Thanks for the reviews (again) :)
By the way, I read your story AnJL, and if you really think our stories really are (evil) twins, then I'm really flattered.
DISCLAIMER: All characters mentioned are from Smallville, not mine, not ever, etc.
* * * * * *
LEX
In the silence of Chloe's neighborhood and the darkness in my car, my voice rings out with a sharp note of an ironic tone.
Sitting here in my car, at the last place I expected myself to be in the middle of the night on a Friday: parked at Chloe Sullivan's driveway. And to make things worse, I've started talking to myself.
"I, Alexander Joseph Luthor, millionaire, criminal in some states, entrepreneur, businessman, Satan to some and asshole to most, have resorted to yet another low in my worthless life. I have resorted to stalking blonde teenagers in a very nondescript Ferrari, in the middle of the night. What would my father think of me now?"
My own words silence me and I contemplate them.
I know what my father would think. He would give me that condescending tone of voice and say, "You're a sap, Lex. You've always been a sap. A weak one, at that."
I feel a tiny spurt of anger and calm it down.
Never ever forget, Lex Luthor. Anger is a weakness.
Talking is a weakness.
Any channel of communication that can exhibit your emotions is a weakness. With talking: a heightened tone of voice, an intake of breath, a waver, all constructs a disadvantage to yourself in front of the person in front of you. In Luthor land, I choose to speak only when necessary. My father chooses to criticize every person in front of him, especially me. Why? Because he has more to hide from me. I can see his weakness better than anyone.
As for anger, it's a loss of control. And I never lose control. In any situation. Not if I can help it.
However, parked here on an impulse, I'm caught at a major disadvantage, which suggests that I could be my very own worst enemy.
If Chloe is awake and comes down to see me, I would already have all my handicaps laid out on a silver platter for her to see without having to utter a single word. Ordinarily, I will sit in The Beanery under the pretext of having coffee with Clark and wait patiently for her to arrive. This time, I came here with no good excuse, if she were to ask for one, except for the insatiable urge to see her face. The ball is in her court.
If I were under any control over myself, I would be lying asleep. Not in suburban hell, my plant manager's house, wondering if his teenaged daughter is awake.
To top it all off, talking to one's self? "I'm going out of my mind."
At the thought of Gabe Sullivan, another weakness comes to me. Paranoia. Anyone could walk by this house right now, see a black Ferrari in the driveway with an unmistakable 'LEX' license plate, and know Lex Luthor paid the Sullivans a visit in the dark hours of the morning. And they will wonder what I'm doing here. And of course, knowing that I wouldn't be visiting my plant manager at this time of night, they would make another guess.
What the hell am I doing here?
I remember having a firm grip on my sanity when I left the coffee shop, Chloe's muted and not very hopeful nod answering my good night, harsh on my mind. When I drove home and did not feel tired. When I checked my e-mail and played one game of pool. When I sat down in front of my desk and thought only of Chloe and what I might be letting slip between my fingers.
There was something there. I know there was. It might not have been love singing on a mountaintop but it was an opportunity for something to grow. It was right there in my face, practically screaming at me, and then just as quickly as it came, it left.
And instead of having a normal Chloe in my hands insulting me, I had a comatose Chloe who couldn't quite look at me.
Why? Was it because of Clark? Was it because he noticed?
I remember losing my grip on my sanity while I sat behind my desk, and Winston Churchill came to me in an attempt to defy my friendship with Clark, and take a stab at a relationship with someone else.
Victory at all costs, victory in spite of terror.
And sanity fled. I got up and went back to my car like a Luthor on a mission. I drove. Without thinking about it, I ended up in Chloe's driveway, staring at a dark house, with just one lit window staring at me like a grotesque one-eyed reality, slapping me hard across the face.
Too late, my sanity came back.
Yet, what am I still doing here?
At the lit window, a blonde head peeks out from the curtains and squints at the foreign black car on her driveway. My heart stops beating for a quick second, whether it's because of Chloe or painful regret at coming here, I don't know. But that blonde head is Chloe's. And she's awake.
A little breathless at the thought, I stick my hand out in a small wave and question if she can even see me.
She disappears back behind the curtain and emerges a moment later at the front door in sweat bottoms and a thick coat and messy hair.
I wonder if she realizes that she has appeal down to an art.
She pads toward me in house slippers. I roll down my windows when she reaches my side.
She stands, arms folded, staring at me as if she's not quite sure if I'm real. "Should I ask?" she says.
"By all means."
"Is there an emergency at the plant my father needs to know about?"
"Not at all," I assure her.
She purses her lips together and nods. "I hate to point out the obvious, Luthor, but it's late. There are sleeping souls in this neighborhood. You know, sleep? Maybe a term demonic men like you aren't familiar with but…."
"You're awake," I point out. "Which is all I need, seeing as I came to see you. If you weren't awake, then rest assured Chloe, I would have left the souls asleep. Quietly."
"You came to see me," she echoes. I nod. "Why?"
I fight for an answer and unfortunately cannot come up with one quickly enough.
"Do you know I get unbelievably unfriendly in the middle of the night?" she says, impatiently.
I glance at her, and she looks me dead in the eye, waiting for an answer, arms still folded, and foot tapping. I doubt that pleading insanity at this point would be wise.
Lie, Lex, lie.
"I was driving around." She cocks an eyebrow at me. "I happened to be in the area and wondered if you were awake."
She continues staring at me suspiciously.
"That's the honest to God truth." When her suspicious stance does not alter, I shrug and lean forward to start my engine. "But since you're making it painfully clear that my company is unwelcome tonight, I can just go. But thanks for your time, and sorry if I bothered you."
Just as I shift into reverse, she lets out a loud sigh and says in frustration, "Wait, Luthor."
I glance at her. Her shoulders visibly relax, and her suspicious gaze has switched to a vaguely annoyed look.
I look at her expectantly.
"Just switch off your damn engine and let's sit on the porch," she says, somewhat grumpily. Then adds, "And I'll have you know that playing on my guilt will only be entertained once tonight." With that, she walks in the direction of the porch. I stare after her for a moment, until she turns around at me and waves me over impatiently.
Not the warmest of invitations, but in the dead of night with my weaknesses playing in my head, I will take what I can get.
Obligingly, I switch off the engine and slowly get out of the car. I take a deep breath and look at where Chloe waits for me, on a swing that Smallville seems so fond of purchasing and hanging on their front porch.
I hope for the best and start walking to her.
* * * * * *
CHLOE
You might imagine the panic I felt when I saw the Big Black Sports Car.
I didn't need a license plate (just for the record, it was 'LEX', screaming out a God complex for all the world to see) and I didn't need to see the driver. Who else in Smallville would be driving a car like that?
I saw his car in my driveway, in the middle of the night, and almost had a nervous breakdown.
Unable to scream, I resorted to whispering hoarsely. "OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod."
What the hell was he doing here?
I remember thinking dimly that my sweatpants had a hole somewhere mid-thigh and that my hair was a mess and that my face had no make-up on which is enough to send anyone driving away. Then I went down the staircase quickly but quietly ("OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod"), opened the front door and saw the LEX which confirmed this dream to be reality ("OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod"), found my house slippers and a thick coat ("OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod") and walked over to him, the picture of calm.
I asked him what he was doing here, and what did he say? He was driving around and wondered if I was awake.
Please tell me, anybody, what Lex Luthor would be doing driving around in my neighborhood in the first place?
But of course, for all my big talk, I was inwardly ecstatic.
Make your conclusions Chloe, reach indecisive hell, and have the subject himself delivered over for a confirmation.
But of course, in Chloe's world, when you're nervous, get defensive. I managed to sound bitchier than I usually do in Lex Luthor's presence, to the point of driving him away.
And despite the fact that he used such a low trick as to guilt trip me into letting him stay, I figured, to hell with my defense mechanism. And asked him to sit with me on the porch.
And now, here we are. Alone, totally alone, for the first time ever. Swinging a bit.
In silence.
God. Even in the middle of the night he wants me to start the conversation.
I glance at him, to convince myself that he's really there. At this moment I still believe that I have somehow or other managed to get into a different plane of existence where Lex Luthor would actually visit me in the dead of the night. It seems closer to the real thing than the real thing itself.
The whole area is dark except for the moonlight shining down on us, and I see the light trace an outline of his face and it gives him an unearthly glow, from his lips to the tip of his nose to the perfect skin on his scalp.
I'm struck with wonderment at how… beautiful he is.
"In all my wildest dreams I never thought I'd live to see the day where Lex Luthor would be sitting on this porch swing," I comment.
"So you've had other wild dreams of me?" Try as I may, I can't stop the blood flushing to my cheeks, so I'm guessing that I'm looking like a blonde beetroot at this precise moment.
It's bad enough that he has to see me at my worst: face scrubbed clean of make-up and my favorite sweat pants baggy around my legs, showing no discerning female shape whatsoever. I was tempted to change clothes when I first realized he was here, but there's something very wrong about me going through all that trouble for a guy. Even for the enigma that is Lex Luthor.
What makes it worse is that it's the dead of the night and my sarcastic sensors are not functioning as properly as they do after a good night's worth of sleep.
"Maybe in your dreams," I retort. He smirks and makes no comment. "So is this your purpose of coming here? To infuriate me further?"
"No," he replies, slowly and deliberately. "As much as you disbelieve it, Chloe, this is not a totally selfish act on my part. I didn't come here to pump information out of you or to infuriate you for my own personal entertainment."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because…" he trails off, and I think it's the first time I've ever seen Lex Luthor without a smooth answer. I feel half-inclined to run up and get my digital camera to take a picture of the moment. He finally says, "Because I wanted to see you."
My heart stops, or at least I think it has.
But I wouldn't be a reporter if I didn't dig for the details. Unimportant things like hearts stopping would not stop me from doing that. "Why?"
He turns his head to look at me and it's that intense silence all over again. Except this time we don't have to turn away and see Clark looking at us strangely.
Then, like an action replayed in exceedingly slow motion, I see his hand reach out and tuck some stray wisps of my hair behind my ear. I suck in a breath at the feel of the tips of his fingers making contact with my cheek then as if my reaction was the nod he needed from me, his fingers hold my jaw and his thumb lightly rubs my cheekbone.
I let out a ragged breath and immediately feel embarrassed for it. It's multiplied when I see the seriousness of his gaze. This is surreal.
"This is surreal," I announce, hoping the sound of my voice would bring me back down to reality. He doesn't say anything but his thumb moves lightly over my lips. Another ragged breath escapes my lips, but I think this one is more likely a sign of an incoming anxiety attack. I plunder into my mind and look for sanity. When I find it, I grasp it with two hands and hope to never let go.
"Maybe a bit too surreal for the dead of the night," I say gently and move my face away from his hand.
His hand stays in mid-air for a minute, before resting back to his side. He sighs loudly and leans forward, hands clasped loosely together on his knees.
I'm wondering if I should say something when he speaks up, "Maybe you want a bit more of an explanation."
"That would be useful," I agree.
From this view, I can only see the back of his head, gleaming in the moonlight, one particular bump protruding at the bottom of his scalp. I fight the urge to lean over and stroke his head, and tell him to do that thing with my face again.
"Chloe," he starts, and pauses. "I have…" I see him fighting for the words. The suspense is killing me, right now. This goes on for a few seconds, before he mercifully ends my frustration by saying simply, "I like you."
Crickets echo this confession.
Likes me? What does he mean, like me? As a friend? As a man attracted to girl? Does he not realize that I am highly inexperienced in these things? What? What?
"I like you too, Luthor," I reply, unsure.
Another pause ensues this as I watch his head tilt in my direction. Then, "No, Chloe. That's not what I mean. I mean I LIKE you."
And yes, here we are on my porch, the enigmatic Lex Luthor and the neurotic Chloe Sullivan, speaking to each other in layman's terms.
"You like me," I echo dumbly.
"I like you," he confirms, and laughs bitterly. "This is going worse than I feared."
For a minute there I wonder what the 'worst' was, because I could certainly picture a worse scenario than my being struck dumb at his words. But then I get lost in the bewilderment of the whole thing. He likes me. Lex Luthor likes me. And I didn't need to make a conclusion for this because he just said it for me! HE LIKES ME.
I feel like skipping and running all at once. Skipping because I feel overjoyed and running because I'm not quite sure how to handle this.
Or more likely, running because Reality is taking me gently by the hand and sitting me on her lap and telling me that I am only sixteen, exceedingly inexperienced, and do not have the mental capacity to handle the feelings of a man as experienced and complex as this.
"Well," I say tentatively, annoyed at Reality. He leans back and faces me, which seems to make it harder for me to get the words out of my mouth. "Well," I repeat. "The worst would have been clubbing you over the head and ordering you off my porch."
He smiles at this. "I have to admit that thought crossed my mind."
"Lex Luthor came all the way over here on a chance?"
"I lost my sanity on the way over here," he explains. "Then there was Winston Churchill."
"Ah. What did he say?"
"Victory at all costs, victory in spite of terror."
"Smart man, that Winston." I find myself smiling at the thought of Lex Luthor pepping himself up before coming here. It sounds unbelievably sweet in my ears. It's even sweeter than his confession to liking me.
Reality threatens to submerge and I subconsciously shove it back down.
His gaze stays locked on my face and its rapture keeps my eyes fixed on his. He looks at me so plainly, without a trace of the Lex Luthor smirk or the Lex Luthor emotional wall covering and it seems so naked before me, that I feel absurdly flattered beyond all things imaginable.
Ever persistent, Reality screams at me. THIS WILL NEVER WORK.
And this time, backed with Rational Chloe, I have to concede defeat. It'll never work.
Lex Luthor and Chloe Sullivan? Was God just thinking of a good joke?
"Lex," I start and squirm. I am so not good at this. I'm bad at rejecting people. I'm bad at anything I lack experience in.
His voice interrupts me, soft with all traces of sarcasm gone. "You called me Lex."
I stop and, feeling a hard resolve in me melting into mush, smile at him. "Yes, I did."
He smiles back at me.
Then slowly, he takes my face in his hands again, and leans forward. The moment is quick, but my anticipation of this moment leaves my heart racing at the realization that it's about to happen. The most unlikeliest thing of all things unlikely: Lex Luthor kissing me.
Screw Reality and Rationality. Give me my moment of happiness.
When his lips reach mine, I'm still thinking of the unlikelihood of Lex Luthor kissing me on my porch in the dead of the night for my mouth to function properly. I respond to him, tentatively, marveling at the feel of his mouth against mine, warm and soft.
His arm circle around my back while one hand bunches up in my hair, and I slip my arms around his shoulders. They're broad and I feel the tension of his muscles underneath the cotton (or whatever expensive material) of his jacket.
When he deepens our kiss, all thoughts fly out of the window.
And I remain, in Lex Luthor's arms, kissing him like it's the most natural thing in the world to do, on the front porch of my house in the dead of the night, in my most comfortable sleeping clothes and feel absolute contentment.
And while we're at it, defy the world theories, by getting the villain together with the nerd.
* * * * * *
NOTE: I'm not totally done yet. Just have a few more chapters to tie the whole thing up. Still finding it hard to believe it's almost done! :)
By the way, I read your story AnJL, and if you really think our stories really are (evil) twins, then I'm really flattered.
DISCLAIMER: All characters mentioned are from Smallville, not mine, not ever, etc.
* * * * * *
LEX
In the silence of Chloe's neighborhood and the darkness in my car, my voice rings out with a sharp note of an ironic tone.
Sitting here in my car, at the last place I expected myself to be in the middle of the night on a Friday: parked at Chloe Sullivan's driveway. And to make things worse, I've started talking to myself.
"I, Alexander Joseph Luthor, millionaire, criminal in some states, entrepreneur, businessman, Satan to some and asshole to most, have resorted to yet another low in my worthless life. I have resorted to stalking blonde teenagers in a very nondescript Ferrari, in the middle of the night. What would my father think of me now?"
My own words silence me and I contemplate them.
I know what my father would think. He would give me that condescending tone of voice and say, "You're a sap, Lex. You've always been a sap. A weak one, at that."
I feel a tiny spurt of anger and calm it down.
Never ever forget, Lex Luthor. Anger is a weakness.
Talking is a weakness.
Any channel of communication that can exhibit your emotions is a weakness. With talking: a heightened tone of voice, an intake of breath, a waver, all constructs a disadvantage to yourself in front of the person in front of you. In Luthor land, I choose to speak only when necessary. My father chooses to criticize every person in front of him, especially me. Why? Because he has more to hide from me. I can see his weakness better than anyone.
As for anger, it's a loss of control. And I never lose control. In any situation. Not if I can help it.
However, parked here on an impulse, I'm caught at a major disadvantage, which suggests that I could be my very own worst enemy.
If Chloe is awake and comes down to see me, I would already have all my handicaps laid out on a silver platter for her to see without having to utter a single word. Ordinarily, I will sit in The Beanery under the pretext of having coffee with Clark and wait patiently for her to arrive. This time, I came here with no good excuse, if she were to ask for one, except for the insatiable urge to see her face. The ball is in her court.
If I were under any control over myself, I would be lying asleep. Not in suburban hell, my plant manager's house, wondering if his teenaged daughter is awake.
To top it all off, talking to one's self? "I'm going out of my mind."
At the thought of Gabe Sullivan, another weakness comes to me. Paranoia. Anyone could walk by this house right now, see a black Ferrari in the driveway with an unmistakable 'LEX' license plate, and know Lex Luthor paid the Sullivans a visit in the dark hours of the morning. And they will wonder what I'm doing here. And of course, knowing that I wouldn't be visiting my plant manager at this time of night, they would make another guess.
What the hell am I doing here?
I remember having a firm grip on my sanity when I left the coffee shop, Chloe's muted and not very hopeful nod answering my good night, harsh on my mind. When I drove home and did not feel tired. When I checked my e-mail and played one game of pool. When I sat down in front of my desk and thought only of Chloe and what I might be letting slip between my fingers.
There was something there. I know there was. It might not have been love singing on a mountaintop but it was an opportunity for something to grow. It was right there in my face, practically screaming at me, and then just as quickly as it came, it left.
And instead of having a normal Chloe in my hands insulting me, I had a comatose Chloe who couldn't quite look at me.
Why? Was it because of Clark? Was it because he noticed?
I remember losing my grip on my sanity while I sat behind my desk, and Winston Churchill came to me in an attempt to defy my friendship with Clark, and take a stab at a relationship with someone else.
Victory at all costs, victory in spite of terror.
And sanity fled. I got up and went back to my car like a Luthor on a mission. I drove. Without thinking about it, I ended up in Chloe's driveway, staring at a dark house, with just one lit window staring at me like a grotesque one-eyed reality, slapping me hard across the face.
Too late, my sanity came back.
Yet, what am I still doing here?
At the lit window, a blonde head peeks out from the curtains and squints at the foreign black car on her driveway. My heart stops beating for a quick second, whether it's because of Chloe or painful regret at coming here, I don't know. But that blonde head is Chloe's. And she's awake.
A little breathless at the thought, I stick my hand out in a small wave and question if she can even see me.
She disappears back behind the curtain and emerges a moment later at the front door in sweat bottoms and a thick coat and messy hair.
I wonder if she realizes that she has appeal down to an art.
She pads toward me in house slippers. I roll down my windows when she reaches my side.
She stands, arms folded, staring at me as if she's not quite sure if I'm real. "Should I ask?" she says.
"By all means."
"Is there an emergency at the plant my father needs to know about?"
"Not at all," I assure her.
She purses her lips together and nods. "I hate to point out the obvious, Luthor, but it's late. There are sleeping souls in this neighborhood. You know, sleep? Maybe a term demonic men like you aren't familiar with but…."
"You're awake," I point out. "Which is all I need, seeing as I came to see you. If you weren't awake, then rest assured Chloe, I would have left the souls asleep. Quietly."
"You came to see me," she echoes. I nod. "Why?"
I fight for an answer and unfortunately cannot come up with one quickly enough.
"Do you know I get unbelievably unfriendly in the middle of the night?" she says, impatiently.
I glance at her, and she looks me dead in the eye, waiting for an answer, arms still folded, and foot tapping. I doubt that pleading insanity at this point would be wise.
Lie, Lex, lie.
"I was driving around." She cocks an eyebrow at me. "I happened to be in the area and wondered if you were awake."
She continues staring at me suspiciously.
"That's the honest to God truth." When her suspicious stance does not alter, I shrug and lean forward to start my engine. "But since you're making it painfully clear that my company is unwelcome tonight, I can just go. But thanks for your time, and sorry if I bothered you."
Just as I shift into reverse, she lets out a loud sigh and says in frustration, "Wait, Luthor."
I glance at her. Her shoulders visibly relax, and her suspicious gaze has switched to a vaguely annoyed look.
I look at her expectantly.
"Just switch off your damn engine and let's sit on the porch," she says, somewhat grumpily. Then adds, "And I'll have you know that playing on my guilt will only be entertained once tonight." With that, she walks in the direction of the porch. I stare after her for a moment, until she turns around at me and waves me over impatiently.
Not the warmest of invitations, but in the dead of night with my weaknesses playing in my head, I will take what I can get.
Obligingly, I switch off the engine and slowly get out of the car. I take a deep breath and look at where Chloe waits for me, on a swing that Smallville seems so fond of purchasing and hanging on their front porch.
I hope for the best and start walking to her.
* * * * * *
CHLOE
You might imagine the panic I felt when I saw the Big Black Sports Car.
I didn't need a license plate (just for the record, it was 'LEX', screaming out a God complex for all the world to see) and I didn't need to see the driver. Who else in Smallville would be driving a car like that?
I saw his car in my driveway, in the middle of the night, and almost had a nervous breakdown.
Unable to scream, I resorted to whispering hoarsely. "OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod."
What the hell was he doing here?
I remember thinking dimly that my sweatpants had a hole somewhere mid-thigh and that my hair was a mess and that my face had no make-up on which is enough to send anyone driving away. Then I went down the staircase quickly but quietly ("OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod"), opened the front door and saw the LEX which confirmed this dream to be reality ("OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod"), found my house slippers and a thick coat ("OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod") and walked over to him, the picture of calm.
I asked him what he was doing here, and what did he say? He was driving around and wondered if I was awake.
Please tell me, anybody, what Lex Luthor would be doing driving around in my neighborhood in the first place?
But of course, for all my big talk, I was inwardly ecstatic.
Make your conclusions Chloe, reach indecisive hell, and have the subject himself delivered over for a confirmation.
But of course, in Chloe's world, when you're nervous, get defensive. I managed to sound bitchier than I usually do in Lex Luthor's presence, to the point of driving him away.
And despite the fact that he used such a low trick as to guilt trip me into letting him stay, I figured, to hell with my defense mechanism. And asked him to sit with me on the porch.
And now, here we are. Alone, totally alone, for the first time ever. Swinging a bit.
In silence.
God. Even in the middle of the night he wants me to start the conversation.
I glance at him, to convince myself that he's really there. At this moment I still believe that I have somehow or other managed to get into a different plane of existence where Lex Luthor would actually visit me in the dead of the night. It seems closer to the real thing than the real thing itself.
The whole area is dark except for the moonlight shining down on us, and I see the light trace an outline of his face and it gives him an unearthly glow, from his lips to the tip of his nose to the perfect skin on his scalp.
I'm struck with wonderment at how… beautiful he is.
"In all my wildest dreams I never thought I'd live to see the day where Lex Luthor would be sitting on this porch swing," I comment.
"So you've had other wild dreams of me?" Try as I may, I can't stop the blood flushing to my cheeks, so I'm guessing that I'm looking like a blonde beetroot at this precise moment.
It's bad enough that he has to see me at my worst: face scrubbed clean of make-up and my favorite sweat pants baggy around my legs, showing no discerning female shape whatsoever. I was tempted to change clothes when I first realized he was here, but there's something very wrong about me going through all that trouble for a guy. Even for the enigma that is Lex Luthor.
What makes it worse is that it's the dead of the night and my sarcastic sensors are not functioning as properly as they do after a good night's worth of sleep.
"Maybe in your dreams," I retort. He smirks and makes no comment. "So is this your purpose of coming here? To infuriate me further?"
"No," he replies, slowly and deliberately. "As much as you disbelieve it, Chloe, this is not a totally selfish act on my part. I didn't come here to pump information out of you or to infuriate you for my own personal entertainment."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because…" he trails off, and I think it's the first time I've ever seen Lex Luthor without a smooth answer. I feel half-inclined to run up and get my digital camera to take a picture of the moment. He finally says, "Because I wanted to see you."
My heart stops, or at least I think it has.
But I wouldn't be a reporter if I didn't dig for the details. Unimportant things like hearts stopping would not stop me from doing that. "Why?"
He turns his head to look at me and it's that intense silence all over again. Except this time we don't have to turn away and see Clark looking at us strangely.
Then, like an action replayed in exceedingly slow motion, I see his hand reach out and tuck some stray wisps of my hair behind my ear. I suck in a breath at the feel of the tips of his fingers making contact with my cheek then as if my reaction was the nod he needed from me, his fingers hold my jaw and his thumb lightly rubs my cheekbone.
I let out a ragged breath and immediately feel embarrassed for it. It's multiplied when I see the seriousness of his gaze. This is surreal.
"This is surreal," I announce, hoping the sound of my voice would bring me back down to reality. He doesn't say anything but his thumb moves lightly over my lips. Another ragged breath escapes my lips, but I think this one is more likely a sign of an incoming anxiety attack. I plunder into my mind and look for sanity. When I find it, I grasp it with two hands and hope to never let go.
"Maybe a bit too surreal for the dead of the night," I say gently and move my face away from his hand.
His hand stays in mid-air for a minute, before resting back to his side. He sighs loudly and leans forward, hands clasped loosely together on his knees.
I'm wondering if I should say something when he speaks up, "Maybe you want a bit more of an explanation."
"That would be useful," I agree.
From this view, I can only see the back of his head, gleaming in the moonlight, one particular bump protruding at the bottom of his scalp. I fight the urge to lean over and stroke his head, and tell him to do that thing with my face again.
"Chloe," he starts, and pauses. "I have…" I see him fighting for the words. The suspense is killing me, right now. This goes on for a few seconds, before he mercifully ends my frustration by saying simply, "I like you."
Crickets echo this confession.
Likes me? What does he mean, like me? As a friend? As a man attracted to girl? Does he not realize that I am highly inexperienced in these things? What? What?
"I like you too, Luthor," I reply, unsure.
Another pause ensues this as I watch his head tilt in my direction. Then, "No, Chloe. That's not what I mean. I mean I LIKE you."
And yes, here we are on my porch, the enigmatic Lex Luthor and the neurotic Chloe Sullivan, speaking to each other in layman's terms.
"You like me," I echo dumbly.
"I like you," he confirms, and laughs bitterly. "This is going worse than I feared."
For a minute there I wonder what the 'worst' was, because I could certainly picture a worse scenario than my being struck dumb at his words. But then I get lost in the bewilderment of the whole thing. He likes me. Lex Luthor likes me. And I didn't need to make a conclusion for this because he just said it for me! HE LIKES ME.
I feel like skipping and running all at once. Skipping because I feel overjoyed and running because I'm not quite sure how to handle this.
Or more likely, running because Reality is taking me gently by the hand and sitting me on her lap and telling me that I am only sixteen, exceedingly inexperienced, and do not have the mental capacity to handle the feelings of a man as experienced and complex as this.
"Well," I say tentatively, annoyed at Reality. He leans back and faces me, which seems to make it harder for me to get the words out of my mouth. "Well," I repeat. "The worst would have been clubbing you over the head and ordering you off my porch."
He smiles at this. "I have to admit that thought crossed my mind."
"Lex Luthor came all the way over here on a chance?"
"I lost my sanity on the way over here," he explains. "Then there was Winston Churchill."
"Ah. What did he say?"
"Victory at all costs, victory in spite of terror."
"Smart man, that Winston." I find myself smiling at the thought of Lex Luthor pepping himself up before coming here. It sounds unbelievably sweet in my ears. It's even sweeter than his confession to liking me.
Reality threatens to submerge and I subconsciously shove it back down.
His gaze stays locked on my face and its rapture keeps my eyes fixed on his. He looks at me so plainly, without a trace of the Lex Luthor smirk or the Lex Luthor emotional wall covering and it seems so naked before me, that I feel absurdly flattered beyond all things imaginable.
Ever persistent, Reality screams at me. THIS WILL NEVER WORK.
And this time, backed with Rational Chloe, I have to concede defeat. It'll never work.
Lex Luthor and Chloe Sullivan? Was God just thinking of a good joke?
"Lex," I start and squirm. I am so not good at this. I'm bad at rejecting people. I'm bad at anything I lack experience in.
His voice interrupts me, soft with all traces of sarcasm gone. "You called me Lex."
I stop and, feeling a hard resolve in me melting into mush, smile at him. "Yes, I did."
He smiles back at me.
Then slowly, he takes my face in his hands again, and leans forward. The moment is quick, but my anticipation of this moment leaves my heart racing at the realization that it's about to happen. The most unlikeliest thing of all things unlikely: Lex Luthor kissing me.
Screw Reality and Rationality. Give me my moment of happiness.
When his lips reach mine, I'm still thinking of the unlikelihood of Lex Luthor kissing me on my porch in the dead of the night for my mouth to function properly. I respond to him, tentatively, marveling at the feel of his mouth against mine, warm and soft.
His arm circle around my back while one hand bunches up in my hair, and I slip my arms around his shoulders. They're broad and I feel the tension of his muscles underneath the cotton (or whatever expensive material) of his jacket.
When he deepens our kiss, all thoughts fly out of the window.
And I remain, in Lex Luthor's arms, kissing him like it's the most natural thing in the world to do, on the front porch of my house in the dead of the night, in my most comfortable sleeping clothes and feel absolute contentment.
And while we're at it, defy the world theories, by getting the villain together with the nerd.
* * * * * *
NOTE: I'm not totally done yet. Just have a few more chapters to tie the whole thing up. Still finding it hard to believe it's almost done! :)