Switching off the ignition, Clark quietly unlocks the driver's door, hoping not to wake Chloe as he exits the car. Tiptoeing to the other side of the Bug, he watches her through the windshield, almost fearing she will somehow disappear again.

Carefully unlatching the seat belt stretched across her waist, he lifts her into his arms, handling her as though she were a chipped porcelain doll newly discovered in a forgotten estate.

As her slumbering head gently nuzzles against his chest, the gentle scent of her blueberry conditioner brings a slight smile to his worried face. Closing his eyes for a moment to savor the sweet aroma that somewhere along the way he began to crave, he wonders how for so long something so beautiful could linger unnoticed.

Feeling her stir ever so slightly in his grasp, he cradles her tighter, needing to keep her safe, secretly longing to hold her like this forever.

With her soft breath warming his arm, he peers down at her pretty face, seeing even in her dreams it appears she cannot escape sadness. If only, somehow, just holding her close to his heart could fill the void in her own.

Needing to offer her something, needing to relieve the aching in his own chest as he thinks about all the things both of them never said, he presses his soft lips against hers, wishing he could erase all the sorrow from her life with a simple kiss.

His lips are about to part to form words of comfort, but he instead decides its best to allow her to continue sleeping. Although he has brought her to the home in which she feels safest, he hopes her dreams will offer her at least a moment of peaceful sanctuary.

Wrapped in the warm blanket of his embrace, Chloe continues with the ruse that she has not yet awakened. Convinced that if she were to open her eyes this dream would shatter back to reality, she instead chooses to leave her tears hiding behind her still closed lids.

X x X x X

Clark lays Chloe down in her home, more specifically the soft couch in the Torch office. Listening intently, she expects to hear his boots shuffle out the door and then fade down the hallway. She knows that hearing the sounds of him leave will be far less painful than watching him go.

She feels the light weight of his jacket drop down over her, and then the boots begin to shuffle across the floor again. She desperately wants to call out for him not to leave, to stay a little longer and protect her from her own fears, but she knows if she utters a word about how much she cherishes his attention it will soon end. No, she cannot dare speak such vulnerable words.

The footsteps of her savior sweep across the room, and she expects them to round the door frame to the hall. Instead, she hears a weak squeak, and then the creaking of wood under the strain of a massive boy. All of her fear and doubts evaporate away to joy. Now safe behind the walls of her own castle, where the perils of the world could no longer reach her, when she no longer needed him to slay any more dragons; he chose to stay.

Unable to contain it any longer, a tender smile curls up and makes a nest in her cheeks.

"Faker," Clark smiles, his sparkling eyes eager to meet with hers again.

Her eyelids slide open, widening the smile that gave her away.

"You stayed," the princess who enjoys being rescued says. "You didn't have to stay," the realist in her finishes.

"I wanted to," he tells her.

Chloe doesn't want to respond. If she does, it will continue the conversation and may erase what he just said with more small words. She needs to hang on to those words for as long as she can, because never has Clark Kent before, or never will he again, say such perfect words.

Sitting up quickly, she suddenly realizes how horrid she must look after the night she had. Tucking her wayward hair behind her ears, she feels her cheeks blush with embarrassment, and bashfully she lets her eyes fall to the floor.

Sliding his chair closer to her, he softly covers her hand with his, his gentle gesture telling her she's beautiful.

Feeling that the memory of his words, the very timbre of his voice when he spoke them are safely tucked away into her memory, she dares to speaks again, driven by the look in his eyes she's never seen before.

"Is that a daisy?" she asks, gesturing towards the single flower now wilted and broken against the ground.

Clark shrugs his shoulders, and for the first time in his life convincingly lies, never letting on that it was him that left the petals resting upon the floor.

"They're my favorite," she says, gently picking up the barren stem and admiring it lovingly, not seeing his satisfied smile sweep across his contented face.

Always the reporter, Chloe can't resist the mystery, the seldom seen romantic in her needing to know the answer to the question before her.

"I wonder where they left off- 'love them, or love them not?'"