Title: Sparkage (3/?)
Author: elgatoneun
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Chloe/Whitney
Summary: Whitney and Chloe get ready for the party
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, at all.
Spoilers: Everything for the first season
Feedback: Would be appreciated
Notes: We are back to summer, after the season finale. This chapter starts later the same day as the 1st chapter and several months after the 2nd chapter. All of the chapters flashback in this manner. Please let me know if this format is confusing.
"You can lock the doors now, Jared." Whitney gave the orders to the rest of the staff to begin clean up. Hopefully the walk throughs wouldn't take too long. He started in the sports equipment section. He picked some mitts and balls off of the floor. Those Granger kids always made a mess; he smiled remembering how his dad used to yell at him and his friends for doing the same thing. He started rearranging the aluminum bats.
He definitely preferred wooden bats to aluminum ones; his hand automatically went to his side. His side had hurt for a week as a result of Chloe's enthusiastic attempt at softball. He made a mental note never to get her angry when she had anything in her hand that could conceivably be used as a weapon.
He made sure his area was presentable and finished up closing procedures. Whitney was happy that it was almost time for the party. He patted his jacket pocket, reassured by the feel of the rectangular velvet lined box he had put in there this afternoon. Eight weeks. Eight weeks with Chloe. He couldn't believe how much his life, how much he had changed. Everything in his life was now segregated into Before Chloe and After Chloe.
There had been so many things going on in his life, a lot of it terrible, and when he looked back, it seemed that most of his bright moments had been with her. Even when she had been annoying and pissing him off, he only remembered that she made him feel alive. All the times she told him to get off his ass and do something instead of wallowing in misery. Or the time she had worn that sexy red tank top and flirted non-stop making him so incredibly horny. Even those times when they were doing nothing but hanging out, talking about nothing, or about everything, like this afternoon.
"We're finished now, Mr. Fordman, … Mr. Fordman? Whitney? Hello?" A hand was waving in front of his face.
"Oh, sorry, Krista," Whitney took a look around the store. "It looks okay. Go ahead, thanks for staying late." He watched his employees leave. Wow, his employees. It was weird thinking about them like that. But it was the truth, at least for now. He wondered if his dad had ever felt weird ordering people around. Whitney couldn't suppress a grin. Hah, not likely. If there was one thing that his dad had been good at, it was telling people what to do. His dad had been born a leader. Jack Fordman had no doubts about how things should work and no qualms about telling people what to do to accomplish it. It was one of the traits that Whitney had most admired and also frustrated him about his dad. Whitney missed him more than he ever thought he would. Before the illness, Whitney could have said that he loved his dad, in sort of a benign, negligent way. Jack Fordman had been a man's man. He was a tough, no nonsense, overbearing man who was respected and feared in the community. He was also a hard-working, responsible, decent man who cared for his family, even if he couldn't relate to them.
But after, when he had gotten sick. That man had vanished. And in his place was a flawed soft human being. It had shaken Whitney up. He had never seen his father so vulnerable and insecure. He wanted to shout at him, tell him to go away and bring his real father back. His dad was strong, fearless … not weak and sick.
Whitney was ashamed of his behavior but after he had analyzed it (with Chloe, of course, that girl always had a million theories), he realized that his father's change in behavior was what made the illness real for him. Whitney had been in denial, trying to cope with the fact that his father, his foundation, his role model, really was going away. But luckily, he had faced up to it. He would have never been able to forgive himself had he not had those last few days with his father. The things they talked about. That was when he had gotten glimpses of Jack Fordman, the man, not just his dad. He had spoken to Whitney about his own hopes, his dreams and his regrets. Whitney would have been sorry beyond measure if he hadn't gotten to know his father.
Every now and then, he heard little anecdotes about his dad from a co-worker or customer that surprised him. It was another illuminating discovery about the kind of man that his father had been. It was funny to realize that he had actually missed his dad more when he was growing up; back then he never really knew his dad.
Whitney sighed. He missed his dad, but the pain wasn't as sharp as before. It was a trite expression but it was true, time really did heal all wounds. He put the day's receipts into the safe and twirled the lock. All done. Time to go home and get ready.
He walked out into the unseasonably cool summer air. It was a perfect evening, not windy, but balmy and clear. It wasn't dusk yet; the sky was still purple and orangish pink. He approached his car, a dark blue Dodge Neon. Chloe had fallen down laughing the first time he went to pick her up in it. That had not been a particularly good day. He scowled, unacceptable insurance risk, my ass. Was it really his fault that his trucks were destroyed by acts of God? He couldn't control the weather, tornados were a part of life in Kansas, hadn't they ever seen "Wizard of Oz"? Of course, that didn't explain how the hell his first truck had gotten perched on top of that tower o'cars at Homecoming, or the explosion the next day, the dents to the hood provided by Clark Kent falling on top of the next one and the ditch at Williams Grove that had totaled his last one.
Trucks were just not meant to be a part of his life, he thought mournfully. He got into the car and started the drive to his house. He looked at some of the improvements to the storefronts on Main Street. The tornado in May had done a lot of damage. Luckily, most of it had been fixable. The cost of the renovations had been substantial, and with the announcement of the Luthor plant closing down, a large exodus out of Smallville could have been the disastrous result. Luckily, Chloe (she was never far from his thoughts) hadn't given up. He was constantly amazed at the things she could accomplish with her indomitable will. Her idea along with the support of Lex Luthor and a host of others enabled Smallville to flourish after the storm. It had been a Herculean effort that she had attacked with gusto.
Whitney turned off Main Street into his neighborhood. He honestly couldn't remember the rest of the drive, he had only been thinking of Chloe. Jesus, he had to get himself together. He parked the car and went into the house to shower and change.
Half an hour later he was inside Chloe's house waiting for her to come down. Chloe's dad was telling him another joke.
"And so the salesman says, 'That's a rhinoceros in a fur coat, sir,'" Whitney looked at Mr. Sullivan expectantly for the tiniest second before he forced himself to chuckle politely. Chloe's dad laughed uproariously in appreciation of his own wit.
"Dad, please, stop with the lame jokes," Chloe yelled from the top of the banister. Whitney turned toward the sound of her voice and awaited her descent down the stairs.
"Honey, you just haven't matured enough to appreciate my
sense of humor."
"I don't think anyone has dad," Chloe retorted teasingly. Chloe finally appeared … dressed to kill …
him apparently. He looked up at Chloe
dressed (half-dressed) in a small shiny pink triangle held together only by
string; the worst thing was it had no back, it was nothing more than a
glorified bikini top. He saw smooth
sun-kissed skin that reminded him of soft succulent peaches. It was one of those midriff-baring
tops. She also had on black jeans,
which sounded harmless enough, but they were those low hip-hugging kind and
tight enough to accentuate all her curves.
All this took but a moment to process and he blurted out the first
coherent sentence he could form.
"You can't go out like that!" Luckily, Chloe's dad had shouted almost the same thing so that he wasn't the only one being penetrated by Chloe's patented death glare. Gulp. Her scowl only made him aware of how pretty she looked. She had some type of shimmery eye makeup that made her look exotic and ethereal.
"I mean, it's cold, yeah, really cold, you can't go out like that, you'd freeze to death." Score one, Fordman.
Chloe smiled sweetly.
"That's why I'm taking my jacket." Slam dunk, Chloe Sullivan.
"Sweetheart, Whitney's right, I don't think that's going to be warm enough." Assist by Gabe Sullivan.
"Besides, that outfit is too revealing, it gives boys the wrong idea, right Whitney?" Chloe's dad turned to him for confirmation. It's a wide pass from the older Sullivan to Whitney.
"Oh, so I can't wear something just because guys can't control themselves, so any girl looking like this is just asking for it?" Chloe makes a move to intercept, she's blocking the pass. She had a dangerous gleam in her eye and it was throwing out warning signals to his brain. Danger, danger Will Robinson! He couldn't tell her that he was barely containing himself from throwing her down and mauling her right there, restrained only by the presence of her parental unit. But in all honesty she could make him feel like that even if she were wearing a potato sack.
"Uh, no, of course not. A woman has the right to wear whatever she wants, it's her body." Whitney parroted miserably, eyes downcast, guiltily avoiding Gabe Sullivan's gaze. And the quarterback fumbles. Game over. Total victory by Chloe Sullivan. Damn, she had him so crazy; he was mixing sport's metaphors.
Chloe gave him a brilliant smile. He was a total wuss. Whipped, completely. He went to help Chloe on with her jacket, like the gentleman his mother taught him to be. The temptation of all that bare skin was a little too much and he jerked his gaze to the right, it locked unerringly with Mr. Sullivan's. He gave Whitney a sympathetic look that seemed to say "I've been where you've been, buddy," it was a sort of fraternal "welcome to the club" male bonding thing.
Chloe gave her dad a kiss on the cheek as she cheerily said, "Don't wait up, dad."
Whitney promptly replied, "I'll have her home by 1am, sir," dutifully adhering to the agreed upon curfew set weeks ago.
Chloe sashayed her way to the car, thoroughly pleased with herself, it seemed. He opened the car door for her and caught a whiff of her perfume. It was cool and citrusy, totally refreshing, just like her.
When he got into the car, he finally pulled her to him and kissed her long and hard. He let her go when he began to feel light-headed.
"What was that for?" Chloe laughingly asked. She was flushed and lovely, her eyes sparkled in the dark interior of the car.
"Just, the next time you wear something like that, warn me first. I think I might have gone into shock."
"Really?" Oh, naughty, naughty Chloe was giving him the eye. Not good. Shit, he never did have much self-control. He kissed her again, on her lips, on the hollow of her throat. His right hand was supporting the back of her neck. She playfully bit his earlobe. He returned the favor and started giving her little love bites on the side of her neck and shoulder. He had never been so physically affectionate but he loved to do this. Whitney could have sworn he was addicted to the taste of Chloe. He wondered if there was a twelve-step program for it. He felt her vaguely pushing him away. Hm, that wasn't in the script. She pushed him again hard enough for him to stop. He looked at her questioningly and realized that there was a tapping sound. Chloe pointed behind him.
With a feeling of dread, Whitney turned around and looked right into the stern visage of Chloe's dad peering at him through the car window. Shit. He lowered the car window.
"Sir?" he tried to imbue the word with as much humility and deference as he could. Uh, sorry for groping your daughter, I'm not really a pervert or anything. Whitney didn't think he could say that out loud.
"You forgot Pete's present on the coffee table, Chloe," he gave a Whitney a pointed glance.
"I think you two should leave for the party now, you don't want to be late." Whitney always thought Gabe Sullivan was an amiable man who would be almost impossible to upset. He was wrong, not about the amiable part, but he was definitely upset. He hoped Chloe's dad didn't own a gun, he wasn't too hopeful on his chances.
"Uh, yes, sir, we'll be leaving right now." Whitney hurriedly started the car.
When they were only a block away from her house, she burst out laughing.
"It's not funny, Chloe," he said oppressively. She only laughed harder.
"If I were your dad, I'd lock you up and throw away the key, and then I'd go and hunt me down." She kept on laughing. He glared at her, annoyed.
"Oh, come on, Whitney …" he didn't look at her.
"Whitney … " she wheedled coaxingly. Okay, so it was a little funny. But he didn't want to give her the satisfaction, give her an inch and she would take a mile.
"Is that a little smile? Whitney … " he forced his mouth down into a frown.
"Not one word, Sullivan, until we get to the party. I am concentrating on the road." He said pompously. She giggled again and patted his leg.
"Sure thing, babycakes," she said saucily. She was totally impossible. She was aggravating, annoying and … completely adorable.
He looked over at her fondly. She couldn't suppress a triumphant teasing grin.
"Not one word, Sullivan." She beamed at him.
She was completely exasperating … and completely his.