VI.
She'd finally dragged herself to the opening of the Talon. By then, the party was in full force; live jazz hummed unobtrusively in the background and the rumble of multiple conversations were only interrupted by the occasional peals of laughter. She sighed nervously, her eyes wide and searching the place for a familiar face, and was dismayed to find that the place was too densely populated to see very far into the crowd.
Chloe didn't like crowds, and she didn't really enjoy dressing up—not like other girls her age did, she knew. She was more comfortable in functional clothes and had been something of a tomboy all her life. It was only, Chloe had recently realized, after she met Clark Kent that she'd started making any efforts to girlify her wardrobe and wear makeup. How expertly she pulled it off was still totally up for debate between her ego and her insecurity.
Her hand shot subconsciously to the glitter barrette lodged in her hair, and she sighed again and trudged ahead, determined to run into someone onto whom she could latch by sheer virtue of probability. It would have been nice to have had Pete there; Pete always put her in a good mood, and talked nearly as much as she did, and that would have helped calm her jitters from the very, very awful thing she suspected she'd just done… but she wasn't going to think about that just now. She was here for Clark (Pete's basketball practice be damned), and she was going to put on a happy face if it killed her. Or anyone else in the vicinity.
"Wow," a young man's voice clearly said to her back. Chloe turned, praying it was someone she knew.
Then she realized she maybe shouldn't have prayed quite so hard.
"Hey, Whitney." Last person she wanted to see after their last, embarrassingly exposing conversation. She smiled tightly at him, resigned.
"I hardly recognized you in the fancy get-up," he said, and slurped at what looked like white wine. Chloe noticed his cheeks were a little flushed and ruddy, and wondered how many of those he'd had already. She shook her head to clear it.
"Did you get a hair cut?"
"Yeah. Lana hates it," he confessed, and grinned. Definitely more than one glass, Chloe said, making a mental note.
"I think it looks OK," she offered nonchalantly. "Know where I can get some food?"
"Over there," Whitney said, pointing. He followed her inexplicably, as she sighed inwardly and kept her gaze fixed on the buffet.
"Um. So how's the party so far?" she asked, scanning for anyone, anyone at all, that she could make a graceful exit onto.
"I don't know. Itchy."
She nearly choked on her newly poured punch. "I beg your pardon? Am I hearing things, or did you just say the party was *itchy*?"
He leaned forward, uncharacteristically mischievous. "See, I only have one suit to wear to these things."
"Ah. And it's itchy."
"Right!" he said, and tapped her on the shoulder appreciatively.
Her eyebrows creeping upward, Chloe pressed her lips together primly and watched him finish off his wine glass in one gulp. "Exactly how many of those have you had so far?"
He answered her with only a wave as he grabbed another glass from the tray of a passing waiter. "It's my one night off in, like, weeks. Actually technically I'm supposed to be doing some precalculus. But screw that."
"Screw that, huh?" she asked vaguely. Finally, her eyes landed on Clark. Her cheeks flushed with warmth… until he stepped to the side and revealed Lana standing directly in front of him. Lana was laughing and laughing, and fingering the lapel of his non-matching jacket lightly. Chloe felt like a cold wind had rushed into her insides suddenly.
"Yeah, what's the point of doing good in school anymore?" Whitney shrugged, oblivious to the bitterness that had crept into his voice… and into her expression.
"To graduate?" Chloe snorted, her eyes still on the scene before her. "I think you should sit down before you hurt yourself, Fordman." She watched, dismayed, as Clark leaned forward to whisper something into Lana's ear. The dark haired girl let forth new peals of giggles, and Chloe couldn't remember when Clark had ever looked quite so… pleased with himself.
She spared Whitney only a casual glance, and her heart gave an inexplicable squeeze when she saw that Whitney's gaze had followed her own. Something seemed to break in his expression at the sight of Clark and Lana chatting so intimately. She looked away out of tact, chewing the inside of her cheek thoughtfully as she gazed at the food splayed out before her. Remarkably unsurprisingly, suddenly nothing looked appetizing. Only later did she notice that Whitney had given up on conversation with her entirely and had stormed off toward the door. That couldn't be good, as trashed as he was, she thought to herself, cursing the conscience that made her follow him out into the night.
She found him standing on the curb, staring blankly into the night sky. "Um, hey, Fordman?"
He spared her a backward glance. "Oh, hey you," Whitney said, a trace of glumness finally there.
"Hey. I don't mean to be nosy, but… Are you gonna be all right?"
"Yeah, I'm just *great*," he told her derisively.
"You don't look so great."
"I'm great," he growled.
She nodded. "Um. Where are you going?"
"Why do you care?" he snapped, then, regretting his harsh tone, he stared at his shoes. "Far away from *that* scene, I guess."
"Oh." Chloe stared at him, at a loss as to what to say, and not feeling much like conversation anyway. "I know what you mean. I don't even know why I came, really."
"Me either. And this suit--" Whitney rocked a little on his heels, tugging carelessly at his collar. "I'm into jeans and t-shirts. Sneakers."
"Me too," Chloe agreed quickly.
"You are not. You always wear—um. I dunno. Like colors and feathers and things like that. Crazy shoes."
"Colors and—" Chloe cocked an eyebrow at him. "I'll try to take that in the spirit it was intended. Anyway how would you know?" Chloe clicked her tongue at him, and she took a step backwards subconsciously. She had no idea what she was doing standing in the spot she was, just then. She felt out of place inside with the dozens of people milling about, but she felt even more out of place here with this peculiar audience of one.
For his part, Whitney gave her question some thought, and realized there was no way to answer that question that didn't sound even a little bit lascivious. He just gave her an embarrassed grin and a shrug in response.
So, she noted mentally, much to her utter shock… Whitney Fordman noticed – apparently on a regular basis—the things she wore. Normally, this would have sent her into at least a minor tizzy, as there was, dismally, a veritable famine of positive male attention in her life lately. Especially from males who weren't meteor-mutated freaks. Especially from males who… well… looked like Whitney Fordman.
But instead of the usual rush of adrenaline that would have immediately set up shop between her ego and her brain upon such a realization, she only felt a curious intrigue.
Chloe realized she had been staring at Whitney for entirely too long, and he was staring back uncertainly, unable to keep her gaze for very long. Whether that was due to the copious amounts of alcohol he'd illegally consumed, or something else entirely, was wholly up for debate. She cocked her head at him, nodding knowingly. "Wow. I was totally right. You *are* a weirdo."
"Am not." Whitney looked at her with his eyes dancing, and more than a little glazed over. She marveled briefly at the way he could smile and not- smile all at the same time. "You know what I can't get over?" he asked, slurring the last word a bit still.
"I can't guess," she murmured. "Look, I'm gonna go back in—"
"So far, this year has been totally fucked up!" He nodded slowly to himself for good measure, and Chloe rolled her eyes.
"That it has," she agreed flatly. She pointed to the Talon's front door, where a couple she didn't recognize was stumbling out into the night, obliviously giggling to each other. "I actually haven't said hi to—"
"Clark." Whitney nearly spat the name out, suddenly considerably more sober. He sniffed derisively. "Well, go right ahead then." He made an exaggeratedly chivalrous sweeping gesture with his arm… and nearly lost his balance. "I am sooooo sorry. I forgot for a minute that the whole fucking world revolves around Clark Fucking Kent."
Chloe had begun to walk past him, but something venomous in his voice made her stop and face him. She maintained a steadfast poker face, but her voice was low and restrained. "I couldn't even begin to guess what your malfunction is, Fordman, but if you think I dragged myself to this party to listen to you get all emotional-drunk on me, you are so, so mistaken. Now if you'll excuse me—"
"Everybody just worships Kent; everybody thinks he's so freakin' perfect," he went on, ignoring her. She had spun around on her heel to leave once more, and his biting tone had made her freeze and consider her response carefully. This time, though, there was no turning around to face him. She sighed, weary with the evening already, and she'd only been there fifteen minutes.
"You're not exactly a boy scout, Fordman," she said, aiming for gentleness and hitting the mark a bit closer to sarcasm.
"Yeah? Well, you don't even know me."
Chloe laughed dryly. "I'm still not sure I want to."
"What? Jesus, what's that about?"
"Nothing," she replied innocently. "It's just that—"
"Is this about that stupid scarecrow shit still?"
"That was pretty damn memorable, you have to admit."
"Great. I bet Kent went crying to you the instant he got a chance."
"You'd be betting wrong… Pete told me." She sighed tensely, still not looking at him for fear that she would see a complete lack of contriteness on his face, and feel the need to slap him. "That was very humiliating for him, you know. You kinda went way beyond 'asshole' status there. You must realize that. I mean, like, hate-crime magnitude. You know that, right? And I don't know about you, but when someone does something like that to my best friend, I get a few qualms about becoming their buddy."
"I'm going to be apologizing for that for the rest of my damn life," he muttered. But the genuine note of regret in his voice made her face him.
She stared at him pointedly. "That might actually be a good start. Maybe."
"It didn't seem so bad at the time."
"Famous last words, Fordman."
He smiled tentatively at her again, but she did not smile back.
"You don't understand. It's just that every time I turn around, he's there… hovering. Over her."
"You're telling me."
"He's such—such a *tool*," Whitney cried suddenly. "I mean, why did he even forgive me? Just to be some kind of martyr?"
"You're so wrong! That's just the way he—"
"Probably just to get in better with my girl, too." And his words wounded her, and so she fell silent as he went on: "Heh. Fucking Clark Kent. What kind of a name is Clark, anyway? Who names their son Clark?"
"Who names their son Whitney?" Chloe shot back, and after a split second, gave him her brightest smile.
He glared at her. "It's a *family* name."
She ignored him utterly. "You know what, none of your constant bitching is about Clark, anyway. It's about you being, like, incredibly insecure and—" and she recalled Clark's angry ranting at her in his barn, and glanced at Whitney's suddenly terrified expression, and she stopped herself. "I don't know. You two just bring out the worst in each other, I guess."
"I don't even know why I'm talking to you about this," Whitney said, suddenly narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously. "You just finished telling me you don't even like me. You're all hung up on him just like everybody else. Hell, I think even that Luthor guy has a thing for him."
Chloe's mouth opened to say something in her own defense… and then the last part of his rant fully hit her. And she threw her head back and guffawed mightily, her voice echoing merrily down the streets. And she couldn't stop laughing. Shrieking with laughter, she jumped up and down and grabbed both his biceps, shaking him cheerfully as he half-smiled at her with a questioning look.
"Do you have any idea how long I've been saying that?" she cried conspiratorially. "He is so totally hung up on Clark! Nobody will believe me when I say it!"
Whitney's eyes and grin both widened. "Oh, my God, it's so obvious! He's, like, in love!" Chloe cackled some more, thrilled with this much-needed validation that was coming out of nowhere, and eventually his grin turned into a snicker, too. He grabbed her elbow and leaned forward to do his best impression of the younger Luthor.
"He's always, like, 'Clark, I'll do *anything* for my friends.' Yeah, especially the ones he wants to bone."
Chloe actually snorted loudly, she was laughing so hard. "Dude, you totally should have seen the way he was checking Clark out when I went to the mansion with them!" And that's all it took for Whitney to start cackling too.
Which made it the perfect moment for Lana and Clark to come out of the Talon, cozily arm in arm. Four smiles got wiped away *very* quickly, and four teenagers screeched to a halt, everyone present exchanging wide-eyed, guilty stares.
Lana was the first to speak. She dropped her hand from the crook of Clark's elbow at exactly the same time Whitney's hand dropped from Chloe's arm. And try as she might, Lana could not keep the accusatory question out of her voice. "Um. Hi, Chloe, glad you could make it. Actually, I didn't even know you were here."
Chloe was at a loss for an explanation. "I just— I—"
"Chloe hasn't even been inside yet," Whitney explained. "I was out here getting some fresh air, and she was just on her way in."
Chloe smiled gamely at Clark and Lana. Clark was the only one who returned it.
"Good to see you, Chloe," he said. "You ought to head inside—they've got your favorite: key lime pie."
"Sounds… sounds great." She swallowed, and endured the tense silence only a few more seconds before offering, "I think I'll go inside and check that out now."
"OK," Lana said, and gave her a smile that did not touch her eyes.
Chloe, for her part, spared Whitney only a peripheral glance and a muttered, "Bye." He nodded imperceptibly in her direction, but she was halfway to the door by then.
"Everything all right, Whitney?" Clark asked, and damn him a thousand times for being so earnest.
"Everything's great," he answered, rubbing his eyebrow. "It's just, you know, not really my kind of scene in there… uh…"
"Oh, my God. Are you drunk?" Lana sounded vaguely disgusted.
"Uh… no, I mean, you know, had a little wine—"
"You drank alcohol illegally in my restaurant on opening night?" she took a horrified step towards him, and his face went slack with the realization.
"I'm—I didn't think—"
"Well, that's' obvious that you didn't *think*, Whitney," she retorted, her eyes still wide with shock. "Are you crazy? You could have gotten us closed down the first night we're open!"
Clark cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "I'm—going back inside." The couple ignored him completely, only waiting until he was clearly out of earshot before proceeding.
"I can't believe you'd be so inconsiderate and thoughtless!" Lana hissed, and immediately his face turned stony and expressionless.
"I said I was sorry."
"Yeah, well, you know—sorry isn't always good enough, you know that?" She was practically spitting in his face now. He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen her that furious. "You keep doing these incredibly destructive things and then thinking that saying 'I'm sorry' is going to fix everything, but you're *wrong*! You know how much the Talon means to me! What is wrong with you, Whitney? Why can't you think about anyone but yourself for once?"
At that moment, he wanted to scream, break something, punch a wall. His stomach twisted at this sudden transition from giddy buzz to something that stopped just short of panic. "For *once*? All I ever do is not think about myself!"
"Oh, and I'm supposed to feel sorry for you?" she scoffed. "You could have gotten us closed down, our license taken away—if anyone had seen you…"
"Nobody saw me!" he cried helplessly.
"Oh, right. Nobody but Chloe."
This put a halt to his racing anxiety. He stared at her, his expression studiously neutral. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. It's just a little surprising that you guys have become such close friends so quickly."
"We're not—we were just—" he suddenly shifted his posture and leveled his gaze at her. "You know what? If you can have a friend like Kent, I can occasionally talk to Chloe without having to explain myself." And the way she blanched was viciously satisfying to him. "I don't have anybody just to talk to anymore!"
"You've got me," Lana said, very near to whining.
He pressed his lips together quietly, and contemplated her a moment before saying, "Yeah. Well… I think I'm going to head on home now." He turned to leave, but she caught him by the elbow.
"Whitney, wait." And he, like the chump he thoroughly knew he was, waited.
"Let's not fight. I just… wish you wouldn't do such reckless things sometimes," she finally said. Her large brown eyes gazed up at him, and he couldn't help but soften towards her.
He sighed and nodded. "I really am sorry. But I mean, everybody makes mistakes." Except Kent, he thought bitterly to himself. Betcha Kent wouldn't even consider drinking at all until he was well past age twenty- one.
She just nodded slowly, and the hand clutching at his arm turned into a familiar caress. "Are you going to be OK?"
He sighed. Oddly enough, a part of him no longer wanted to leave, and he stared at the door of the Talon, lost in thought. "Sure, I'll be fine," he murmured, not sure what he was looking for just then.
And for the first time, when she kissed him, he noticed how very tentative her kisses were—had always been. For the first time, he noted how unmistakably mechanical and dispassionate her lips had always felt against his.
For the first time in almost two years, he had to make himself kiss her back.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
I'm really sorry it took me so long to put this one together. Spoilers for "Zero". Chapter 7 will probably contain spoilers for "Nicodemus", and then after that, this will permanently become an AU. Hee.
Also, please don't kill me re: what I did to the Clex. Finally, long live Tresca and wookie, of awesome beta-reader-ness!!!!!
She'd finally dragged herself to the opening of the Talon. By then, the party was in full force; live jazz hummed unobtrusively in the background and the rumble of multiple conversations were only interrupted by the occasional peals of laughter. She sighed nervously, her eyes wide and searching the place for a familiar face, and was dismayed to find that the place was too densely populated to see very far into the crowd.
Chloe didn't like crowds, and she didn't really enjoy dressing up—not like other girls her age did, she knew. She was more comfortable in functional clothes and had been something of a tomboy all her life. It was only, Chloe had recently realized, after she met Clark Kent that she'd started making any efforts to girlify her wardrobe and wear makeup. How expertly she pulled it off was still totally up for debate between her ego and her insecurity.
Her hand shot subconsciously to the glitter barrette lodged in her hair, and she sighed again and trudged ahead, determined to run into someone onto whom she could latch by sheer virtue of probability. It would have been nice to have had Pete there; Pete always put her in a good mood, and talked nearly as much as she did, and that would have helped calm her jitters from the very, very awful thing she suspected she'd just done… but she wasn't going to think about that just now. She was here for Clark (Pete's basketball practice be damned), and she was going to put on a happy face if it killed her. Or anyone else in the vicinity.
"Wow," a young man's voice clearly said to her back. Chloe turned, praying it was someone she knew.
Then she realized she maybe shouldn't have prayed quite so hard.
"Hey, Whitney." Last person she wanted to see after their last, embarrassingly exposing conversation. She smiled tightly at him, resigned.
"I hardly recognized you in the fancy get-up," he said, and slurped at what looked like white wine. Chloe noticed his cheeks were a little flushed and ruddy, and wondered how many of those he'd had already. She shook her head to clear it.
"Did you get a hair cut?"
"Yeah. Lana hates it," he confessed, and grinned. Definitely more than one glass, Chloe said, making a mental note.
"I think it looks OK," she offered nonchalantly. "Know where I can get some food?"
"Over there," Whitney said, pointing. He followed her inexplicably, as she sighed inwardly and kept her gaze fixed on the buffet.
"Um. So how's the party so far?" she asked, scanning for anyone, anyone at all, that she could make a graceful exit onto.
"I don't know. Itchy."
She nearly choked on her newly poured punch. "I beg your pardon? Am I hearing things, or did you just say the party was *itchy*?"
He leaned forward, uncharacteristically mischievous. "See, I only have one suit to wear to these things."
"Ah. And it's itchy."
"Right!" he said, and tapped her on the shoulder appreciatively.
Her eyebrows creeping upward, Chloe pressed her lips together primly and watched him finish off his wine glass in one gulp. "Exactly how many of those have you had so far?"
He answered her with only a wave as he grabbed another glass from the tray of a passing waiter. "It's my one night off in, like, weeks. Actually technically I'm supposed to be doing some precalculus. But screw that."
"Screw that, huh?" she asked vaguely. Finally, her eyes landed on Clark. Her cheeks flushed with warmth… until he stepped to the side and revealed Lana standing directly in front of him. Lana was laughing and laughing, and fingering the lapel of his non-matching jacket lightly. Chloe felt like a cold wind had rushed into her insides suddenly.
"Yeah, what's the point of doing good in school anymore?" Whitney shrugged, oblivious to the bitterness that had crept into his voice… and into her expression.
"To graduate?" Chloe snorted, her eyes still on the scene before her. "I think you should sit down before you hurt yourself, Fordman." She watched, dismayed, as Clark leaned forward to whisper something into Lana's ear. The dark haired girl let forth new peals of giggles, and Chloe couldn't remember when Clark had ever looked quite so… pleased with himself.
She spared Whitney only a casual glance, and her heart gave an inexplicable squeeze when she saw that Whitney's gaze had followed her own. Something seemed to break in his expression at the sight of Clark and Lana chatting so intimately. She looked away out of tact, chewing the inside of her cheek thoughtfully as she gazed at the food splayed out before her. Remarkably unsurprisingly, suddenly nothing looked appetizing. Only later did she notice that Whitney had given up on conversation with her entirely and had stormed off toward the door. That couldn't be good, as trashed as he was, she thought to herself, cursing the conscience that made her follow him out into the night.
She found him standing on the curb, staring blankly into the night sky. "Um, hey, Fordman?"
He spared her a backward glance. "Oh, hey you," Whitney said, a trace of glumness finally there.
"Hey. I don't mean to be nosy, but… Are you gonna be all right?"
"Yeah, I'm just *great*," he told her derisively.
"You don't look so great."
"I'm great," he growled.
She nodded. "Um. Where are you going?"
"Why do you care?" he snapped, then, regretting his harsh tone, he stared at his shoes. "Far away from *that* scene, I guess."
"Oh." Chloe stared at him, at a loss as to what to say, and not feeling much like conversation anyway. "I know what you mean. I don't even know why I came, really."
"Me either. And this suit--" Whitney rocked a little on his heels, tugging carelessly at his collar. "I'm into jeans and t-shirts. Sneakers."
"Me too," Chloe agreed quickly.
"You are not. You always wear—um. I dunno. Like colors and feathers and things like that. Crazy shoes."
"Colors and—" Chloe cocked an eyebrow at him. "I'll try to take that in the spirit it was intended. Anyway how would you know?" Chloe clicked her tongue at him, and she took a step backwards subconsciously. She had no idea what she was doing standing in the spot she was, just then. She felt out of place inside with the dozens of people milling about, but she felt even more out of place here with this peculiar audience of one.
For his part, Whitney gave her question some thought, and realized there was no way to answer that question that didn't sound even a little bit lascivious. He just gave her an embarrassed grin and a shrug in response.
So, she noted mentally, much to her utter shock… Whitney Fordman noticed – apparently on a regular basis—the things she wore. Normally, this would have sent her into at least a minor tizzy, as there was, dismally, a veritable famine of positive male attention in her life lately. Especially from males who weren't meteor-mutated freaks. Especially from males who… well… looked like Whitney Fordman.
But instead of the usual rush of adrenaline that would have immediately set up shop between her ego and her brain upon such a realization, she only felt a curious intrigue.
Chloe realized she had been staring at Whitney for entirely too long, and he was staring back uncertainly, unable to keep her gaze for very long. Whether that was due to the copious amounts of alcohol he'd illegally consumed, or something else entirely, was wholly up for debate. She cocked her head at him, nodding knowingly. "Wow. I was totally right. You *are* a weirdo."
"Am not." Whitney looked at her with his eyes dancing, and more than a little glazed over. She marveled briefly at the way he could smile and not- smile all at the same time. "You know what I can't get over?" he asked, slurring the last word a bit still.
"I can't guess," she murmured. "Look, I'm gonna go back in—"
"So far, this year has been totally fucked up!" He nodded slowly to himself for good measure, and Chloe rolled her eyes.
"That it has," she agreed flatly. She pointed to the Talon's front door, where a couple she didn't recognize was stumbling out into the night, obliviously giggling to each other. "I actually haven't said hi to—"
"Clark." Whitney nearly spat the name out, suddenly considerably more sober. He sniffed derisively. "Well, go right ahead then." He made an exaggeratedly chivalrous sweeping gesture with his arm… and nearly lost his balance. "I am sooooo sorry. I forgot for a minute that the whole fucking world revolves around Clark Fucking Kent."
Chloe had begun to walk past him, but something venomous in his voice made her stop and face him. She maintained a steadfast poker face, but her voice was low and restrained. "I couldn't even begin to guess what your malfunction is, Fordman, but if you think I dragged myself to this party to listen to you get all emotional-drunk on me, you are so, so mistaken. Now if you'll excuse me—"
"Everybody just worships Kent; everybody thinks he's so freakin' perfect," he went on, ignoring her. She had spun around on her heel to leave once more, and his biting tone had made her freeze and consider her response carefully. This time, though, there was no turning around to face him. She sighed, weary with the evening already, and she'd only been there fifteen minutes.
"You're not exactly a boy scout, Fordman," she said, aiming for gentleness and hitting the mark a bit closer to sarcasm.
"Yeah? Well, you don't even know me."
Chloe laughed dryly. "I'm still not sure I want to."
"What? Jesus, what's that about?"
"Nothing," she replied innocently. "It's just that—"
"Is this about that stupid scarecrow shit still?"
"That was pretty damn memorable, you have to admit."
"Great. I bet Kent went crying to you the instant he got a chance."
"You'd be betting wrong… Pete told me." She sighed tensely, still not looking at him for fear that she would see a complete lack of contriteness on his face, and feel the need to slap him. "That was very humiliating for him, you know. You kinda went way beyond 'asshole' status there. You must realize that. I mean, like, hate-crime magnitude. You know that, right? And I don't know about you, but when someone does something like that to my best friend, I get a few qualms about becoming their buddy."
"I'm going to be apologizing for that for the rest of my damn life," he muttered. But the genuine note of regret in his voice made her face him.
She stared at him pointedly. "That might actually be a good start. Maybe."
"It didn't seem so bad at the time."
"Famous last words, Fordman."
He smiled tentatively at her again, but she did not smile back.
"You don't understand. It's just that every time I turn around, he's there… hovering. Over her."
"You're telling me."
"He's such—such a *tool*," Whitney cried suddenly. "I mean, why did he even forgive me? Just to be some kind of martyr?"
"You're so wrong! That's just the way he—"
"Probably just to get in better with my girl, too." And his words wounded her, and so she fell silent as he went on: "Heh. Fucking Clark Kent. What kind of a name is Clark, anyway? Who names their son Clark?"
"Who names their son Whitney?" Chloe shot back, and after a split second, gave him her brightest smile.
He glared at her. "It's a *family* name."
She ignored him utterly. "You know what, none of your constant bitching is about Clark, anyway. It's about you being, like, incredibly insecure and—" and she recalled Clark's angry ranting at her in his barn, and glanced at Whitney's suddenly terrified expression, and she stopped herself. "I don't know. You two just bring out the worst in each other, I guess."
"I don't even know why I'm talking to you about this," Whitney said, suddenly narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously. "You just finished telling me you don't even like me. You're all hung up on him just like everybody else. Hell, I think even that Luthor guy has a thing for him."
Chloe's mouth opened to say something in her own defense… and then the last part of his rant fully hit her. And she threw her head back and guffawed mightily, her voice echoing merrily down the streets. And she couldn't stop laughing. Shrieking with laughter, she jumped up and down and grabbed both his biceps, shaking him cheerfully as he half-smiled at her with a questioning look.
"Do you have any idea how long I've been saying that?" she cried conspiratorially. "He is so totally hung up on Clark! Nobody will believe me when I say it!"
Whitney's eyes and grin both widened. "Oh, my God, it's so obvious! He's, like, in love!" Chloe cackled some more, thrilled with this much-needed validation that was coming out of nowhere, and eventually his grin turned into a snicker, too. He grabbed her elbow and leaned forward to do his best impression of the younger Luthor.
"He's always, like, 'Clark, I'll do *anything* for my friends.' Yeah, especially the ones he wants to bone."
Chloe actually snorted loudly, she was laughing so hard. "Dude, you totally should have seen the way he was checking Clark out when I went to the mansion with them!" And that's all it took for Whitney to start cackling too.
Which made it the perfect moment for Lana and Clark to come out of the Talon, cozily arm in arm. Four smiles got wiped away *very* quickly, and four teenagers screeched to a halt, everyone present exchanging wide-eyed, guilty stares.
Lana was the first to speak. She dropped her hand from the crook of Clark's elbow at exactly the same time Whitney's hand dropped from Chloe's arm. And try as she might, Lana could not keep the accusatory question out of her voice. "Um. Hi, Chloe, glad you could make it. Actually, I didn't even know you were here."
Chloe was at a loss for an explanation. "I just— I—"
"Chloe hasn't even been inside yet," Whitney explained. "I was out here getting some fresh air, and she was just on her way in."
Chloe smiled gamely at Clark and Lana. Clark was the only one who returned it.
"Good to see you, Chloe," he said. "You ought to head inside—they've got your favorite: key lime pie."
"Sounds… sounds great." She swallowed, and endured the tense silence only a few more seconds before offering, "I think I'll go inside and check that out now."
"OK," Lana said, and gave her a smile that did not touch her eyes.
Chloe, for her part, spared Whitney only a peripheral glance and a muttered, "Bye." He nodded imperceptibly in her direction, but she was halfway to the door by then.
"Everything all right, Whitney?" Clark asked, and damn him a thousand times for being so earnest.
"Everything's great," he answered, rubbing his eyebrow. "It's just, you know, not really my kind of scene in there… uh…"
"Oh, my God. Are you drunk?" Lana sounded vaguely disgusted.
"Uh… no, I mean, you know, had a little wine—"
"You drank alcohol illegally in my restaurant on opening night?" she took a horrified step towards him, and his face went slack with the realization.
"I'm—I didn't think—"
"Well, that's' obvious that you didn't *think*, Whitney," she retorted, her eyes still wide with shock. "Are you crazy? You could have gotten us closed down the first night we're open!"
Clark cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "I'm—going back inside." The couple ignored him completely, only waiting until he was clearly out of earshot before proceeding.
"I can't believe you'd be so inconsiderate and thoughtless!" Lana hissed, and immediately his face turned stony and expressionless.
"I said I was sorry."
"Yeah, well, you know—sorry isn't always good enough, you know that?" She was practically spitting in his face now. He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen her that furious. "You keep doing these incredibly destructive things and then thinking that saying 'I'm sorry' is going to fix everything, but you're *wrong*! You know how much the Talon means to me! What is wrong with you, Whitney? Why can't you think about anyone but yourself for once?"
At that moment, he wanted to scream, break something, punch a wall. His stomach twisted at this sudden transition from giddy buzz to something that stopped just short of panic. "For *once*? All I ever do is not think about myself!"
"Oh, and I'm supposed to feel sorry for you?" she scoffed. "You could have gotten us closed down, our license taken away—if anyone had seen you…"
"Nobody saw me!" he cried helplessly.
"Oh, right. Nobody but Chloe."
This put a halt to his racing anxiety. He stared at her, his expression studiously neutral. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. It's just a little surprising that you guys have become such close friends so quickly."
"We're not—we were just—" he suddenly shifted his posture and leveled his gaze at her. "You know what? If you can have a friend like Kent, I can occasionally talk to Chloe without having to explain myself." And the way she blanched was viciously satisfying to him. "I don't have anybody just to talk to anymore!"
"You've got me," Lana said, very near to whining.
He pressed his lips together quietly, and contemplated her a moment before saying, "Yeah. Well… I think I'm going to head on home now." He turned to leave, but she caught him by the elbow.
"Whitney, wait." And he, like the chump he thoroughly knew he was, waited.
"Let's not fight. I just… wish you wouldn't do such reckless things sometimes," she finally said. Her large brown eyes gazed up at him, and he couldn't help but soften towards her.
He sighed and nodded. "I really am sorry. But I mean, everybody makes mistakes." Except Kent, he thought bitterly to himself. Betcha Kent wouldn't even consider drinking at all until he was well past age twenty- one.
She just nodded slowly, and the hand clutching at his arm turned into a familiar caress. "Are you going to be OK?"
He sighed. Oddly enough, a part of him no longer wanted to leave, and he stared at the door of the Talon, lost in thought. "Sure, I'll be fine," he murmured, not sure what he was looking for just then.
And for the first time, when she kissed him, he noticed how very tentative her kisses were—had always been. For the first time, he noted how unmistakably mechanical and dispassionate her lips had always felt against his.
For the first time in almost two years, he had to make himself kiss her back.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
I'm really sorry it took me so long to put this one together. Spoilers for "Zero". Chapter 7 will probably contain spoilers for "Nicodemus", and then after that, this will permanently become an AU. Hee.
Also, please don't kill me re: what I did to the Clex. Finally, long live Tresca and wookie, of awesome beta-reader-ness!!!!!