A Long Day

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Thump. Thump. Thump.

She sighs audibly and bits her lip, physically resisting the impulse to comment.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

But it's been an exceptionally trying and tiring week.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

For Chloe Sullivan, chasing after bad guys is a pretty staple fare for a day in a life of a hardcore reporter like her. It usually includes a bit of roughing up, which occasionally has left her sincerely fearing, if not for her life, for her loved ones' well-being.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

But the week has had her figuratively keeling over the ropes and just about ready to throw in the towel. There's sheer physical exhaustion: being locked up in a literal cage for hours; being dangled upside down to the point of total lower-extremities-numbness; narrowly escaping a bullet to the head which, thankfully, only grazed her ear. And even after months of damage control and soul-searching, there are still the emotional aftereffects of calling off the wedding, and the mourning for the casualties of relationships which it had laid to utter waste in its wake. So, yeah, at the moment, she is unrepentant that she can't muster the energy for patience even for something as trivial as this, even for someone as important to her as…

"Clark!" She shouts, her voice ringing through the by-now empty office.

"Huh?"

She breathes out, relieved; at least the outburst got him to stop drumming that blasted pen on his desk. Her irritation further loses its edge when she sees his genuinely clueless and patently handsome face, a face that always had the uncanny effect to distract.

"Look, Kent, I appreciate your gesture of solidarity by staying with me as I finish up here. But it's time unwisely spent," she says, even as she goes back to typing.

He only smiles, eye brows shooting up. "It's fine. I want to stay." As if to make his point, he leans his back to his swivel chair, getting himself comfortable.

"It's Friday night. Don't you have any innocent bystander to save?"

"I'm taking the night off."

"Well, that's good, God knows you earned it," she replies, her tone now more conversational. "But shouldn't you put it to better use, though, instead of moping around here? I mean, c'mon, night-offs are a rarity for you. You should go out and have fun."

"Who says I'm not?"

"Oh yeah, and I'm having fun watching the cursor blink on the computer screen. I didn't know we had so much in common, Clark," she deadpans, with the rolling of eyes to boot.

"Well…," he drags out the syllable long enough for his nervousness to show if she wasn't too busy typing away at the computer, "I was hoping to take you out to dinner. Just the two of us."

"After you've finished with what you're doing, that is," he immediately adds, trying to stamp down the implications of what he'd just said. Whether she caught on, he can't be sure. Her unpredictability has thrown him off more times than he can count.

"Yeah?" Her eyes darts to him and back to the computer screen.

"Yeah." He breathes out. It's possible that's he's never been so anxious in his life. And that's saying something, considering he's the undisputed King of Jitters, seated on the throne of Awkward.

"What's the occasion?"

"Nothing, really. Just want to hang out." That's as neutral and casual as he can make his voice to be.

She narrows her eyes at him, and the makings of a smile tug at her lips. She can't decide whether to be suspicious or just happy that he wants to spend time with her. Happiness trounces suspicion and she smiles. He smiles, too, but mostly to cover up how terrified he is. Suck it up, Clark. You're the one who made it this hard and waited this long.

"Does it bother you?"

"Does it bother me what?" She doesn't look up from the computer, and the lack of eye contact oddly makes him bold.

"That I'm taking you to dinner."

"Hey, good company, free food? What's there to be bothered about?," she lets out a carefree laugh.

"So I guess it's safe to say you won't mind if we make it a regular thing?" He straightens up a little on his seat and plants his elbows on the desk. "Nothing better than free food, right?"

"I guess, but it depends on what you mean by regular. I don't have a social life to speak of as it is, you know."

"Like everyday-regular."

"Hmmmm…," she bites her lips and makes a show of thinking over it. "Will I get a say on what restaurant we eat in?"

"If you let me take you home afterwards, yes."

"My very own personal bodyguard; who's complaining? Actually, that's one of the things I like about your hero complex."

He frowns at that. "And what things don't you like about it?"

"Nice try. Not going there, though. Let's not spoil our appetite, shall we?"

He makes a mental note to follow that line of conversation eventually but resolves, in the meantime, to stay on topic.

"So, that's it then. We'll get together for dinner from now on. And then we can even go shopping after, if you'd like. I'm not particularly fond of it but what the heck, I've come across intergalactic super beings and meteor freaks. I'm sure I'm tougher than salesclerks. Or if you want, we can go for a movie. Nothing like a few hours of escapism and..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down, farmboy!" She pushes herself from the desk and finally faces him.

"Ok," he says, as his Adam's apple bobbed up then down his throat. He didn't think he'll be let off that easily, anyway.

"What is with you?" She looks worried and he half-expected for her to check his head for any bumps or possible concussion.

"What?" He realizes he's just futilely fending off the inevitable.

"Okay, I think I know what this is about."

"You know?," he looks at her quizzically, as he takes a big gulp of air.

"It doesn't take a rocket scientist, Clark. You're my best friend. And it's not that I don't appreciate you wanting to spend time with me...," she stands, goes around the table, partially rests her weight on it and angles her body towards his desk and stares at him in all seriousness. "But you do realize that what you just said is borderline ridiculous and insane, right? I know I may seem a bit off lately, with the whole non-wedding fiasco and the pressure at work, but you don't need to treat me to dinner everyday just to cheer me up."

Usually, this is as far as where his courage could carry him. This is the point where he would have conceded, saying yes, that's it: I want to take you to dinner; hold your purse and bags for you while you shop; go to a romance-comedy movie with you and put my arms over your shoulders or hold your hand because I want to comfort you since you cancelled your wedding with Jimmy, which effectively crushed his heart and perhaps fatally chipped yours. And I'd chalk it all up to trying to be the best friend you need.

"No, that's not it." Whew, at least he got over that hurdle.

"Really, now?" There's a lilt in her voice that could only be construed as taunting.

"Chlo, I've seen you weather bigger storms than a foiled wedding and some overdue articles. Believe me, this isn't about cheering you up."

"Okay, I'll bite. What is it, then?" She crosses her arms over her chest. It doesn't escape him that she's wearing a smug expression.

He breathes in, and "Ilikebeingaroundyou," breathes out.

A solemn moment of silence passes, which makes the laughter following it especially sacrilegious and insulting. Can he just kiss her now and get it over with?

"Okay, okay." She tries but fails to compose herself and laughs some more.

"Sorry, sorry, okay. Whew. That's...wow, thanks for that. You know, with all the tension and..."

"Chloe! I think you're missing the point here."

"No, Clark, I got it. You want to hang out. So, let's hang out. But I warn you, I don't think you realize the full implications of you offering to be my shopping buddy. You said you like being around me. That, however, requires a whole new level of liking!" She gesticulates animatedly and finds all the right cues to laugh.

"Exactly." This is the only time he has taken pleasure in wiping the smile off her face.

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