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Summary: What if the events in Vortex had happened in a slightly different way? A Chloe-finds-out story.

A/N: I've altered the timeline a little, making all of Tempest and most of Vortex happen over a two-day span. Nixon's car did not end up on a tree, pretend it was somewhere around the entrance to the crypt. And let's also pretend that he had gathered much more compromising information on Clark than the tape he gave Jonathan.

Huge thanks to Sus, you're the best and you know it. This one's for you.

- 1. Writer's block -

Maybe the reason why I can't write is because I don't have anything interesting to say. Or maybe it's precisely because I do. Oh boy, do I have something interesting to share with the world... the headline of the century. The kind of exclusive any reporter at the Daily Planet would sell their firstborn for. The only problem is that I would rather die than write about it.

Maybe this sudden inability to write the Torch's editorial on the tornado is some weird Freudian trick my brain is playing on me, and my writing skills will be held hostage by my subconscious until I write what really deserves being written. If that is the case, Freudian self-destructive mechanisms suck, let me tell you.

I'm the editor of this goddamned paper, for Christ's sake! I can't have writer's block. I can't afford having writer's block. What's more, I've always believed there is no such thing at all. Writer's block is just a feeble excuse to hide one's lack of creativity, because the only thing that can really block a writer is the writer himself. Which brings us back full circle.

Maybe I've forgotten all the basic rules of journalism too, because I've been rambling for a while now and you still have no idea of what I'm talking about, right? Right. Okay, let's rewind to the part where I said I had something worthy of being narrated.

I guess you could call it a secret. But it's more than just that. This so-called secret is about Clark. No, wait. It's not what you're thinking. It has nothing to do with my -I'll say the word and then die- crush on him. Although I must clarify that my feelings for him left the crush territory a long time ago and entered the land of unrequited love of my life to presumably never return again… but that's another story.

So anyway, this secret of mine involves Clark Kent. I've always known there was something special about him. Something indefinable that you just know is there, even though you can't put your finger on it.

But not even in my wildest dreams -and I don't mean those involving a certain shirtless farm boy and the couch in his barn- could I have imagined the truth about Clark.

It's funny how your whole life can be turned upside down in just one day.

I've experienced it twice. The first time was the day my mother left. The second time was just yesterday, but it feels like a million years ago.

A lot of things happened yesterday. A tornado hit Smallville. My perfect date turned into my worst nightmare. And I discovered Clark Kent is an alien.

TBC...