AN: Apologies to those who have read my story 'Letters', as I have used the same reply in this story. The thing is, when I was writing 'Letters', I kind of ran out of inspiration for the second chapter. However, when I was scrambling around for an ending, I had a new idea of a different context for Clark's reply. So anyway, just thought I'd post it as well and see what you think...

Clark Kent had been helping his best friend Chloe Sullivan pack. She was moving to Star City, for a permanent job as 'Watchtower' for the JLA. She'd lost her job at the Daily Planet a while ago and Isis wasn't an option any more, seeing as Lana was out of the picture. However, Clark thought the main catalyst for her move was that her once- husband, Jimmy Olsen had died a few months ago. He had been killed by Doomsday, Clark's nemesis. Feeling unbearably responsible, Clark had 'turned tail and run', walking away from Chloe in her hour of need. Despite the countless times she'd saved and consoled him, he still felt still left her- no- abandoned her.

Being separated from Chloe hadn't worked out all that well for Clark. He was used to calling her five times a day, or super speeding to her apartment most evenings. He had also realised, that he was a lot more aware of Chloe then he'd known. Deep in his subconscious, he could hear her heartbeat. Not that he wanted to be intrusive or invade her privacy in any way; it was just as if the sound had become engrained into him. He was so accustomed to listening for trouble and using his super hearing for mundane things, but now all he heard was Chloe. Without seeing her on a daily basis, the sound intensified and after just a week without contact, he realised he had to go back to her.

When Clark had turned up at her apartment after his revelation, he had found her grieving- but not just for Jimmy. He realised that when he had left her, he had left her completely alone. Well, she had Lois, not that she was much help. Lois Lane- Chloe's cousin- was as self-absorbed as it was possible to be. Yet she and Chloe were like sisters, so Clark suspected she'd been somewhat of a shoulder to cry on, even if it was only briefly. Other than that, without Clark, she must have been very lonely.

After that night of repeated apologies, begging and tender consoling, he'd managed to grovel his way back into her life. His re-established friendship hadn't changed her decision to move though. Obviously the prospect of a new start and a job with a collection of superheroes had been too good an offer. He did have to admit, Ollie Queen AKA 'Green Arrow', was a very welcoming and conscientious host. However, he also had to admit that he was damn worried about her. Occasional work with the JLA didn't bother Clark, he knew she was safe then- mainly because if she was helping them, chances were, he was too. This was different though, this was every mission, without him to protect her. True, she'd be back at base, acting as 'Watchtower', but it didn't take a lot to piss some people off and he knew it was far too easy for her to be tracked down.

Despite his worries and attempts to convince her to stay, here he was, cleaning out her desk into various boxes. In true Chloe style, it was chaos! Paper everywhere, from bills to collected newspaper articles. In some respects, Clark thought this desk pretty much displayed her life; everything of importance seemed to be in here. He wondered why he'd been entrusted to sort out such a blatantly important section of her belongings. Although, Clark thought, knowing Chloe, she couldn't bare the boredom of sorting through it all for hours. She liked to be pro-active about things, taking a head on approach to her packing. Sifting through piles of memories was not something she had time for.

Clark had just come across a few photos of Chloe, himself and their old friend Pete at the High School newspaper- 'The Torch'. They all looked cheerful and care free, especially Chloe, which was surprising, considering she worked on that paper for hours and hours into the night, every night! She'd always been a workaholic; it was something she'd never grown out of. Tucked in between the last two photos though, he found something he would never have expected to find. It looked perfectly insignificant, just another scrap of paper, not unlike the many others he'd turfed out. He was drawn to it though, had just had to read it, to see what piece of genius had sprawled out of Chloe this time. He'd always loved to read Chloe's writing, whether it was a huge exposé, a tiny review on gym mats or inconsequential drabble about nothing. He decided he was particularly drawn to it because it was on pink paper, not Chloe's usual choice. It started;

'I want to let you in on a secret...'

Clark paused, was this a diary of some kind? He hadn't known Chloe to keep a diary, but he guessed it wouldn't be a stretch to imagine her writing down her feelings or deepest thoughts and secrets. This thought worried him; he didn't want to read something personal to her. Yet he was compelled to continue, he couldn't resist, in all honesty, he wanted to know the secret.

'I'm not who you think I am. In fact, my disguise is so thin; I'm surprised you haven't seen right through me. I'm the girl of your dreams masquerading as your best friend.'

Oh crap, definitely personal. Although, strangely familiar, had he heard this somewhere before? Surely not, but it triggered something, a distant memory in the corner of his mind. Why on Earth would he have heard this though? Why would he have read this before now? Stuff privacy, he was too intrigued to stop now;

'Sometimes I want to rip off this facade like I did at the Spring Formal, but I can't because you'll get scared and you'll run away again.'

Spring Formal? It was about him. It was a letter to him.

"So I decided that it's better to live with a lie than expose my true feelings."

True feelings? Feelings implies more than a crush he thought hurriedly. He'd known Chloe had had a crush on him in High School, but nothing major, surely? When did she write this? WHEN DID SHE WRITE THIS? 'Calm down Kent', he muttered to himself. Obviously it was a long time ago, probably freshman year, maybe sophomore at a push. He read on, now panicked but still compelled;

'My dad told me there are two types of girl; the ones you grow out of and the ones you grow into, I really hope I'm the latter. I may not be the one you love today, but I'll let you go for now, hoping one day you'll fly back to me because I think you're worth the wait.'

Clark let out several deep breaths. He'd never read anything so passionate. Well okay, it wasn't passionate in the conventional sense, and he had a feeling that if Chloe was writing it today she'd have a very different style. But she wasn't writing it today, it was a long, long time ago. She didn't feel that way anymore. To his surprise, this saddened Clark. Not that he had feelings for Chloe or anything. All the same, it was nice to have someone write you a love letter, whether you were young or old, whether it was a crush or the real thing. Heck, this letter was more than nice. It was incredible. Such raw emotion, it was intense just reading it, he couldn't imagine the way Chloe must have felt when she wrote it. He'd supposedly been in love with Lana Lang- the girl next door- for years, but he could never imagine writing her a letter of such deep devotion. He'd had brief relationships with Lana in the past, but he never felt he could truly trust her. That was one of the reasons they'd drifted apart. He could never imagine Lana accepting him so completely that her feelings remained unchanged. But here was Chloe, not only accepting him, but more than willing to wait for him. How had he been so blind?

He must have been really concentrating on the letter because he didn't hear Chloe walk in. She'd obviously been watching him stare at the letter for a while, without him realising, because she eventually said,

"I never meant for you to see that Clark." Her voice was so soft it was barely audible, but it still shocked him out of his reverie. He spun around to face her. He assumed his expression must have been amusing in some way because he could tell she was struggling to repress a giggle.

"When did you write this?" Hi voice was shaky as he echoed his earlier thought.

"Erm, well... it was sophomore year." She looked at her feet, this confrontation was obviously embarrassing her, yet she mumbled, "When you got really sick that time." He remembered it well; he and his mother had been exposed to some kind of kryptonite dust, which hadn't had a desirable effect on either of them. They'd eventually been cured by his spaceship, but only just in time. He remembered his father telling him Chloe had visited him while he was unconscious. He was sure he'd mentioned this to her after his recovery, but she'd never hinted that anything had happened during that visit. He just presumed she'd sat with him for a while, maybe brought some grapes?

"Why didn't you mention all this afterwards?" He said, gesturing at the letter, still clenched in his hand.

"Why do you think Clark?" She said with an edge of annoyance to her tone now. "I was terrified to tell you when you were out cold, let alone to your face. Besides, it didn't matter then."

"Why on Earth would you think it didn't matter?"

"Because I knew how you felt." She snapped back at him.

"Chloe, how could you possibly know my reaction?" He was trying to reach out to her, but she was closing herself off, blocking him out.

"I got to hear your reaction Clark, your true reaction at least."

"I don't understand Chlo."

"I poured my heart out to you and the one thing you said in return..." She started off boldly, as if she'd been waiting to say this for years, but as she neared the end she trailed off.

"What Chlo, what could I have said that made you think all of this didn't matter?"

"Lana."

"What? What's Lana got to do with this?"

"That's what you said Clark, 'Lana'." Finally he understood, he'd shot Chloe down. He could feel the pain of the memory radiating out of her. He knew that unconsciousness wasn't even an excuse for his blunt dismissal of her words of love. He frantically tried to remember, but it was hazy even for his usually accurate mind. He guessed the illness had affected his memories. He wanted to console her so badly it hurt, but he couldn't find a way. He cared for Chloe so much, but he could never articulate his thoughts, in the sensible yet poetic way she did. He didn't deserve her, or her words. She was far too good for him, far too special. She was still staring at him, composed now, impassive, displaying no emotion what-so-ever, as if she didn't care for him, as if all her love was gone, never to return. He'd thrown it away that day and he'd never again have the chance to claim it back.

He remembered all the times she'd offered herself to him, each time; all he offered her was rejection. He was a jerk. The Spring Formal, where they'd come oh-so-close to kissing. If only, Clark thought, if only we hadn't been interrupted, that could have been the start of a blissful forever. In sophomore year, there had been a time when she'd been infected by an adrenalin-inducing parasite and he'd been on Red K. They'd partaken in a pretty hot make out session, which Clark had to admit, he still dreamt about. Or even when she'd drunken a kryptonite infused sports drink- 'pom-pom juice' as she liked to call it. He remembered that time vividly, Chloe had approached him wearing nothing more than his football jersey, coming very close to acting out one of his more private fantasies. He realised- a little late- that Chloe was damn sexy and he'd been a massive ignoramus for pushing her away, again and again. As he became lost in thought several things became clear to him; one, he shouldn't have passed on Chloe's countless invitations, two, he'd been lying to her and himself when he said she wasn't what he wanted, and three, he'd never get those times back, he'd missed the boat entirely. Clark's head was pounding; all these thoughts and emotions were paining him more than kryptonite. He felt moisture swimming in his eyes, tears falling down his face, embarrassed or not, he couldn't stop it, couldn't control it, just as he had no control over Chloe.

"Are you crying Clark?" She said this in her usual snarky tone, but under the surface he could hear worry and shock. He realised he never cried in front of Chloe. Despite all the shit they'd been through together, she'd never seen him cry. He had to be strong, had to be her protector. If he wasn't that then what was he? He had superpowers, he saved people all the time, but nobody ever knew it was him, only Chloe. He was Chloe's hero if no one else's and he had to preserve that. If he was going to salvage any of that hero status he needed to stop crying now, but he couldn't seem to. The silent tears kept falling and the emotion in Chloe's eyes returned. He saw ten years of friendship in her eyes; understanding, sympathy and as always with Chloe- amusement.

"I'm sorry Chlo." He managed to murmur.

"I guess you're not invulnerable to everything." She replied, obviously choosing to go with sarcasm rather than empathy. Yet another classic Chloe manoeuvre. He couldn't hold back a little smile at this.

"No, not everything." He said, trying to convey some sort of deeper meaning. Not you. He stared into her eyes and he thought he saw a flicker or understanding. She had to understand what she meant to him, that she could wrap him around her little finger with one mischievous grin, that he is and would always be hers. Her hero. Or at least he'd try.

Clark felt the stare become intense and uncertain, he couldn't bear to look into her knowing eyes any longer. He broke the connection between them and glanced down to read the letter again, reaffirming himself with its message. Parts of it spoke to him, the truth dawning on him after all these years. The girl of his dreams was his best friend; there was no doubt about it.

"My dad told me there are two types of girl; the ones you grow out of and the ones you grow into, I really hope I'm the latter." This line struck him hard, Gabe Sullivan had definitely been right. There had been two girls in his past Clark thought he had real feelings for, the aforementioned Lana Lang, who he had certainly grown out of and Lois Lane, who he'd grown out of almost as quickly as he'd grown into her. He had to admit that Lois had been a fleeting crush without any substantial meaning beneath. A simple crush- just what he thought Chloe had in high school. He'd been wrong there.

"I may not be the one you love today, but I'll let you go for now, hoping one day you'll fly back to me because I think you're worth the wait." In Clark's opinion, these were not the words of someone with a mild crush; these were the words of someone in love. He ached to say them back to her, after all those years of her pinning for him, he wanted to offer her some relief, and he wanted to return her love. Alas, he was too late. He'd missed his chance, thrown it away without a second thought. What an idiot.

Clark had no idea how he'd gone from cleaning out his friend's desk, to being unconditionally and irrevocably in love with Chloe Sullivan. But here he was. He struggled frantically, grasping for any coherent thought. He had to say something. He needed to tell her something. But what?