“I saw you wave your hands over your blouse, and the stains just vanished.”
“You make me sound like a box of Tide.” Lois recognized the snark as her way of dealing with a tense situation. To his credit, Clark smiled at her sheepishly, and shrugged his shoulders.
“Look Clark.“ Lois sighed. It was time to play the shell game. Time to lift up all her little cups and hope he didn't notice that the red rubber ball was up her sleeve. “How do you think I can do that?”
Clark shrugged. “To be honest Lois, I have no idea. It could be anything from magic to genetics.”
Lois blinked in surprise. She hadn't expected an open-ended theory. Was he one of those closet conspiracy geeks? She bit her lip thoughtfully.
“Clark, do you mind if I speak frankly?”
“When do you ever not?” He chuckled.
Lois rolled her eyes. “Okay, staying on topic. I don't know you, Clark. I know you're a good reporter, and a pretty decent guy, but that's all I know. I can do these things - I've got this secret that people would be willing to kill over -- have killed over. Right now? I'm thinking that the less you know, the safer we both are. Can you deal with that?”
She held her breath, aware that her future was balanced on the keen edge of a razor blade. Her mind flashed briefly to the packed knapsack in the bottom of her closet. If Clark said the wrong thing, she could bolt in minutes.
He seemed to be studying her face as he thought about what she said. Finally, he seemed to resolve whatever mental battle he had been fighting.
“What if we made a deal?” he asked.
“What sort of deal?” Lois's voice was wary.
“Quid pro quo. I tell you something about me -- you tell me something about you.”
Lois frowned. Considering some of her secrets, the deal seemed a bit skewed in Clark's favor.
“Don't answer yet.” Clark held up his hand. “Since I already know about the power of Tide, let me even the score. Then you can answer.”
Lois raised an eyebrow. What could it hurt? There was always the knapsack -- but she didn't really want to go that route if she didn't have to. As she watched, Clark's gaze intensified, and shifted. It was as if he was looking through her instead of at her.
“You broke your arm once,” he said shortly. “Both arms . . and three ribs . . . and your hip-bone?”
“And I cracked my skull,” Lois confirmed. She shivered as her mind shuddered away from the raw memory of a power blast, of falling and fire and the merciful blackness that took away the pain. The accident was how she nearly died. And the healing was how she gained her unique abilities. “How did you know that?”
“You have scar tissue,” he said shortly, his face a mask of confusion.
“You can see that?”
“X-ray vision,” he said shortly.
Lois sucked in a breath. He had powers, too. He looked so unassuming. Maybe that's the point.
“ think maybe I'd better sit down,” she said shakily.
They took up space on separate ends of the couch. In the wake of their mutual confession, neither seemed to know where to start.
Finally, Lois decided that someone had better say something.
“I was manipulating matter,” she blurted.
Clark looked across the couch to her with a bewildered look.
“It’s one of the things I do,” she said with a shrug. “I can change things on a molecular level.” To demonstrate, she touched the back of the couch, changing it's color from beige to blue and then back. “That was how I fixed the stains.” She was good at that. She could fix anything, really. Hair color. Identification. The witness relocation program were amateurs compared to her.
“Have you always been able to do that?” Clark asked.
Lois recognized that everything from that moment in the stairwell at the Daily Planet was leading up to this point where she laid her soul bare. She wondered how to answer the question. How could she explain about Max and Liz, the I-know-an-alien-club, and the Special Unit?
Those events belonged to another life -- one she had buried a long time ago. And now, here she was about to dig it back up so that Clark could pick through the bones.
“To start with, my name wasn't always Lois Lane. I was born Chloe Sullivan. And I grew up in Roswell, New Mexico.”
“Roswell?” Clark's voice rose in pitch.
“And before you ask- no, I'm not an alien,” Lois said with a tiny smile. “It's a long story, and the crash of 47 is part of it. But I guess the story really started my Sophomore year of high school. That's when my best friend, Liz Parker died. . . . and then she didn't.”
An: For those of you who guessed that this was a Roswell crossover -- gold stars all around. I wan't about to say something at the start. That would give too much away.