Title: Sparkage (2/?)
Author: elgatoneun
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Chloe/Whitney
Summary: Whitney and Chloe talk at the hospital
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, at all.
Spoilers: Everything up to and including Kinetic
Feedback: Would be appreciated
Notes: This scene is the day Chloe and Whitney spoke at the hospital, referred to in part 1 of this series. This takes place during Kinetic, right after Whitney is saved from getting flattened in the warehouse and during Chloe's stay in the hospital after her fall.
Chloe Sullivan padded softly down the hospital corridor, ducking into an unoccupied room when one of the ER nurses passed by. Tyrants, every last one of them, she fumed. Oh, they looked harmless enough, with their crisp white uniforms, their sensible shoes and those fake sympathetic smiles.
The rumbling in her stomach brought her attention back to the purpose at hand. She had to focus; failure was not an option. She slid stealthily along the dull green wall. The smell of industrial strength disinfectant warred with the sour stench of urine and sickness. The disinfectant was never strong enough to overcome those odors.
She did not like hospitals and she especially did not like having to stay in one. Chloe hated confinement of any kind and to be held prisoner in that sterile suffocating little room was unbearable. She didn't have the temperament necessary to be a good, or even a tolerable, patient. She hated the nurses and they hated her. Battle lines had been drawn, and Chloe was on the losing side. Not a good place to be. She would swear that she had been kept weak and malnourished on purpose. She was forced into a diet regimen sure to keep patients docile and meek. It was a subtle tactic designed to reinforce the power structure of this bastion of mini-Napoleons disguised in scrubs with plastic name badges and wielding those stupid clipboards.
Chloe was sure she'd read or heard somewhere that hospitals were notorious for the poor nutritional content of their meals. That the typical hospital meal was woefully inadequate to promote patient health. It had to have been an expose on "60 Minutes" or something. It was a conspiracy, and her reporter instincts were going off like crazy. She considered the evidence. Little or no sugar, salt or caffeine. They were definitely trying to kill her.
She even had the evidence sitting back in her little cell – tough, tasteless, inedible Jell-O. That was the last straw. She loved Jell-O; loved to pop the wiggly little cubes of happiness one at a time into her mouth. She would squish it against the back of her teeth, repeatedly, until it dissolved into warm sweet syrup and then swallow it in one delicious gulp. She had looked forward to lime green Jell-O. She had eaten what she could of the chicken, but had quickly discarded it in favor of her sweet cool dessert. She had taken her first bite and had to spit it out, horrified. The people here were truly evil.
She had to concentrate on her mission. Only then could she regain some of her momentum, regroup and go back into battle. She resolutely moved forward.
Finally, she saw it. Her objective was in range. Vending machines. Change jingled in the pocket of her plaid pajama pants. Her mouth watered at the thought of hot, bitter coffee and gooey chocolate covered caramel. She hurriedly jammed the quarters into the machine and punched in her selection. Chloe waited in anticipation, ready to rip off the foil wrapping in one smooth motion … when nothing came out of the machine. Evil, evil, evil! She rattled and pounded on the machine as best as she could with her one good arm. Nothing.
Chloe plopped down dejectedly onto the lumpy waiting room couch and wondered where her knight in shining armor was when she truly needed him. Stupid Clark, stupid Pete, stupid white flowers from Lex Luthor. Men were so stupid when it came to things like that. Not a single one had brought her anything useful. Even her dad had only brought her clothes and her toothbrush. No computer, no books, no chocolate, no coffee. Worthless, they were totally worthless. Well, maybe not totally worthless. Pete had brought her laptop after she had pleaded with him. And he had hooked her up to the Internet, until Nurse Williams had caught her and confiscated the equipment.
And Clark had been so cute, so worried about her, and those sad handpicked flowers had been so sweet. She had fantasized. Clark saw her lying in the hospital, near death's door, and finally realized he had feelings for her, took her into his arms and declared his undying love for her. God, she must be getting delusional from the hunger. She shook off the stupid dream and plotted on how to dismantle the vending machine.
Then she caught it; a whiff of brown sugar and vanilla tantalized her senses. She turned her head and saw the Tupperware container first. Full of cookies. Then she looked up to bless her savior, the benevolent angel who had answered her prayers – and saw Whitney Fordman. God was a comedian.
She swallowed the caustic comment she would normally bestow on the leader of Smallville High's jockstraps. She tried for a pleasant smile. Whitney looked at her warily, like a mongoose regarding a snake. She looked at his face. Wow, he looked like crap.
"You look like crap." Oops, damn it. She saw Whitney visibly relax.
"Hey, Sullivan. Nice to know the fall didn't hurt your mouth." He approached her a bit cautiously. Chloe had to fight to keep from jumping up and grabbing the cookies out of his hands.
"So what are you doing here? Aren't visiting hours over?" Chloe knew Whitney's dad was in the hospital. Had spoken with him yesterday as a matter of fact. Prisoners had to stick together in order to survive. Okay, that was a little melodramatic.
"Um, I had to (mumble, murfle, mumble)"
"What was that?" Chloe still tried to keep up the pleasant façade. Articulate, damn it.
"I had to stay overnight for observation," Whitney stated belligerently.
"Oh?" normally Chloe would pry, but cookies, cookies were calling to her.
"Um, so what have you got there, Whitney?" She tried for an air of nonchalance.
"Oh, these, it's just a care package from Lana." She waited expectantly for him to offer some. And waited. Not too bright are you, Whitney?
"Chocolate chip?" She thought she could hear a note of desperation creep into her voice.
Whitney smiled at her. Hunger must really be affecting her, because, damn, Whitney Fordman was gorgeous.
"They're my favorite, dark chocolate chip with praline pecans. Nobody else likes them. Lana makes them special just for me. Want some?" Whitney held a cookie out to her, smiling at her, taunting her.
"Thanks." Chloe snatched the cookie out of his hand, brought it close to her face and inhaled its heavenly aroma. Then she took a bite. Bittersweet chocolate mingled with the taste of crunchy sweet pecans and chewy sugary cookie. It was the best cookie she had ever had. She wolfed the remainder of it down and licked her fingers. She looked at Whitney pointedly and then at the cookies. The look was clear; it was a demand not a request.
He handed them over.
Chloe quickly devoured two more. She vaguely processed that Whitney had gotten up and moved out of range of her peripheral vision. But, she had finally found sustenance and nothing was going to distract her. One thing she had to admit, Lana could bake. If she supplied cookies like this, it was no wonder guys were so obsessed with her. Well, besides her looks, sweet personality, popularity, and everything else that made up the perfect Lana Lang package, Chloe thought sourly.
Denim clad legs moved in front of her eyes. Whitney sat down in front of her with two cups in his hand, two cups of hot brewed coffee. Chloe gazed up at him eagerly.
"This is an offering in good faith. I'm hoping to negotiate the release of some of the hostages." Whitney glanced meaningfully at the cookie container.
"Well," Chloe had to stop a moment to finish chewing, "I suppose we could do that, but I want some of my demands met." Whitney took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. He made a 'How can you drink this crap?' face. Ooh, goody, the coffee was strong and bitter just how she liked it.
"They are my favorite, you know." Whitney gave her a small half smile that probably would have made the entire cheerleading squad breakout in cartwheels and back flips. Chloe steeled herself against the Fordman charm. She hated it when she was susceptible to lower life forms.
"Okay, you can have one, but you have to answer some questions . . . truthfully."
"Sure." Whitney liberated two cookies from the plastic container and handed her the other cup of coffee.
Chloe took small sips of her coffee. She let him eat the cookies before swooping in. A tiny part of her was amazed that Whitney was being so nice. She had swiped his cookies, after all. She's amazed that she gets away with all the stuff that she does. The boys in Smallville were too polite. Nobody dared to rein in her audacious behavior. The boys she had known in Metropolis would have called her on her shit a long time ago, of course they had never tried to suck out all of her body heat or threw her out of windows either. There were always trade-offs, she mused.
"Okay, seriously, what is so special about Lana?" Whitney barely had a chance to open his mouth when Chloe continued, shushing him with a hand gesture.
"I know she's beautiful and she's extremely nice, but what is it about her exactly that makes the guys in this town think she walks on water?" she finished impatiently, well almost finished.
"She's reasonably intelligent, I guess, and she's not stuck up or anything, you know, considering. She's practically perfect." Chloe wrinkled her nose in disgust and continued, "Although, she never could get my coffee order correct, you wouldn't believe the God awful stuff she used to give me. She should be banned from ever touching another coffeepot." A moment of silence followed.
"Well?" prodded Chloe impatiently.
"Oh, I'm allowed to speak now?" Whitney answered with fake obsequiousness. Chloe glared at him.
"Well, admittedly, the lack of skill in preparing hot beverages weighs heavily on my mind, but she's kind of quiet, doesn't give me any lip and she's decent looking. She used to be the head cheerleader so that gave her some bonus points, but you're right. I should probably have dumped her a long time ago." Chloe winced at the sardonic tone.
"Okay, I'm sorry, I was out of line, but . . ." she bit her lip. "I don't mean to be such a … what is it about her?" Her voice trembled a little. She hated when she sounded weak.
"If you're asking what other guys see in her," Chloe refused to register the pitying glance from Whitney, "I don't know. But she's special to me, she makes me feel … like a man, I guess." The look he gave her was enigmatic.
"She makes you feel like a man?" she repeated dumbly. What the hell does that … oh. A sly grin appeared on Chloe's face. Wow, Lana, you go, girl! Chloe ran an appraising glance over Whitney's body.
"So, she makes you feel like a man." Chloe couldn't help it; she leered a bit. Whitney actually blushed.
"Get your mind out of the gutter, Sullivan. I mean, she lets me open car doors for her, she's there to watch all my games, she lets me order, she bakes me cookies, she lets me protect her …" he trailed off and shrugged at her again.
"Oh, so she plays the weak, submissive little girlfriend and that makes you feel manly?" Chloe had a dangerous sparkle in her eye. If Whitney had known her better, he would have immediately retreated to safety. As it was some sixth sense, or maybe it was some old survival instinct, kicked in and he moved away from her slightly. Chloe advanced.
"You, the reigning all-American football hero, have to have some pretty little thing fall all over you so that you can feel like a man? You have to protect her? That's the most pathetic thing I've heard. Newsflash, ball boy, real men don't need some helpless female hanging around them telling them how great they are, because they already are REAL MEN."
"Thanks for the tip, Sullivan, did you get that insight from your vast experience with guys? Yeah, I can see how they're all just lining up for you. Gotta beat them off with a stick, huh?" Chloe recoiled at the palpable hit. A tiny corner of her heart shrank at the ugly words.
"Well, my experience with men is a little inadequate. It doesn't include washed up athletes so desperate to re-live their former glory days that they inject themselves with who knows what in order to commit a felony. Gee, maybe you can tell me why some guy would be so idiotic and try to throw his life away? Is it insecurity or stupidity?" Whitney looked livid. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Chloe felt a grim measure of satisfaction until Whitney locked his gaze with hers. He looked tired and defeated.
"Maybe both." He answered wearily. She felt ashamed and confused by his honesty.
"I'm sorry." They both said it at the same time.
"Want a cookie?" She smiled ruefully at him and held out the Tupperware. He smiled back and accepted the peace offering. They ate in silence until the last cookie was gone.