print this story!

Disclaimer: Smallville and all related elements, characters and indicia © Tollin-Robbins Productions and Warner Bros. Television, 2002. All Rights Reserved. All characters and situations—save those created by the authors for use solely on this website—are copyright Tollin-Robbins Productions and Warner Bros. Television. Superman created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Schuster.

Author's Note: This is fan fiction set before the events in "Tempest." I would like to dedicate this story to the fan fiction writers of the world. We fan fic writers have a thankless task: writing fiction, simply for the enjoyment of others and without the reward of money that the television authors receive. Thank you to all of the authors who have helped me fill the time between Tuesdays and episodes of Smallville.

Requiem
by Starman3604

She ducked under the yellow caution tape with a loud sob. Several policemen gathered around her, trying to push her back into the crowd. Flashlights bit through the night, illuminating her. She struggled, and with tears streaming down her face, tried to shove through. "No! I have to see! I have to know for sure!" she cried out loudly.

She broke through, tears dripping down to join the raindrops on the pavement below. She shoved some wayward hair behind her ear and wiped the tears from beneath her eyes as she moved to within visual range of the form ahead.

Frightened to know what she would find on the wet ground, she debated with herself on whether to look downward or not. Eventually, she made up her mind that she had to know.

With a single glance, her worst fears were confirmed. Though she had expected it, she stood there in shock all the same. A loud scream of terrible pain and sorrow burst from her lips as she saw the green-tinged face below. The boy's mouth, once the giver of so many charming smiles and words of endearment, was twisted in pain. His gorgeous eyes were hidden beneath clenched eyelids. She sank to her knees and buried her face in his chest, wanting only to smell his rich, earthy scent.

Tears spilled freely now, cries spilling out louder than the thunder above. Instead of the smell of fresh-tilled earth and cut hay, the obvious odor of blood assaulted her nostrils.

Summoning all of her willpower, she lifted her face and turned upwards to the black sky, unlit by stars. She tried to connect, try to plead with God himself to explain this tragedy that was, even now, killing her soul. "Why?" Her voice was hard and barbaric, wondering and pleading.

She couldn't comprehend. Why was it that when their relationship was developing so nicely that he was taken from her? Never again could she show that she cared, show that she would love him forever.

With a shiver that ran down the girl's spine, she spoke three simple words that shocked her as much as the death of this strong boy.

"I love you."

But the ears below did not register the adoration within the words. Nor did the boy realize that Chloe Sullivan was speaking the words to him now that she could never speak to him in life.

This was because Clark Kent, the boy that Chloe had loved since she moved to Smallville, and from whom she had finally received love as well, was dead.

The Next Morning, the Torch office

Chloe hadn't slept all night. She had emptied all of her tears upon her pillow, even though she wasn't really a crier. Since the pain of losing the one she loved still gnawed at her, she sobbed dryly. No longer did she have a desire to write, to go to school, or even to live. The man that she loved as much as her father was dead, and her heart couldn't handle it.

Even the office of the Torch gave her no peace. The walls that had once given her such joy seemed to be dull and uninteresting now. The Wall of Weird seemed quite silly, and her computer sat still, staring blankly at her.

Pete Ross knocked on the door, a look of intense despair and regret filling his face, though he tried to cover it with a smile. "H-hi," he said, shakily. It was clear that he, too, had been crying. He wasn't much of a crier either, but Clark and Pete had been friends for years. Chloe had a feeling that many more tears would be shed before anyone could move on.

"Hi," she said sadly. She wrapped her arms around him and sniffed with sadness and pain. He patted her back softly, and she finally released him, exhausted. "I...I'm sorry. I just...I miss him so much..." She put her hand over her mouth, stifling the sob that was charging up her throat. "Why did he have to die?" The sadness finally broke over her mouth, and she collapsed back into the chair, her face in her hands, her shoulders shrugging with each sob.

Pete looked down at her, suddenly understanding. "You loved him, didn't you?"

She looked up at him, despair coloring her words. "I still do, Pete. I still do."

He took a sudden interest in his shoes, afraid that she might see the slight glistening in his eyes. "I...have something to tell you."

"I heard you were with him when he..." she stopped, trying to regain her composure. She couldn't bring herself to say the simple word.

Pete knew what she meant. He nodded.

"Tell me about it," she said.

He nodded again, sitting down and retrieving the painful, painful memory...

The Night Before

Clark was smiling at Pete as his blue truck pulled up in front of the Ross house. He honked his horn, even though Pete was walking toward him. Clark feigned impatience, and Pete laughed. He stepped up into the vehicle, and the two pulled away, making small talk.

When they arrived at the tuxedo rental store, Clark shut off the engine and looked at Pete. "Thanks for coming, man. I have absolutely no sense for matching colors."

"No problem, Clark. But, just for the record, neither do I. I just know enough not to let you get bright orange."

"That would clash with pink, wouldn't it?"

"Undoubtedly," Pete said, putting on a false British accent that disappeared after the first word. "You can't go wrong with black, though."

"And yet you're getting..." he glanced at the boy's paper "...'dark midnight?' Why?"

"Because my date is going to be in dark midnight, too," he said, pausing. A grin crossed his face. "Have I told you who my date is?"

"Only once or twice...a minute...all week..."

"Right. Let's go in."

The store was full of conflicting choices, and they left only after Pete had changed the color of the tie to red and the color of his date's corsage to white.

Clark's experience hadn't been nearly as productive. He clutched a white sheet in one hand and a catalog in the other, having been told to make his choice later because there were customers waiting.

They drove toward Pete's home, the more decisive boy talking Clark's ear off about everything from the Smallville baseball team (currently 3-1) to the color of the Daily Planet building (very dark gray) as the windshield wipers flipped in a steady beat.

Suddenly, Clark slammed the brake pedal to the floor, throwing Pete into the seat belt. "Cl...," he began, but stopped when the reason for Clark's abrupt stop became evident.

A man stood in the middle of the road.

Clark walked out of the truck, prepared to ask the jaywalker what he was thinking, but stopped short when the man held up his hand, his fingers clenched like claws.

"The Ogeski bid you good evening, Kal-El, and utter apologies for what we must do," the oddly clothed man said, his blue cape flapping in the wind. "By the stars of Krypton, I bid you farewell."

Pete watched, horrified, as the man punched Clark in the face. The bloody-faced boy fell to the ground, looking up blankly, as the man drew a glowing green dagger from his cloak. He plunged it into Clark Kent's chest and pulled it quickly back out.

"No!" Pete yelled out before he could stop himself. Clark's assailant looked up at him, stood...

...And vanished into thin air.

Pete called 911 on his cellular phone, and rushed out to help his friend.

Clark was gasping for breath, and Pete wondered how he was still alive. "Clark!"

"Pete...I..."

The stricken boy looked up at him, his face illuminated in the truck's headlights. "Tell...Chloe..." he gasped, his voice hoarse, "...tell her that...I...I'm s...sorry...and..." He smiled, realizing that he was showing Pete a side of his heart that Pete had never seen before. "...I love her."

With that, a cloud of pain, remorse, regret, and sadness passed across his face, clouding his eyes, and chronicling a lifetime of missed opportunities that he would never regain. Pain crossed his body, and his face stretched into a mask of hurt.

"Clark?" Pete said as the sirens approached. "Clark! Don't do this to me!"

With a last gasp of breath, his body tensed, then relaxed. Pete shook him. "Clark! CLARK!"

But all life had faded from his body.

The Next Morning, back in the Torch office

"...but it was too late." Pete finally related his entire story to Chloe. At the end, she simply sat, stunned.

"He said..."

"That he loved you. You, Chloe. He never mentioned Lana, or his mom, or dad, or anybody else. His last words were about you."

She burst into tears.

"What is it, Chloe?"

Between sobs, she explained, "I loved him, too, Pete. I needed him. I still need him, and I would do anything to have him back."

That Evening: The Kent Farm

Chloe walked slowly and morosely up the rough wooden steps that she had happily ascended hundreds of times. Clark's scent still filled his "Fortress of Solitude," and the lump in her throat grew as Chloe saw it looked just as it was the last time Clark had smiled at her from the telescope.

She saw Mr. and Mrs. Kent sitting together in front of his desk, Martha's head buried in Jonathan's shoulder.

Chloe spoke quietly. "Mr. and Mrs. Kent?"

They looked up at the sound of her voice and smiled slightly. "Chloe," they said in unison.

She nodded, understanding the pain and grief that flooded their voices. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I have something that you might want." She handed them a framed picture. It was a snapshot taken on a sunny day, with Clark, Chloe, Jonathan, Martha and Pete clustered on the front steps of the Kent farmhouse. Martha took it gingerly, and the couple looked at it with sad smiles on their faces.

"This was the day before the camping trip," Martha observed. The Kents and the Sullivans had taken a camping trip with Pete to his favorite camping spot.

"That was a fun time," Chloe said. She half-laughed, half-cried as she said, "I remember when Clark thought he saw a bear. It was..." the laugh disappeared, and her already red eyes were filled again with falling tears. "...Hilarious," she said through sobs.

A tear fell down Martha's cheek as well, and she handed back the picture. "Keep it, Chloe. You need something to remember him by."

She graciously took it back, wiping her face with a drenched tissue. "Thank you very much."

A knock sounded at the top of the steps, and Lex Luthor walked up, a solemn look on his face. Jonathan stiffened, but Martha put a hand on his knee, cautioning him.

"I was very sorry to hear about your son," he said. His hands came from behind his back, a simple but beautiful bouquet of flowers in his right hand. He pulled one out and handed it to Chloe, and handed the rest to the Kents. "He was a very dear friend."

"Thank you, Lex," Martha and Chloe said to him. At a nudge from his wife, Jonathan repeated the statement, albeit a bit less enthusiastically.

"If there's anything I can do for you, don't hesitate to call." He paused, taking in Jonathan's skeptical look. "Well...I know you have some grieving to do, so I'll leave you alone. Goodbye."

"Thanks, Lex," Chloe called out.

A lengthy pause filled the loft, and Chloe realized that it was already nine thirty.

"Um..." she bit her lip to try and quell her sadness. The effort was in vain, and her voice quaked as she said, "...I have to get home." She embraced them, and the girls cried while Jonathan sighed loudly.

"Bye, Chloe. Come back soon."

She nodded and ran down the steps.

Minutes later, Sullivan Residence

When Chloe got home, she found a box on the porch in before her front door. She picked it up and ran inside.

She placed the picture that the Kents had let her keep back in its spot on the shelf. Then she glanced at the neighboring photographs. Photos of Clark and Chloe, some with friends, and some alone. Pete had been quite a shutterbug for a long time, and given Chloe the pictures. There were pictures of Chloe and Clark at school dances, at community functions, on picnics- there was even a photograph of Clark and Chloe alone in a boat, taken from shore.

Chloe smiled through tears. She had come close to revealing her feelings for Clark that day, only to be stopped when she had caught a fish- and fallen into the water while trying to unhook it. The photograph was of Chloe, dripping wet and wearing Clark's jacket, sitting in the boat with a look of pure joy on her face, while Clark caressed her hand to warm it up. 'The lake was cold,' she thought, 'but not that cold. I just wanted him to touch me.'

The desire for Clark Kent's touch became so overwhelming that she sobbed yet again.

And the contents of the small box made the crying even worse. It was a picture of herself- almost a year old- with well-worn edges. Lex Luthor had obviously used his connections to recover it and return it to her. It was curved as if it had been carried in a wallet for a long time. She glanced at the back, and saw what she had written.

"To Clark, on your fifteenth birthday. You said you wanted a picture of me, so here it is. Hope you have many more Happy Birthdays, and I hope we stay friends throughout them all. Chloe."

She buried her face in the pillow. He wouldn't ever have any more birthdays.

Smallville High School- The Next Day

Chloe worked hard on Clark's memorial article. She felt that he deserved a special tribute, even though she didn't feel like writing it. But since no one else wanted to do the article, it fell to her. And she was pouring her soul into it.

The crying had subsided at about three in the morning, and Chloe had fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion. A sharp ache still lanced through her heart, and she frequently sniffed.

She wrote quickly, wanting to print this article with the rest of the paper.

"Clark Kent, 15, died yesterday when a mysterious and possibly otherworldly murderer confused him with someone named Kal-El... ...the student body, and especially this editor, will miss his charm, wit, intelligence, strength, and personality."

It was four paragraphs long, but that hardly seemed to do justice to a life such as his. She printed it off, and sadly went to her next class.

Just two days before, Clark had been next to her in History. Now, his desk sat empty. Had he been here, he would have rehashed the story that she had heard on the news this morning- several houses in the area had been broken into overnight. In each case, the perpetrator had gotten in by apparently walking through the window, leaving a man-shaped cutout in the wall. Had she cared, Chloe would have put that on her Wall of Weird.

But she didn't care.

With a start, Chloe heard the unfamiliar sound of an ambulance rushing by- uncommon in Smallville. She wondered briefly if Clark's murderer was behind it.

She made it a point to stop by the hospital after school. She didn't care about the Wall of Weird, but she did want to get to the bottom of Clark's murder. Maybe whoever was in that ambulance would know something.

Metropolis Hospital

"I'm sorry, ma'am. The victim is in intensive care and is unconscious. He isn't allowed to have visitors, and I'm not even allowed to tell you his name," the nurse at the front desk told Chloe. She silently cursed, before hatching a brilliant plan.

Chloe walked into ICU, looking as frightened as a rabbit. She walked up to the nurse at this counter and looked at her. "Could I see my uncle, please?"

"What's his name?"

"I don't know. I only call him Uncle. But he was brought in about three hours ago, by ambulance from Smallville."

She considered this for a second. Then, obviously being new, she said, "He's in the second room on the right."

Screwing on her best 'innocent' look, she thanked the lady and walked down the hallway. But as she reached the room, she was met by a doctor. "I'm sorry, ma'am. He isn't allowed to have visitors, but come back tomorrow, and I'll have him come out to you."

Metropolis Hospital, the next day

Chloe was incredibly impatient when it came to this sort of waiting. She sat facing the window, looking over Metropolis on what appeared to be a beautiful day. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn't hear the footsteps coming up behind her.

"Gorgeous day, isn't it?"

Her heart leapt into her throat as she considered who the voice might belong to. Then, she realized that it had to be a trick, some cruel joke played by someone with a very sick sense of humor. 'That's impossible,' she thought.

But as she ran through her mental file, she realized that her first instinct was the only person to whom that voice could possible belong. Fully expecting to turn around and see nothing, Chloe slowly rotated her head until she saw...

...The trademark Clark Kent smile.

With a scream of joy, she jumped up to hug the tall boy in the wheelchair, and then kissed him full on the lips. Except for the green tint that still hung on his face, he seemed to be none the worse for wear. She just stood, holding him, for five minutes.

"Chloe..."

"Clark, don't talk. I've spent the last three days thinking you were dead. I just want to hold you right now."

So she did.

"Clark," she finally said after she let go, "How did you live?"

"The meteor rock, evidently," he said. "All I can figure is that it saved my life."

"Clark, you had no pulse for three days, and now you can sit up?"

"I can walk, too. They just put me in this thing for standard procedure."

"How?" Then she realized something, and said it out loud. "Never mind. I don't care. All I want is to hold you."

"You did."

"Clark, I love you. I don't care."

He smiled, and she grabbed him, almost violently, and crushed her head against his chest...

...And sobbed for all she was worth.

She had been doing a lot of crying lately.

Kent Residence

Jonathan Kent picked up the ringing phone. "Kent residence."

The voice on the other end was the voice of a ghost. "Dad?"

'No,' he thought. 'Impossible.' But instead he asked, "Clark?"

"Hi, Dad!"

"Clark!" He laughed out loud, and called his wife. "Martha! Get on the other phone! There's someone here you will definitely want to talk to."

He heard her pick up. "Hello?" she asked, her voice still quivering.

"I'm sorry," the voice on the other end said.

"C-Clark?"

"The one and only."

Martha took the opposite route from Jonathan's laughter. Instead, she bawled with tears that were sweeter than any tears cried before. "Clark, Clark, my son, Clark, Clark!" she repeated over and over, as she tried unsuccessfully to choke back sobs.

Metropolis Hospital

When he finally hung up, he noticed another visitor standing beside Chloe. As Clark walked up to him, he stuck out his hand, which the man took. "Clark, glad to see you back."

Lex was genuinely happy to see Clark alive and well, and made no secret of it. They embraced quickly, and Lex asked how Clark was alive.

"I honestly don't know," he said.

It was clear by Lex's reaction that he was skeptical, but he didn't press the matter. Then, to the surprise of everyone there, a dark-haired young woman walked in. "Clark!"

"Lana!" he said. Chloe retained her smile, but visibly clutched Clark's hand tighter.

She embraced him, though nowhere near as long as Chloe had, and stood back to smile at him. "We all thought..."

"I know," he replied. "I'm not."

An awkward silence filled the room as they looked at each other. Chloe thought, 'Clark, stop looking at her. Look at me instead.'

But before she could say anything, Lana said, "Clark, you look a lot better than I thought you would."

Clark wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.

That Night

After Chloe finally (and very reluctantly) kissed Clark goodbye, Jonathan and Martha walked into his hospital room. They had already seen him in the waiting room, but they now walked in to ask him questions. But before either of his parents could start, Clark spoke.

"He called me Kal-El. Do either of you know what that means?"

They looked at each other in confusion. "No, sorry, son. Does it to you?"

"I don't know...something in the back of my mind..."

"Clark, I'm very happy to see you hale and hearty again, but I have to ask why you are alive."

"I don't think I was ever dead, Dad. I think that the knife was made out of meteor rock, and just knocked me out for a while." He smiled wryly. "I lost my powers. My speed, my strength..."

Martha looked at him with a thoughtful look in her eye. "Your abilities are probably just being devoted completely to healing you. They'll probably come back."

"I heard that there were people breaking into some houses in Smallville," he said, changing the subject.

"Yes. It's an odd story," Jonathan said. "They seem to have the same powers as you. Maybe this chain of robberies is related to your...attack."

"Do you think..." It was Clark's turn to look thoughtful. "Do you think that they might be from my planet?"

Jonathan's eyes sparked as he realized that that was quite possible. "We never saw any other ships, but that doesn't mean there weren't any."

Clark nodded. "As soon as I get my powers back, I'm going to..."

"...Take it easy," Martha interrupted. "You won't be going after any one of those guys, after what the last one did with his meteor-rock knife."

Jonathan agreed. "I don't want you dying for real next time. We can't survive another scare like that. I want you to stay right here."

The Next Morning

Clark soon found that his mother was correct- around midnight, he could feel his strength coming back. He first noticed it when he broke his drinking glass while trying to hold it. Then he noticed that the cuts that the shards of glass left sealed back up very quickly. By six in the morning, still four hours before visitors would be allowed, he felt that he was strong enough to leave the hospital and try to send the mysterious villains back to...wherever they came from.

He escaped the hospital by making handholds in the brick wall. He climbed down, pressing his hands deep into the red brick and eventually dropping the last few feet to the pavement.

He ran into the early morning, becoming a blur. It felt good to run again.

With a sudden lurch that never failed to leave his stomach behind, Clark slowed to a walk. He looked at the nondescript house, knowing that the men inside had been wreaking havoc all over Smallville. He had noted that all of the incidents involving these odd super villains had occurred the same distance from this house, and that the villains had always fled the scene in the direction of this gray building at the corner of Elm and Vine.

He slowly ascended the steps, knowing that these men would be able to overpower him this time, just as they had the last time. Cautiously, he pulled the door open, worried about what he would find.

A black cylinder, not unlike a theater spotlight, rested on a tripod nearby. A strange, hazy glow emitted from it. Clark could tell that it was not from Earth, because as he watched a man appeared very suddenly in the glow.

He noticed Clark instantly. "Kal-el!" His voice registered shock and confusion. "How did you survive?"

One arm reached for the inside of his cloak, but Clark kicked hard, landing a foot right in the man's face. It didn't injure him very seriously, but he fell to the floor, obviously dazed. Clark noticed a lead-sheathed dagger slide across the floor away from the man, and he rushed to pick it up.

As he snatched the weapon up, another man came down the steps, staring Clark down. "You must be powerful to have struck down a member of the Ogeski, Kal-el. You must be even more powerful to have recovered after that Kryptonite knife wound."

Kal-el? Ogeski? Kryptonite? All of the words struck a chord in Clark's mind, but he couldn't recall what they might mean.

He stood over the dazed man below, facing the newcomer. "What is this?" he asked, gesturing toward the glowing black cylinder. He hoped to distract the man and somehow dispatch them all with the meteor rock dagger that he clutched in his hand. A disabling blow, just as they had given him. Then, perhaps he could discover some way to imprison them.

"A Phantom Zone projector, of course. You have seen one before, at my trial. This very one, in fact. It is the only one that we have found that yet functions."

"What does it do?" he asked, playing along with the man's game. He didn't remember anything about a trial, but he allowed the man to believe whatever he wished.

"You must remember. That is the passage between this world and the Phantom Zone."

"The Phantom Z..." Clark began to ask, but was cut off.

"Enough of this. If you wish to try to attack me, go ahead. I will prevail." The man assumed a fighting stance.

"Hey! Freak!" A voice came from the front door. Chloe. As the man turned to look, Clark unsheathed the dagger and threw it with all his strength.

He caught it easily, but the meteor rock had the same effect on the man as it would have had on Clark. He let it drop to the ground, but soon fell as well, unconscious. Clark made a small cut on his arm- just enough to keep him unconscious while Clark did what he needed to do. He made the same cut on the other man, and set them both, back to back, inside the odd, hazy glow.

"What are you doing, Clark?" Chloe asked, moving toward them.

"Stay there, Chloe. If I'm right, you don't want to be in range of this thing when I do this."

He pulled the only lever on the device. The glow intensified, then began to darken. Soon the two men were invisible in a black area. The blackness slowly vanished, leaving an empty wooden floor where the two villains had once sat.

Then Clark looked over at Chloe. Their eyes locked. She smiled. "That was definitely something for the Wall of Weird," she said.

They had left soon later, Clark asking her to go out to her car and wait on him so that they could return to the hospital together. As soon as he was sure that she was gone, he buried his fist deep in the machine, mangling the innards enough that he could be sure it would never work again. For good measure, he also ripped the lever from the side and bent the tripod, so that the monstrosity fell to the floor. With that, he walked out to the car.

He was tired now. It appeared that his abilities hadn't quite recovered from the shock, and being that close to the meteor rock had made things worse.

In the car, Clark looked to Chloe, confusion in his eyes. "What were you doing at that house, Chloe?"

She smiled. "Same thing you were, Clark. I drew the lines on the map of Smallville, and they all crossed on that one little house. I figured whoever was in there might have been connected with your murder." She frowned. "Or…whatever it was."

Clark turned away, relieved that she had not seen him running to the house. They drove the rest of the way in silence.

When they arrived, Clark looked at Chloe once more before he went to sleep. "Chloe, please don't ever mention the last few days. It's too painful."

She smiled. "Don't worry, Clark. I won't. It's painful for me, too."

He smiled back. "Chloe?"

"Yeah, Clark?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too, Clark."

But snores filled the room. He was already asleep.

"Sweet dreams, Mr. Kent," she said happily.

She was floating on a cloud the rest of the night. Clark Kent was alive.

And he loved her.