XI.
Their conversation on the way home was far more subdued than it had been in the opposite direction. Whitney stopped at a drive through just outside of Metropolis, and they ate in quiet pensiveness for a good long while. Chloe was the one to finally break the silence.
"OK, and don't take this personally, seeing as you're in love with her and everything," she started. "But you know what really bugs me? I mean, about the way he is with her."
"What?" He knew immediately the "her" and "him" she was referring to, naturally.
"That she doesn't have to do anything to earn all that devotion." She shook her head, finally airing all the bitter resentment. "All she has to do is show up and look pretty, and he follows her around like some mindless dog. I, on the other hand, have been his best friend for nearly two years. I've nearly gotten killed for it, actually! I mean, not like I'm keeping count, but several times! I am always there for him every time he's got a problem. But does any of it matter at all? Nooo."
"How do you think I feel?" Whitney agreed darkly. "I've spent a year and a half treating her like a princess, putting her needs first, going out of my way for her whenever possible. Suddenly I show up this semester and she's constantly gushing to me about how heroic Clark Fucking Kent is. Talking about 'oooh, sometimes people can surprise you.' And I'm thinking, did she expect me to be impressed?"
Chloe snorted and waved away that notion dismissively. "I'm sorry, Fordman, but she must know he's, like, totally ga-ga over her."
"Yeah. Yeah, I think she knows." It was the first time he'd made such an admission to anyone—he'd half-admitted it to himself on several occasions, but had always subsequently just shoved it deeper into his subconscious, engaging in deliberate denial.
"So your girlfriend is basically a heartless tease."
Whitney thought about the implications of Chloe's quasi-question for a few minutes, long past the time than Chloe could have expected a response. His voice over the quiet hum of the truck's engine made her start. "Fuck it all."
Chloe batted her eyelashes blankly. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said, fuck it all. Cause I'm starting to realize that it's got nothing to do with what you *do*." His tone was quiet, careful, but resigned. "In the end, it doesn't matter what I do or what I feel. If she doesn't feel the same way, then she just doesn't. You can't… you can't force that."
Chloe nodded sagely, letting that sink in. "So then, what do you do? If you care about someone like that, and they don't want you back?"
"Well…. It's like you said. It's crazy to keep going after the same thing and expecting different results." He shook his head slowly. "I don't know. Reassess priorities, I guess."
Chloe sipped thoughtfully on her soda. "I've decided you and Pete are right."
"Me and Pete? Pete Ross? The little guy?"
"The little guy!" Chloe chortled. "Oh, he'd love that. But yeah. He told me I've got to quit wasting my time on a dead end, and he's right." She ended by raising her chin with feigned bravado.
"Yeah, actually, y'know, I think Ross has a thing for you too."
Chloe stared at him, wide-eyed at his remarkable talent for uncanny insight. Her skin crawled at the memory of Pete's unwilling confession—and subsequent transformation-- under the influence of the Nicodemus flower. She cleared her throat awkwardly and began again. "That's so not the point here. The point is that I'm sixteen years old and, you know what, I'm kinda cute!" She ignored his soft laughter, but smiled despite herself, and continued: "If Clark can't appreciate me, there are plenty of guys who will."
"There you go," and he slapped the steering wheel for emphasis. He thought for a moment, and said, "Hell, I've decided you're right, too. I've got to start being a little more pro-active in my life."
She raised an eyebrow. "Pro-active? *I* said you had to be pro-active?"
"Yeah! Uh. I think." But he started to look doubtful again, and she hurried to maintain the momentum of the conversation.
"Um. Right. So exactly what are you going to do that's, uh… pro-active?"
Whitney fell silent. "I don't know," he admitted. "I just like thinking that I will."
She laughed lightly, and he rewarded her with a rare, genuine, full-on smile that made her own falter.
Lucky thing it was so very dark.
"You know what? And don't get offended or anything when I say this."
"Uh oh," Chloe muttered. "People always say that when they're about to say something really, really offensive."
"No, no, listen," Whitney insisted. "I was gonna say that… you know how earlier I said you were not all that annoying?"
"Yeah…" Chloe drawled, becoming incrementally wary.
"I dunno. Now that we've hung out some more, well… you're not annoying at all really. Actually, you're kind of… fun."
"Wow." Chloe chewed her bottom lip absently, then asked, "Is that what passes for a compliment where you come from?"
"Heh. Maybe."
"So you thought I was rotten and intolerable before you got to know me, but now, not so much. I'm sorry, is this the part where I swoon?"
He threw her a meaningful look, and she grunted derisively.
"Come on! Like you're so much better," he teased. "You thought I was practically some grunting cave dude before. Admit it."
She beamed at him beatifically. "What on earth makes you think I've changed my mind?"
Whitney smirked into the darkness as he kept on driving.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Chloe had actually dozed off when, with her eyes still closed, she felt the car slowing down and making more frequent turns. She opened her eyes and looked around in a half-daze and instantly recognized her surroundings.
"Hey," she asked, her voice hoarse. "How come we're going to Lana's?"
"I'm just going to drop her phone off," he explained. "I'm not going to see her for most of tomorrow, and she might need it before then. Her house is on the way to yours. Do you mind?" The last question was asked sincerely, and she shook her head. Whitney hadn't lied earlier that afternoon; due to the fact that he did, in fact, drive at a velocity rapidly approaching that of the speed of sound, they'd made it back to Smallville with plenty of time to spare till her curfew.
She stretched and groaned, sore from having fallen asleep upright.
"You OK?" he asked absently. The anxiety from the prospect of having to face Lana was visibly building in his features and posture.
"Fine. Just a little sore."
"Mmm."
He shut off the engine and apprehensively studied Lana's front door, not moving yet. A quick glance around the house revealed Lana's bedroom window—curtains shut—to have the only lit lamp in the house.
"Shit. Is Nell asleep?" Chloe asked.
"Yeah, probably," Whitney nodded. "It's cool. I'll just throw something at her window and she'll come down real quick."
"How very Cyrano de Bergerac," she quipped playfully. "Just don't serenade her. I heard you humming along to the radio on the way over here, and you weren't lying when you said you couldn't sing."
Whitney's expression feigned insult, but the small smile that had resulted disappeared just as easily with another glance at Lana's house. "I guess it's now or never," Whitney said flatly. He glanced at Chloe. "You better get out of the truck too."
"Uh. Why?"
"Because it'll look weird if you don't," he told her, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. And with that, he ducked out of the driver's side and gently closed the door.
She squinted and let his feeble attempt at logic pass without comment, instead asking as she joined him, "You think she's going to still be mad? I don't know if she'll want to see me." She noted with vague irritation that once again she was practically jogging to keep up with what for him was a brisk stroll.
"Nah, Lana never stays mad for long at anything," Whitney said, a note of affection creeping into his voice despite himself.
Chloe forced herself to smile congenially. "Of course not!"
And just as suddenly, Whitney froze, not twenty feet from the front steps, as his jaw dropped open in mute horror.
She followed the direction of his gaze, and just as suddenly felt a wave of coldness wash over her entire being. Peeking out from the shadows of the side of the Potter home, barely visible and seen only by the cruelest of chances, was a dilapidated blue pick up truck.
Chloe instantly recognized it as the one Clark's father drove.
Virtually in unison, they both did a quick, nervous scan of the entire house. Every light was turned off except for the one in Lana's bedroom. So then… but no, it didn't make sense. Clark rarely drove anywhere, having just gotten his license. And he lived within easy walking distance to Lana's house. Why would his truck be parked here so surreptitiously at nearly midnight on a school night?
She let out a short, tense breath, still too stunned to speak, and glanced over to Whitney. His mouth was still slightly agape in disbelief. She was glad for the chance to scrutinize his reaction instead of having to deal with the sharply painful cacophony of her own shock. Whitney simply seemed completely unable to look away from Clark's truck.
*Car wreck phenomenon: check*, she thought to herself, and she fought the urge to laugh hysterically.
Because Clark was in the room with Lana. She knew it in her gut, the knowledge assaulting her almost physically like a terrible cramp. Just as wordlessly, she knew that Whitney knew it, too. It was the only possible explanation. And neither of them were stupid or naïve enough to pretend they didn't know what that really meant.
They had only been standing there dumbfounded for a few seconds, but it appeared to them both to be much longer. Then, just as suddenly…
Lana's bedroom light went out.
"Whitney…" Chloe breathed, and it came out more like an agonized croak.
Whitney shook his head slowly, unable to speak still. Somewhere, in a much more detached part of her brain than the part that was currently in control, she admired the way his features had already resumed their usual stoicism almost completely, save for a couple of still-clenched jaw muscles.
He fingered the faceplate of the cell phone in his hand absently for a moment, then without looking at her, he said in a low, hoarse voice: "We should go."
She nodded mutely, and followed him to his truck without further comment.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This and the next chapter were originally one long chapter, but I decided to break it up into two for easier reading. That means this story will have 14 chapters instead of the original planned 13.
Their conversation on the way home was far more subdued than it had been in the opposite direction. Whitney stopped at a drive through just outside of Metropolis, and they ate in quiet pensiveness for a good long while. Chloe was the one to finally break the silence.
"OK, and don't take this personally, seeing as you're in love with her and everything," she started. "But you know what really bugs me? I mean, about the way he is with her."
"What?" He knew immediately the "her" and "him" she was referring to, naturally.
"That she doesn't have to do anything to earn all that devotion." She shook her head, finally airing all the bitter resentment. "All she has to do is show up and look pretty, and he follows her around like some mindless dog. I, on the other hand, have been his best friend for nearly two years. I've nearly gotten killed for it, actually! I mean, not like I'm keeping count, but several times! I am always there for him every time he's got a problem. But does any of it matter at all? Nooo."
"How do you think I feel?" Whitney agreed darkly. "I've spent a year and a half treating her like a princess, putting her needs first, going out of my way for her whenever possible. Suddenly I show up this semester and she's constantly gushing to me about how heroic Clark Fucking Kent is. Talking about 'oooh, sometimes people can surprise you.' And I'm thinking, did she expect me to be impressed?"
Chloe snorted and waved away that notion dismissively. "I'm sorry, Fordman, but she must know he's, like, totally ga-ga over her."
"Yeah. Yeah, I think she knows." It was the first time he'd made such an admission to anyone—he'd half-admitted it to himself on several occasions, but had always subsequently just shoved it deeper into his subconscious, engaging in deliberate denial.
"So your girlfriend is basically a heartless tease."
Whitney thought about the implications of Chloe's quasi-question for a few minutes, long past the time than Chloe could have expected a response. His voice over the quiet hum of the truck's engine made her start. "Fuck it all."
Chloe batted her eyelashes blankly. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said, fuck it all. Cause I'm starting to realize that it's got nothing to do with what you *do*." His tone was quiet, careful, but resigned. "In the end, it doesn't matter what I do or what I feel. If she doesn't feel the same way, then she just doesn't. You can't… you can't force that."
Chloe nodded sagely, letting that sink in. "So then, what do you do? If you care about someone like that, and they don't want you back?"
"Well…. It's like you said. It's crazy to keep going after the same thing and expecting different results." He shook his head slowly. "I don't know. Reassess priorities, I guess."
Chloe sipped thoughtfully on her soda. "I've decided you and Pete are right."
"Me and Pete? Pete Ross? The little guy?"
"The little guy!" Chloe chortled. "Oh, he'd love that. But yeah. He told me I've got to quit wasting my time on a dead end, and he's right." She ended by raising her chin with feigned bravado.
"Yeah, actually, y'know, I think Ross has a thing for you too."
Chloe stared at him, wide-eyed at his remarkable talent for uncanny insight. Her skin crawled at the memory of Pete's unwilling confession—and subsequent transformation-- under the influence of the Nicodemus flower. She cleared her throat awkwardly and began again. "That's so not the point here. The point is that I'm sixteen years old and, you know what, I'm kinda cute!" She ignored his soft laughter, but smiled despite herself, and continued: "If Clark can't appreciate me, there are plenty of guys who will."
"There you go," and he slapped the steering wheel for emphasis. He thought for a moment, and said, "Hell, I've decided you're right, too. I've got to start being a little more pro-active in my life."
She raised an eyebrow. "Pro-active? *I* said you had to be pro-active?"
"Yeah! Uh. I think." But he started to look doubtful again, and she hurried to maintain the momentum of the conversation.
"Um. Right. So exactly what are you going to do that's, uh… pro-active?"
Whitney fell silent. "I don't know," he admitted. "I just like thinking that I will."
She laughed lightly, and he rewarded her with a rare, genuine, full-on smile that made her own falter.
Lucky thing it was so very dark.
"You know what? And don't get offended or anything when I say this."
"Uh oh," Chloe muttered. "People always say that when they're about to say something really, really offensive."
"No, no, listen," Whitney insisted. "I was gonna say that… you know how earlier I said you were not all that annoying?"
"Yeah…" Chloe drawled, becoming incrementally wary.
"I dunno. Now that we've hung out some more, well… you're not annoying at all really. Actually, you're kind of… fun."
"Wow." Chloe chewed her bottom lip absently, then asked, "Is that what passes for a compliment where you come from?"
"Heh. Maybe."
"So you thought I was rotten and intolerable before you got to know me, but now, not so much. I'm sorry, is this the part where I swoon?"
He threw her a meaningful look, and she grunted derisively.
"Come on! Like you're so much better," he teased. "You thought I was practically some grunting cave dude before. Admit it."
She beamed at him beatifically. "What on earth makes you think I've changed my mind?"
Whitney smirked into the darkness as he kept on driving.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Chloe had actually dozed off when, with her eyes still closed, she felt the car slowing down and making more frequent turns. She opened her eyes and looked around in a half-daze and instantly recognized her surroundings.
"Hey," she asked, her voice hoarse. "How come we're going to Lana's?"
"I'm just going to drop her phone off," he explained. "I'm not going to see her for most of tomorrow, and she might need it before then. Her house is on the way to yours. Do you mind?" The last question was asked sincerely, and she shook her head. Whitney hadn't lied earlier that afternoon; due to the fact that he did, in fact, drive at a velocity rapidly approaching that of the speed of sound, they'd made it back to Smallville with plenty of time to spare till her curfew.
She stretched and groaned, sore from having fallen asleep upright.
"You OK?" he asked absently. The anxiety from the prospect of having to face Lana was visibly building in his features and posture.
"Fine. Just a little sore."
"Mmm."
He shut off the engine and apprehensively studied Lana's front door, not moving yet. A quick glance around the house revealed Lana's bedroom window—curtains shut—to have the only lit lamp in the house.
"Shit. Is Nell asleep?" Chloe asked.
"Yeah, probably," Whitney nodded. "It's cool. I'll just throw something at her window and she'll come down real quick."
"How very Cyrano de Bergerac," she quipped playfully. "Just don't serenade her. I heard you humming along to the radio on the way over here, and you weren't lying when you said you couldn't sing."
Whitney's expression feigned insult, but the small smile that had resulted disappeared just as easily with another glance at Lana's house. "I guess it's now or never," Whitney said flatly. He glanced at Chloe. "You better get out of the truck too."
"Uh. Why?"
"Because it'll look weird if you don't," he told her, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. And with that, he ducked out of the driver's side and gently closed the door.
She squinted and let his feeble attempt at logic pass without comment, instead asking as she joined him, "You think she's going to still be mad? I don't know if she'll want to see me." She noted with vague irritation that once again she was practically jogging to keep up with what for him was a brisk stroll.
"Nah, Lana never stays mad for long at anything," Whitney said, a note of affection creeping into his voice despite himself.
Chloe forced herself to smile congenially. "Of course not!"
And just as suddenly, Whitney froze, not twenty feet from the front steps, as his jaw dropped open in mute horror.
She followed the direction of his gaze, and just as suddenly felt a wave of coldness wash over her entire being. Peeking out from the shadows of the side of the Potter home, barely visible and seen only by the cruelest of chances, was a dilapidated blue pick up truck.
Chloe instantly recognized it as the one Clark's father drove.
Virtually in unison, they both did a quick, nervous scan of the entire house. Every light was turned off except for the one in Lana's bedroom. So then… but no, it didn't make sense. Clark rarely drove anywhere, having just gotten his license. And he lived within easy walking distance to Lana's house. Why would his truck be parked here so surreptitiously at nearly midnight on a school night?
She let out a short, tense breath, still too stunned to speak, and glanced over to Whitney. His mouth was still slightly agape in disbelief. She was glad for the chance to scrutinize his reaction instead of having to deal with the sharply painful cacophony of her own shock. Whitney simply seemed completely unable to look away from Clark's truck.
*Car wreck phenomenon: check*, she thought to herself, and she fought the urge to laugh hysterically.
Because Clark was in the room with Lana. She knew it in her gut, the knowledge assaulting her almost physically like a terrible cramp. Just as wordlessly, she knew that Whitney knew it, too. It was the only possible explanation. And neither of them were stupid or naïve enough to pretend they didn't know what that really meant.
They had only been standing there dumbfounded for a few seconds, but it appeared to them both to be much longer. Then, just as suddenly…
Lana's bedroom light went out.
"Whitney…" Chloe breathed, and it came out more like an agonized croak.
Whitney shook his head slowly, unable to speak still. Somewhere, in a much more detached part of her brain than the part that was currently in control, she admired the way his features had already resumed their usual stoicism almost completely, save for a couple of still-clenched jaw muscles.
He fingered the faceplate of the cell phone in his hand absently for a moment, then without looking at her, he said in a low, hoarse voice: "We should go."
She nodded mutely, and followed him to his truck without further comment.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This and the next chapter were originally one long chapter, but I decided to break it up into two for easier reading. That means this story will have 14 chapters instead of the original planned 13.