All Inclusive

Chloe has been through some weird shit in the past several years. She's basically got a mark on her forehead that says, "Need a hostage? I'm available!" but she guesses that's mostly because of Clark Kent and not necessarily because of her.

This takes the cake. She woke up this morning in a really bad knockoff of Madonna's "Like A Virgin" get up and between the splitting headache and the memory loss, she's not really sure how she tumbled out of a closet and into the hallway of a hotel. She doesn't even know which hotel it is, except it's not Vegas or Metropolis or any other place she's ever been before in her life. It's sure as heck not Kansas anymore but where it is? She has no idea.

So she's screwed. More or less.

She wanders down the hallway and ends up finding the front desk, at least, so that's an improvement on her current situation. Not that it tells her much. There's a key for her and a room assignment and some instructions about the amenities and Chloe tunes it all out. She needs to know what the hell happened to her that she's got a big, black spot for the last 12-24 hours and she needs to find Clark and Lois or someone who was with her so she can start piecing things together again.

She guesses a regular person wouldn't care so much that they blacked out drunk but Chloe isn't a regular person. Her memory lapses tend to be the result of some catastrophic event on a global scale (well, maybe not exactly but they coincide) and she'd like to know that Metropolis isn't in a crater and looking suspiciously like the aliens won in Independence Day.

So she decides to go back to where it all started. She's in the hallway tugging at the door she tumbled out of, feet braced against it so she can pull at the handle with all the power that her five foot five can manage. It's not a lot.

"Oh my God, Clark? Could you please show up any time now?"