Author's Note: This chapter is a bit, okay very long, so I had to section
it into two. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy it.
* * * * * *
LEX
I cannot recall the last time I found speaking so strenuous. Perhaps there has never been another time. Perhaps this is my first time, and it justifies the reason why I am so bad at it.
No, it's not justifiable. You cannot justify a puddle, and unfortunately that is what I have become- a puddle for people to step into, unable to solidify due to the sight of a girl.
And right there belies another question: when was the last time that I ever, almost literally, melted at the sight of a smile? Never, for very good reason. Trust no one, love no one, like no one, be with no one. Four important factors to one rule: never live your life other than the way a Luthor should.
Chloe doesn't fall into the category of mistrust. She is much too young and the intentions that burn in the blueness of her eyes do not speak deceit. She is, although she would hate me for thinking it, gullible. How can you distrust gullibility?
Unfortunately, these traits of hers has appealed to me all the more, which is not something that I had planned to get sucked into. But feelings, although they can be remarkably well hidden, they are also non- suppressible.
This is, if nothing else, one big fat joke.
It takes me a few starts to get my words out. I'm still surprised, maybe even shocked, and the sight of Chloe seems more likely surrealism in The Talon than the real thing. I really did not expect to see her here.
"Hello," I finally say. Still bewildered, "What brings you to this part of Smallville?"
"Oh, well, you know, the Prom was a drag. Wanted a new environment."
I glance around at me, at the patron-empty restaurant, which would be a dead space in town tonight if not for the two over-dressed customers in the corner. Self-consciously, I loosen my tie.
"So you seek the Talon."
"Yeah," she pauses. It takes her a few tries to say, "Actually, I was seeking you."
"Oh?" Despite the coolness in my voice, my heart is pumping extraordinarily fast. I concentrate on the cup of coffee in front of me, while trying to regain some semblance of control. "What about?"
"Our evening's not quite done yet."
"Funny, it seemed well and truly over."
She doesn't seem to know what to say to this, her mouth gapes open but no words come out to pillage me for living up to my reputation of being such a conceited asshole. The Normal Chloe would never allow me to continue breathing for such a remark.
But instead of doing as such, she says, "Well, it's not."
I don't reply. I' m surprised. And pleased, because if anything, her less- than-colorful answer indicates that she's more nervous than she looks.
With an extra burst of courage: "You still owe me an interview."
And there it is. I should have known. Of COURSE she would hunt me down for an interview; she's a reporter, after all. They seem to find no better way to waste their time than to poke their noses into other people's private affairs.
I mean, seriously, what did I really think? She was going to come here to profess feelings? Tell me Clark's nothing to her? Propose to re-hash our non-kiss? Please.
Fool.
Me, not her.
I reply (perhaps a tad petulantly), "I don't think so."
She gapes at me. "Why not?" she demands.
"It was an agreement," I remind her. "I take you to the Prom, you interview me. I DIDN'T take you to the Prom, and I was never your date tonight, which means, quite simply, that you don't get to interview me."
She makes a noise like a dying bird. "WHAT?!"
I hate repeating myself therefore I don't.
Still gaping at me, she seems to be slowly taking my words in with difficulty, the way one might digest sharp rocks. "Let me get this straight," she says slowly. "I can't interview you because our DEAL was that if I ALLOWED you to take me to the Prom, then I can interview you. But because of a glitch that was wholly and entirely NOT my fault but YOURS for having something more important to do than to take me to the Prom, then I'm NOT allowed to interview you?"
I nod. She explodes.
"GOD, if that is not the most conceited thing I have EVER heard in my life! Remember that this was not MY CHOICE, YOU were the one who ditched ME, okay? TWICE! And for THAT you won't let me INTERVIEW YOU?! You probably PLANNED this, you cow, you self-centered, horrible, uncaring-"
I suddenly had a terrible premonition of her bursting into tears. I don't need a crying teenager on top of everything else. In addition to that, when Chloe starts ranting, you never know when she'll stop, and I'm starting to get a migraine.
I relent. "Fine, three questions."
She makes the dying bird noise. "THREE QUESTIONS? That's not even an interview! You know what that is? That's a JOKE! It's hardly even a conversation!"
Help me, God. "Fine, I'll allow five questions. All unrelated to my private life and any conspiracies regarding meteorite formulas or any other kind that you can think of. Five questions. Will that be sufficient enough for you?"
"This interview is not subject to negotiation."
"Wrong answer," I inform her, getting up from my seat.
Dying bird noise. "FINE. Five questions. Treacherous cow."
I take my seat again. "Added term and condition: any reference to me being anything remotely bovine with a bad attitude will result in my immediate departure."
"You are therefore I say."
"Let's refrain from voicing it out next time."
"Fine," she says airily, caring less now that she has her interview back. "But ripping me off like this means you can at least buy me a cup of coffee."
I'm sorely tempted to tell her to buy her own fucking caffeine fix but she ends the sentence with a big-as-the-world, mischievous smile, and it unfortunately floors me.
"Okay," I agree, fighting down a temptation to match her smile with one of my own. "I've been looking for a test subject to experiment a new meteor formula, so what's your choice of poison?"
"Cappuccino," she replies with another smile. "And as I always say, Lex, if you can't experiment mutilating toxic products on anyone else then you could always count on your friends." Then before I leave, she adds, "Anyway, caffeine at The Talon always manages to poison me, meteorite or no meteorite."
"How about a little gratuity for free coffee?"
"Oh you know me, Lex, forever grateful. Even with five questions," she says, flashing me another grin.
Momentarily off balance, I leave her at this moment to regain some peace of mind, and fetch her cappuccino.
CHLOE
As soon as his back is turned towards me, I heave a huge sigh of relief.
This is definitely a lot more difficult than I expected. I mean, I expected SOME difficulty. Naturally, being born pessimistic prepares you for stuff like these. But I didn't expect it to be so nerve-wracking. Which is really bad because stuff like this make my palms sweaty. And since I'm born accident prone, sweaty palms is like a death wish to any nearby breakable item.
I was already thinking it all up in my head while watching Clark dance with the Prom Queen in place of the absent Prom King, which will undoubtedly spark off more of the attention that Lana seems to dislike basking in the limelight of. I watched them dancing and found myself oddly detached to them, as if I was watching two strangers in a TV show. I felt no connection and I felt very little else.
I was wondering where Lex had gone. Did he go home? Was he taking a drive? Having a coffee at the Talon? I was opting for the first choice, because driving at his reckless speed seemed too much of a dangerous thing for me to even think about at that moment, and who would want to have coffee at the Talon voluntarily alone?
When Clark was done and dutifully returned to his reluctant blonde date, I asked that he take me home.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Stomach cramps," I lied. He probably guessed. Luckily he didn't say anything.
He drove me home in complete silence. The awkward variety.
When he deposited me at the doorstep, he gave me a clumsy kiss on the cheek. "Chloe-," he started.
I didn't feel like hearing it. Apologies. Warnings. Whatever. I didn't need an apology at the moment, and in my opinion he should be heeding his own warning; I might have a crush on the town millionaire but he seemed to have no qualms pursuing someone else's girlfriend. Whose priorities are screwed up, exactly?
"Good-night, Clark," I said instead.
The plan was brewing in my mind already. I had a legitimate reason to see him: he owed me an interview! Normally, nothing stands in between me and an exclusive interview, and I failed to see why circumstances tonight should stop me from getting it.
Pretending to my father that I forgot something in Clark's truck, I borrowed his car and went on my merry way to claim an interview, obviously for the sake of The Torch. And just a little bit to do with me.
Saving distance (and gas), I drove by the Beanery just in case he was there. When he wasn't, I sped through town, and screeched to a halt two blocks up at the Talon when I saw a familiar bald head.
At that point in time, I was in a flurry of restless spirits. I was either: a) nervous or b) felt like vomiting or c) ready to haul ass out of there or d) determined to see him. I approached him near enough to hear him speaking over the phone, and when I heard that his voice seemed amiable enough, it gave me the last surge of courage and I walked straight up to him.
Unfortunately, by the time I was near enough and all he had to do was look up to see me, I heard the bitterness in his voice and saw a look on his face that indicated a readiness to punch something - probably the first person in view i.e. me.
I forced myself to slide into the seat opposite his.
He was stunned. The puking feeling I felt in my stomach was getting worse, and I wondered how ironic it was that the first time I would have the guts to pursue a man would be when my face looks constipated.
He recovered though. Too well. And now I'm left with an option of him leaving or an interview of five questions only.
FIVE QUESTIONS. It's an insult to any reporter.
Okay, okay. Five questions. What the hell can I accomplish in five questions? Think, Chloe, think. No meteorite references. No conspiracy. It's going to be the most God awful boring article ever.
At least I still have my subject. And Lex Luthor is a great subject.
He looked like he was about to be a great kisser, too.
Let's stick to the great subject.
What is my plan exactly? Sit here within reachable distance of each other, drink coffee, interview? God, it would take ten minutes. I was hoping for a renewal of affection, but looking at his state now, I think I would be extremely lucky to get a pat on the head.
I could always be the one to initiate it. I could always tell him how I feel.
I shudder at the thought. God, how embarrassing! What if he turned me down? What if he laughed? What if-
"One cappuccino for the reporter in pink," Lex's dry voice cuts into my thoughts as he places a cup of cappuccino in front of me. "Okay," he says, businesslike, putting a cup of coffee in front of him. "Let's not detain the evening any further. Shall we begin?"
I mean, seriously, if he really doesn't have feelings for me, does he have to be that blatant about it? Does he not realize how cruel he's being? God, he probably does. This is Lex Luthor, for crying out loud! He's heartless.
For reasons that are partially nervous tension and partially annoyed at him for wanting to get things done and over with, I slowly take a tape recorder out of my bag and idly waste a minute situating it just right.
He eyes me watchfully, almost intently, until I change the angle of the tape recorder the fifth time: "Chloe, can we get on with it?"
I shake my head. "Everything has to be perfect." He rolls his eyes skyward. "Hey, you're only giving me five questions. Breathe a little, alright? Patience is a virtue."
"Patience is a waste of time and is only well-suited on people who disregard inefficacy."
I stop. "Are you saying I'm inefficient?" I demand.
He swears, barely audibly. "NO, Chloe. I'm not. But I've had a rough night, and I'd rather finish this quickly."
"Fine," I say, absent-mindedly, rewinding my tape. A burning curiosity forces the next question out of me: "You've had a rough night?"
"Are you really going to waste one of your five questions on that?"
Bastard. "I was being concerned, okay? Shoot me."
He doesn't say anything, probably refraining himself from actually shooting me.
The tape stops and I press record, before speaking into the recorder: "Okay. First interview with Lex Luthor that does not involve my being thrown out of a window. It's Prom night and we're at the Talon for some post-Prom coffee. Due to Mr. Luthor's request, we are limiting this interview to five questions. Good evening, Mr. Luthor."
He smiles thinly.
"Good evening, Mr. Luthor," I repeat, complete with airline stewardess sing- song voice.
He sighs in resignation. "Good evening, Chloe."
"Obviously, since we're limited to five questions only, we'll just cut to the chase okay? The Prom was lovely, the decorations um- imaginative, and Mr. Luthor had an overall wonderful time there, and he's pleased that Lana Lang won Prom Queen-"
"I didn't have a wonderful time," he interrupts. "And call me Lex."
"Why didn't-" I stop myself. No, no. Don't waste that question. "I mean, well, it's too bad you didn't have a wonderful time. I'm sure there must have been circumstances for this that I will not assume responsibility for. At all."
"Unfortunately, Chloe, you were one of the reasons why I had such a shit time at the Prom. If not the main reason."
I hate this man. I hate this man. I hate this man.
I hit the Stop button. "Are you TRYING to distract me?" I hiss.
"Not at all," he says, amiably. Then brushing my fingers aside from the recorder, he presses Record. "Continue."
Breathe. Just breathe.
* * * * * *
LEX
I cannot recall the last time I found speaking so strenuous. Perhaps there has never been another time. Perhaps this is my first time, and it justifies the reason why I am so bad at it.
No, it's not justifiable. You cannot justify a puddle, and unfortunately that is what I have become- a puddle for people to step into, unable to solidify due to the sight of a girl.
And right there belies another question: when was the last time that I ever, almost literally, melted at the sight of a smile? Never, for very good reason. Trust no one, love no one, like no one, be with no one. Four important factors to one rule: never live your life other than the way a Luthor should.
Chloe doesn't fall into the category of mistrust. She is much too young and the intentions that burn in the blueness of her eyes do not speak deceit. She is, although she would hate me for thinking it, gullible. How can you distrust gullibility?
Unfortunately, these traits of hers has appealed to me all the more, which is not something that I had planned to get sucked into. But feelings, although they can be remarkably well hidden, they are also non- suppressible.
This is, if nothing else, one big fat joke.
It takes me a few starts to get my words out. I'm still surprised, maybe even shocked, and the sight of Chloe seems more likely surrealism in The Talon than the real thing. I really did not expect to see her here.
"Hello," I finally say. Still bewildered, "What brings you to this part of Smallville?"
"Oh, well, you know, the Prom was a drag. Wanted a new environment."
I glance around at me, at the patron-empty restaurant, which would be a dead space in town tonight if not for the two over-dressed customers in the corner. Self-consciously, I loosen my tie.
"So you seek the Talon."
"Yeah," she pauses. It takes her a few tries to say, "Actually, I was seeking you."
"Oh?" Despite the coolness in my voice, my heart is pumping extraordinarily fast. I concentrate on the cup of coffee in front of me, while trying to regain some semblance of control. "What about?"
"Our evening's not quite done yet."
"Funny, it seemed well and truly over."
She doesn't seem to know what to say to this, her mouth gapes open but no words come out to pillage me for living up to my reputation of being such a conceited asshole. The Normal Chloe would never allow me to continue breathing for such a remark.
But instead of doing as such, she says, "Well, it's not."
I don't reply. I' m surprised. And pleased, because if anything, her less- than-colorful answer indicates that she's more nervous than she looks.
With an extra burst of courage: "You still owe me an interview."
And there it is. I should have known. Of COURSE she would hunt me down for an interview; she's a reporter, after all. They seem to find no better way to waste their time than to poke their noses into other people's private affairs.
I mean, seriously, what did I really think? She was going to come here to profess feelings? Tell me Clark's nothing to her? Propose to re-hash our non-kiss? Please.
Fool.
Me, not her.
I reply (perhaps a tad petulantly), "I don't think so."
She gapes at me. "Why not?" she demands.
"It was an agreement," I remind her. "I take you to the Prom, you interview me. I DIDN'T take you to the Prom, and I was never your date tonight, which means, quite simply, that you don't get to interview me."
She makes a noise like a dying bird. "WHAT?!"
I hate repeating myself therefore I don't.
Still gaping at me, she seems to be slowly taking my words in with difficulty, the way one might digest sharp rocks. "Let me get this straight," she says slowly. "I can't interview you because our DEAL was that if I ALLOWED you to take me to the Prom, then I can interview you. But because of a glitch that was wholly and entirely NOT my fault but YOURS for having something more important to do than to take me to the Prom, then I'm NOT allowed to interview you?"
I nod. She explodes.
"GOD, if that is not the most conceited thing I have EVER heard in my life! Remember that this was not MY CHOICE, YOU were the one who ditched ME, okay? TWICE! And for THAT you won't let me INTERVIEW YOU?! You probably PLANNED this, you cow, you self-centered, horrible, uncaring-"
I suddenly had a terrible premonition of her bursting into tears. I don't need a crying teenager on top of everything else. In addition to that, when Chloe starts ranting, you never know when she'll stop, and I'm starting to get a migraine.
I relent. "Fine, three questions."
She makes the dying bird noise. "THREE QUESTIONS? That's not even an interview! You know what that is? That's a JOKE! It's hardly even a conversation!"
Help me, God. "Fine, I'll allow five questions. All unrelated to my private life and any conspiracies regarding meteorite formulas or any other kind that you can think of. Five questions. Will that be sufficient enough for you?"
"This interview is not subject to negotiation."
"Wrong answer," I inform her, getting up from my seat.
Dying bird noise. "FINE. Five questions. Treacherous cow."
I take my seat again. "Added term and condition: any reference to me being anything remotely bovine with a bad attitude will result in my immediate departure."
"You are therefore I say."
"Let's refrain from voicing it out next time."
"Fine," she says airily, caring less now that she has her interview back. "But ripping me off like this means you can at least buy me a cup of coffee."
I'm sorely tempted to tell her to buy her own fucking caffeine fix but she ends the sentence with a big-as-the-world, mischievous smile, and it unfortunately floors me.
"Okay," I agree, fighting down a temptation to match her smile with one of my own. "I've been looking for a test subject to experiment a new meteor formula, so what's your choice of poison?"
"Cappuccino," she replies with another smile. "And as I always say, Lex, if you can't experiment mutilating toxic products on anyone else then you could always count on your friends." Then before I leave, she adds, "Anyway, caffeine at The Talon always manages to poison me, meteorite or no meteorite."
"How about a little gratuity for free coffee?"
"Oh you know me, Lex, forever grateful. Even with five questions," she says, flashing me another grin.
Momentarily off balance, I leave her at this moment to regain some peace of mind, and fetch her cappuccino.
CHLOE
As soon as his back is turned towards me, I heave a huge sigh of relief.
This is definitely a lot more difficult than I expected. I mean, I expected SOME difficulty. Naturally, being born pessimistic prepares you for stuff like these. But I didn't expect it to be so nerve-wracking. Which is really bad because stuff like this make my palms sweaty. And since I'm born accident prone, sweaty palms is like a death wish to any nearby breakable item.
I was already thinking it all up in my head while watching Clark dance with the Prom Queen in place of the absent Prom King, which will undoubtedly spark off more of the attention that Lana seems to dislike basking in the limelight of. I watched them dancing and found myself oddly detached to them, as if I was watching two strangers in a TV show. I felt no connection and I felt very little else.
I was wondering where Lex had gone. Did he go home? Was he taking a drive? Having a coffee at the Talon? I was opting for the first choice, because driving at his reckless speed seemed too much of a dangerous thing for me to even think about at that moment, and who would want to have coffee at the Talon voluntarily alone?
When Clark was done and dutifully returned to his reluctant blonde date, I asked that he take me home.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Stomach cramps," I lied. He probably guessed. Luckily he didn't say anything.
He drove me home in complete silence. The awkward variety.
When he deposited me at the doorstep, he gave me a clumsy kiss on the cheek. "Chloe-," he started.
I didn't feel like hearing it. Apologies. Warnings. Whatever. I didn't need an apology at the moment, and in my opinion he should be heeding his own warning; I might have a crush on the town millionaire but he seemed to have no qualms pursuing someone else's girlfriend. Whose priorities are screwed up, exactly?
"Good-night, Clark," I said instead.
The plan was brewing in my mind already. I had a legitimate reason to see him: he owed me an interview! Normally, nothing stands in between me and an exclusive interview, and I failed to see why circumstances tonight should stop me from getting it.
Pretending to my father that I forgot something in Clark's truck, I borrowed his car and went on my merry way to claim an interview, obviously for the sake of The Torch. And just a little bit to do with me.
Saving distance (and gas), I drove by the Beanery just in case he was there. When he wasn't, I sped through town, and screeched to a halt two blocks up at the Talon when I saw a familiar bald head.
At that point in time, I was in a flurry of restless spirits. I was either: a) nervous or b) felt like vomiting or c) ready to haul ass out of there or d) determined to see him. I approached him near enough to hear him speaking over the phone, and when I heard that his voice seemed amiable enough, it gave me the last surge of courage and I walked straight up to him.
Unfortunately, by the time I was near enough and all he had to do was look up to see me, I heard the bitterness in his voice and saw a look on his face that indicated a readiness to punch something - probably the first person in view i.e. me.
I forced myself to slide into the seat opposite his.
He was stunned. The puking feeling I felt in my stomach was getting worse, and I wondered how ironic it was that the first time I would have the guts to pursue a man would be when my face looks constipated.
He recovered though. Too well. And now I'm left with an option of him leaving or an interview of five questions only.
FIVE QUESTIONS. It's an insult to any reporter.
Okay, okay. Five questions. What the hell can I accomplish in five questions? Think, Chloe, think. No meteorite references. No conspiracy. It's going to be the most God awful boring article ever.
At least I still have my subject. And Lex Luthor is a great subject.
He looked like he was about to be a great kisser, too.
Let's stick to the great subject.
What is my plan exactly? Sit here within reachable distance of each other, drink coffee, interview? God, it would take ten minutes. I was hoping for a renewal of affection, but looking at his state now, I think I would be extremely lucky to get a pat on the head.
I could always be the one to initiate it. I could always tell him how I feel.
I shudder at the thought. God, how embarrassing! What if he turned me down? What if he laughed? What if-
"One cappuccino for the reporter in pink," Lex's dry voice cuts into my thoughts as he places a cup of cappuccino in front of me. "Okay," he says, businesslike, putting a cup of coffee in front of him. "Let's not detain the evening any further. Shall we begin?"
I mean, seriously, if he really doesn't have feelings for me, does he have to be that blatant about it? Does he not realize how cruel he's being? God, he probably does. This is Lex Luthor, for crying out loud! He's heartless.
For reasons that are partially nervous tension and partially annoyed at him for wanting to get things done and over with, I slowly take a tape recorder out of my bag and idly waste a minute situating it just right.
He eyes me watchfully, almost intently, until I change the angle of the tape recorder the fifth time: "Chloe, can we get on with it?"
I shake my head. "Everything has to be perfect." He rolls his eyes skyward. "Hey, you're only giving me five questions. Breathe a little, alright? Patience is a virtue."
"Patience is a waste of time and is only well-suited on people who disregard inefficacy."
I stop. "Are you saying I'm inefficient?" I demand.
He swears, barely audibly. "NO, Chloe. I'm not. But I've had a rough night, and I'd rather finish this quickly."
"Fine," I say, absent-mindedly, rewinding my tape. A burning curiosity forces the next question out of me: "You've had a rough night?"
"Are you really going to waste one of your five questions on that?"
Bastard. "I was being concerned, okay? Shoot me."
He doesn't say anything, probably refraining himself from actually shooting me.
The tape stops and I press record, before speaking into the recorder: "Okay. First interview with Lex Luthor that does not involve my being thrown out of a window. It's Prom night and we're at the Talon for some post-Prom coffee. Due to Mr. Luthor's request, we are limiting this interview to five questions. Good evening, Mr. Luthor."
He smiles thinly.
"Good evening, Mr. Luthor," I repeat, complete with airline stewardess sing- song voice.
He sighs in resignation. "Good evening, Chloe."
"Obviously, since we're limited to five questions only, we'll just cut to the chase okay? The Prom was lovely, the decorations um- imaginative, and Mr. Luthor had an overall wonderful time there, and he's pleased that Lana Lang won Prom Queen-"
"I didn't have a wonderful time," he interrupts. "And call me Lex."
"Why didn't-" I stop myself. No, no. Don't waste that question. "I mean, well, it's too bad you didn't have a wonderful time. I'm sure there must have been circumstances for this that I will not assume responsibility for. At all."
"Unfortunately, Chloe, you were one of the reasons why I had such a shit time at the Prom. If not the main reason."
I hate this man. I hate this man. I hate this man.
I hit the Stop button. "Are you TRYING to distract me?" I hiss.
"Not at all," he says, amiably. Then brushing my fingers aside from the recorder, he presses Record. "Continue."
Breathe. Just breathe.