Author's Note: Just rewatched the original Superman movie and got this idea. When I first started writing this story, I had Clark visiting Chloe to get info on a Freak-of-the-Week, since it seems that's the only reason he visits her at the Planet on the show. Then I stopped, thought about it for a moment, and went, "Screw that! This is my story, and I say he's going to be considerate and take her out for lunch!" Ah, I love being an author. (eats her ramen noodles and grins)
A Please-Just-Kill-Me-Now Story
"Thanks for lunch, Clark," Chloe grinned, walking briskly to keep up with the tall boy's long strides. "I was kinda getting sick of eating ramen in the break room every day."
Clark turned his head and smirked at her. "What, Cup-O-Noodles finally let you down? I thought they were the staple for busy college students everywhere."
Clark had showed up unexpectedly outside one of her classes an hour and a half before and had offered to buy her lunch before escorting her to the Daily Planet. Seemed he was in town and had a few hours to kill before he was needed back at the farm. Chloe had jumped at the opportunity for a double treat—decent hot food and a chance to spend some time with her favorite awkward farm boy. They had visited a nearby Italian grill for calzones and the locally-famous strawberries and cream. Now they were crossing the street across from the Daily Planet building, Clark carrying a take-out container full of the fruit dessert for his mother.
"Staple or not, you can only eat instant noodles for so many meals in a row before your body starts rejecting them as no longer a food source," Chloe said with a grimace. She headed for the slowly spinning revolving door, Clark half a step behind her. She entered one of the door's chambers without incident but stopped short when she heard a loud "Oomph!" and the popping sound of a plastic container opening from behind her.
Turning, she saw Clark half in her compartment, half outside, trapped between the panel and the wall. She was really surprised that the metal and fiberglass hadn't already shattered from the impact with Clark's unyielding body. The door had, however, crushed the take-out box of strawberries that he had tucked against his chest, and the pink-tinged cream had sprayed all over the shocked boy. Lips curling in an effort not to laugh, Chloe said, "Um, Clark? Having a problem?"
"Just a little bit," he breathed, trying very hard not to move. He could feel how tense the door was against him; he certainly didn't need the attention that would be brought about if he broke it. His face twitched as droplets of cream rolled down his cheek, making it itch. Dear god, how had this happened? One moment he'd been entering the revolving door, and the next he was...erm, trapped.
With Clark's shoulders wedged tightly into the door, Chloe was stuck in her compartment. Biting down giggles, she pushed gently on the handle. The door groaned, the metal against Clark's chest caving a bit. "Well, that's not gonna work, is it?" she said, looking around.
"Chloe, please," the boy whispered. People were starting to stare at the odd situation unfolding at the entrance. He wiggled his shoulder experimentally and a bolt popped off the door, landing with a rattle next to Chloe's feet. He swallowed nervously and blinked at the trickle of cream that was threatening to run into his eye.
Chloe put a finger to her chin. "What I wouldn't do for a camera right now. Why did I ever stop carrying one around with me?"
"Come on! There are a bunch of reporters out there watching me!"
"All right, all right," Chloe huffed. "Let's see...if I push on this—no, that won't work. Okay, Clark, you back out and I'll put my weight against the handle. If we time it right, there should be a gap big enough for you to fit through. Ready? Okay...one...two...three!"
Clark rammed his shoulders backwards as Chloe shoved on the door. There was a loud screech as the metal rotated slowly, then the tell-tale sound of ripping fabric. Moments later, however, Clark popped free back on the outside of the building, stumbling over the mat in front of the door. A few onlookers cheered, causing Clark's face to burn red in embarrassment.
Wiping away the pink cream from his face, he stammered, "Um, don't—don't mind me. I'm, uh, from...a, uh...farm?"
Several of the city-folk nodded sagely. Of course. He was just a hayseed. Probably had never been in a building with an elevator before, let alone a revolving door. Throwing sympathetic looks at the boy, they proceeded about their business. The people of Metropolis were nothing if not open-minded about their simpler neighbors.
Clark looked down at the crushed container of strawberries in his hand, then noticed the sleeve of his jacket seemed to be sagging. In fact, his entire jacket seemed to be sagging. He held his arms out and the coat fell off, torn completely in two by the vicious door.
He crouched and picked up the tattered remains like they were the body of a good friend. He suddenly felt so...naked, standing there in just his plain blue t-shirt. Correction—his dairy-splattered blue t-shirt.
The door rotated and Chloe emerged, took one look at the scene before her, and started shrieking with laughter. She covered her mouth with her hands, shoulders shaking with absolute mirth. Clark glared at her reproachfully as he waited for her to calm down. Finally, she wiped at her face and took a deep breath. Her eyes flicked up to his and for a moment she was all seriousness...until she burst out laughing again.
"Chloe, it's not funny," the tall boy growled, hands balling into fists around the limp red fabric of his now-destroyed jacket.
"Oh," she gasped, "Oh, god, you have no idea how funny it really is. Clark Kent, eaten alive by a revolving door!"
"Chlo-eeee!" he cried, ears and cheeks burning.
"A-a-and you h-h-h-have a s-st-str-strawberry in your hair!" she spluttered, tears coursing down her face.
Clark combed through his hair with his fingers. Sure enough, a chunk of fruit fell out. He moaned, completely mortified. He, with all his powers, had been bested by a door that rotated, and even then only if you pushed it. He shot a glare at the entrance, tempted for a moment to weld the door in place forever. Deciding against it lest he should be seen committing the act, he sighed and fingered the frayed material of his favorite red jacket. It was gone; the damage was beyond what even Martha with her miraculous sewing kit could salvage.
He felt fingers on his forearm and glanced down at Chloe. The blonde's eyes were wide and sad, and she too touched the pieces of the coat. "It's really too bad," she said softly. "It was so innocent. A most horrific casualty in...th-the..." her face broke out in a wide grin again as she struggled to finish her sentence, "...the war b-between Clark K-K-Kent and the r-revolving door!" she howled with laughter.
He hissed in frustration, eyes narrowed. He had a feeling she wasn't going to let him live this down, now or ever. He grumbled as she dragged him inside (this time through a traditional door off to the side) to clean him up.
Later, as she was sponging the cream from his t-shirt as best she could, he muttered, "I'm never going near one of those things again."
Eyebrows raised and mouth puckered to keep from laughing again, Chloe dabbed at the spots on the cotton. "Whatever you say, Clark. Whatever you say."
The end. Well, for this story. The eternal struggle between Clark Kent and the revolving door still rages on. Each year dozens of pieces of clothing are ripped, snagged, or crushed by unrepentant doors. If you would like to contribute to the war efforts and put an end to this senseless violence, please contact your local chapter of the Association for Hopeless Cases. Thank you.