babydee1 | Chlark Fanfic: Crisis, Chapter 7

Another day, another Chlark update. :-)

Some more from Crisis, in which we finally get a post-incident Chlark confrontation.

Enjoy. Feeback = Lurve. :-)

New Banner. Weepy!Clark. Hope y'all like.

Title: Crisis

Author: BabyDee
Pairing: Chlark/Kaloe

Rating: NC-17 (this chapter PG-13)

Warnings: Graphic sex, non-con/rape, angst. Kal isn’t going to come off very nice in this story (see the warnings), so if you’re a fan of his, you might want to look away now.

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 much appreciated. J

Read previous chapter here.

Read story from the beginning here.

Chapter 7

“…so then Timothy Blake walks in and tries to strong-arm-slash-drag me out of the place, but they hadn’t counted on the stealthy movements of The Ross,” Pete finished dramatically, his eyes alight with mischief as he regaled Chloe with tales of his holidays in Wichita. “That martial arts course came in useful, I tell ya.”

Chloe smiled indulgently. “Maybe I should start thinking about taking some classes myself,” she mused as she prepared the layout for the Torch’s next issue.

“You should. The instructor said that girls need self-defence classes even more than boys do. That way, you feeble females can fend off creepy perverts in dark alleys when they get too handsy.”

Chloe swallowed and turned away as Pete chuckled loudly at what he probably thought was a joke. She concentrated on fitting the article headers on the master document, trying vainly not to focus on the terrifying images his words had conjured up in her head.

“What, no snappy retort?” she heard him say.

She blinked and snapped her head up. “Huh?”

He shook his head and laughed. “I’ve just sat here and made at least twenty anti-feminist statements, and you’ve let me off the hook for every single one of them,” he observed. “Definitely not your usual m.o. What’s on your mind, baby girl?”

She shrugged and smiled. “I’m just a little tired, is all.”

“You’re working too hard, that’s what it is,” he admonished, jumping down from the desk and walking towards her. “The Torch is criminally understaffed, but you refuse to interview anyone for writing gigs here.”

“That’s because I’ve seen the way they all spell, and believe me, not one of them holds a smidgeon of promise,” she retorted, handing him the next layout. “That’s why I’m thrilled I have you, Pete. At least you know your way around a pen, paper and thesaurus.”

“Har-har,” he said dryly as she turned and walked to the supply cupboard. “Remind me why I work here again?”

“Because you can’t get enough of my dry wit and sparkling personality?” she said lightly as she brought down a box of ring-binders, her back still turned to him as he frowned.

“Actually, I could be wrong, but your sparkle seems to have lost its shine recently,” he observed. “You want to go into town with me later, so we can talk? There’s a new movie showing at the Talon Theatre, we could - Clark!” he exclaimed suddenly. “You’re back! Hey, man, it’s been waaaaay too quiet here without you!”

Chloe froze in the act of shifting a box of staples and started trembling so hard her hands shook violently. Both the box of ring binders and the staplers slipped from her nervous fingers and landed on the floor with a thud as rows and rows of staples and ring-binders clattered noisily along the floor.

After much back-slapping and man-hugging, Pete turned his attention back to her. “Hey, Chloe – look who just walked in!” he said excitedly.

Chloe swallowed hard as two sets of footsteps approached. Quickly she bent to the floor and started gathering the fallen items into their respective containers, her heart thumping loudly as a familiar pair of well-worn workboots appeared in front of her.

“Let me help you with that,” he offered softly, and began to crouch down to her level.

“I got it,” she interrupted as she hastily got to her feet, leaving a row of scattered staples on the floor. “I have to dash, Pete. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Pete blinked at her , puzzled. “But I thought we were gonna-?”

Quickly she thrust the items into his hands and walked unsteadily towards the exit. As soon as she stepped out the Torch door she speed-walked round the corner and broke into a run down the corridor.

“Hey, no running in the school halls, Sullivan!” the hall monitor whined as she sped past.

The warning fell on deaf ears as she fled at top speed until she’d reached the safety of the girl’s locker room. As soon as she spied the first empty stall she barricaded herself in and locked the door, breathing heavily as her hand tightened on the doorknob.

Oh God, he was back.

Clark was back.

Her hands trembled and she started to hyperventilate as panic crept in. Fiercely, she took deep breaths to try and force her heart rate back to normal, and focus.

Okay, so Clark was back. Daddy Kent must have found a way to get through to his son, because from all indications the city attitude had been checked in at city limits. But she wasn’t ready to face him, not yet. Having him suddenly show up like that had knocked the wind out of her sails, and she’d needed to get as far away from him as possible so she could gather her scattered wits together.

Her jaw tightened as her hand moved to one of the many pockets on her combat trousers. The item in the pocket sat solidly against her thigh, almost reassuring. The effect was almost instantaneous, as her breathing slowed and her heart began to beat at a more normal pace.

Chloe sat on the commode closed her eyes as she wrapped her hands around her knees and waited. It was two hours till the end of the school day. She would venture back out when the final bell rang.

***

“Where did you disappear to?” Pete queried when he walked into the torch after hours. “One minute you were placing headlines, and then the next you’d gone ‘poof’. Not to mention that you skipped a double Geography session.”

“I had some homework to hand in,” she lied. “Today was the deadline.”

Pete frowned. “Really? What class was that?”

“It’s extra credit.” She studied the headlines board and blinked. “Wow. Did you finish all this off singlehandedly?”

“No, Clark did,” he replied. “I just kept him company and entertained him with Tales from Wichita. Mind you, he was awfully quiet for some reason. God knows what he faced when he ran away, but from all indications, it wasn’t pretty.”

“Well, he’s back now, so that’s that,” she said flippantly as she signed into her computer. Big mistake; Pete immediately picked up on her change of mood.

“Have you spoken to him since he got back?” he asked curiously.

Her shoulders stiffened. “No,” she answered shortly.

“What about before he left?” he persisted. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“Oh, darn. Pete, could you do me a favour and get me some candy from the machine, please?” she said, pasting a smile on her face. “I have a ten-dollar bill, but it only takes quarters and dimes.”

Thankfully he didn’t seem to notice her blatant deflection. “One Hershey Bar for her Ladyship coming right up,” he smiled, reaching out to chuck her chin lightly before bouncing out the door. “I could always give you Kisses, though…”

Chloe sighed and returned to her boards. She really didn’t feel like talking tonight, and Pete just wasn’t getting the message. By the time he got back, she’d have stuck her headphones in her ears; maybe then he’d get it and leave her in peace.

But all too soon, she heard footsteps returning to the Torch. Sighing, she gave a resigned smile and slowly turned. “If you got me Hersheys Kisses instead of the standard bar, Pete Ross, so help me, I’ll…”

She trailed off, immobilised at the sight of Clark in the doorway. She hadn’t really gotten to see him earlier; he was wearing his usual blue t-shirt under a red jacket, and his hair was properly combed. He looked very much like his old self, and, she had to admit, very repentant.

“Hi Chloe,” he said softly. “Can we talk?”

Fear and rage bubbled up in her and she clenched her fists in anger.

“No,” she spat. “Get out.”

***

Chapter 8…