Smallville - "Uninvited"

Co-Writers: AssassinForHire (Lana Lang), D. Barnes (Clark Kent)

I'm posting this continuation of sorts because of the demand for it. :) Unfortunately, the previous writer for Clark in the first chapter disappeared off the face of the earth so I was forced to find another writer to replace him. Hope you guys like this one and that you'll overlook the strange flow. (It was first written for roleplay.) We appreciate your comments.


The Talon. Two days later.

Lana Lang. High school dream girl. Silky raven hair, calculating green eyes, flawless skin, spritely smile, petite frame. Excommunicated cheerleader. Reading and astronomy enthusiast. A bit of a conundrum, really. And yet, despite the winning charisma afforded her, Lana felt no different from anyone else when the bell rang, and classes ended, and she put on the apron. Every ounce of energy left unspoiled by school was spent into waitressing for her co-owned cafe with Lex Luthor. The Talon gave her something to look forward to at night, as nerdy as it sounds.

Smallville wasn't exactly Metropolis as far exciting evening options went; Lana had strictly kept within her small town borders all her life. Which wasn't to say she wasn't a bright or worldly girl. In fact, Lana had always been a defiant one of sorts, being the cheerleader with brains, the beauty who buried her nose in books and Scientific American journals. Even now, as she prepared a few cappuccinos for customers, Lana intermittently returned to her copy of National Geographic sitting on the counter, flipping the page once per turn. She was so consumed with reading about modern day seppuku in Japan, in fact, that she failed to see who had strolled in through the door.

Clark Kent. The epitome of mystery. He was nothing but your average boy - on the outside, that is. A good, solid name around school. The so-called "perfect family", to boot. And of course, a healthy obsession with the dark waitress standing just behind the counter with a magazine lightly clasped in her hands.

Dimples popped inward as Clark made his way towards the cheerleader, locks of his dark hair brushing his light eyes. He wore his trademarked yellow work boots and his long-sleeved collar shirt with its green sleeves and bottom tucked neatly into crisp blue jeans. A naïve baby face gave way to a solid chest, given to him by working day-by-day on the farm. A dream job? No. But it wasn't bad. Besides, it added to his benign morale. Slipping onto a silver stool, Clarked leaned his elbow onto the counter and propped up his chin with both hands.

"Which part of Africa are they advertising?"

Ex-cheerleader, that is. It only took Lana a matter of days before failingly seeing the point of being a high school sex symbol, and after the 'pep-talk' with her aunt, the girl quit squad. Not exactly a heartbreaking decision, but Lana kept fit in other ways. (Horseback riding being one of her more beloved passions.) And at least she could say to herself that she had given the pseudo-sport a chance.

Lana felt a smile lift on her face unchecked, which she quickly hid from the boy.

"Japan, thank you. And teenage suicide in Japan is nothing to joke about, especially given the alarming rate it's happening nowadays."

She raised long, amused lashes and fixed her gaze at him in greeting.

"Clark. Can I get you the usual 2% milk or are you alternating with decaffeinated mint tea tonight?"

And to think. She had waited until high school to take pleasure in throwing down on the boy when they had been neighbors all their lives. Lana schooled her face to a more innocent countenance, and with her white tanktop beneath a cream-colored hemp shirt, she looked quite angelic in her attempt. Without even trying, Lana conveyed the essence of innocence.

Clark's roguish grin fell and he slipped his hands in his pockets, kicking himself for the comment on Africa. 'Dummydummydummy'. Alright, so he wasn't the smoothest person around. He was brought up on a farm, for chrissakes. Driving an old red truck and hanging around cows all day didn't make him Rico Suave.

"Wow. I think my ego just dropped. Gimme the mocha latte. I don't feel like sleeping tonight, anyway."

A small smile seemed to lighten his face, though, regardless of the dark locks that framed his visage. Lana was helpless to a sickening sense of regret at the tease. Though not exactly vocal about his feelings, Clark's emotions were readily worn on his sleeve and Lana was usually quick in noticing the slightest bit of red coloring his cheeks. It made her feel bad for a second. But then again, it was a gift Clark was blessed with just as easily when it came to her. Her guilt disappeared. Lifting off the table, Lana set to foaming some milk at once and frowned suspiciously with her back to him.

"Third time in a row I've heard that this week. Not coming down with something, are you?"

Weight tilted to one side, she was plainly a pretty sight in her dark rinse bootcuts, despite that she was of a rather short and forgettable stature. Her black bangs were neatly pulled back from her eyes and held in place with a simple bamboo clip.

"Cause if it's insomnia you're fighting off, mocha's not the way to go about it."

Grin. His order was daintily placed on a porcelain cup and slid over to him, the magazine covered, and for now, set aside and forgotten. He was no Rico Suave, certainly, but she had never been into the type.

Clark cupped his hands around the latte to collect its heat. How was he supposed to answer to Lana's suspicion? He'd sound paranoid if he explained that he had this constantly nagging feeling in the back of his head that if he were to go to sleep, he wouldn't be there to protect his family...if someone, or something, were to attack. Yeah. Paranoid would be a good word to describe it.

"Yes, but what I have in mind is illegal to sell to minors. Besides, I'll probably drink half of this, go home, climb up to the loft and pass out on the couch. You'd think the smell of hay wouldn't be much of a sleep incentive, but it puts me out every time I sprawl out on the couch and...I'm rambling, aren't I?"

Shaking his head with an embarrassed chuckle, the boy carefully held the porcelain cup to his lips as he began to sip hastily. One too many times had Lana increased the temperature of the latte, resulting in a burnt tongue and a Kent who couldn't speak for half a week. Thank God she had gotten the hang of that machine; it was probably a collective appreciation shared by all of Smallville's java addicts and businessmen.

And one too many times had Clark risen the temperature in the -room-. Lana eyed her favorite customer dourly.

"I couldn't stop you if I tried," she offered patronizingly, though meaning well. There was something absolutely amazing about Clark. Perhaps it was that aura of goodness forever circling his head, perhaps it was his more elusive charm. Whatever it was, Lana wasn't about to admit that she found him hopelessly intriguing... For as much and as often Clark talked about himself, he spoke little of his childhood or the more private moments in his life. In fact, she couldn't remember a time when he willingly talked about his past with her... Maybe he was more open with Chloe? Hmm... Lana wasn't one to pry, though.

At the mention of hay, she paid more attention to his smell. 'Don't!' her conscience barked at her. Right. Don't. Smelling wasn't a good idea. Especially with a guy who's scent was as intriguing as his persona and who perpetually watched her like a hawk. Lana folded her arms and shrugged her shoulders, then rested her elbows along the counter. Expressive to the max.

"Though, only you could find some semblance of aromatherapy in hay."

Ooh. Snarky wench.

"Speaking of which-"

And here, she raised a dark brow at him in accusation.

"-When do I get my invitation over to the bachelor pad?"

The boy had been talking about his newfound sense of freedom in his barn-room so much that she felt it was about damn time he opened the place up for public scrutiny.

Clark chuckled helplessly. He was always one to find Lana's words nothing short of amusing. Sometimes condescending, but nonetheless amusing. He knew he gave everyone too much to wonder about; he could feel Lana trying to pick him apart, trying to separate his vagueness from his inner core. He couldn't blame her. As hard as he fought to keep his secret, he should've been christened 'The Mystery known as Clark Kent'.

Having a mouth that usually refrained from saying the right thing at the wrong time, he was surprised himself how long he had kept such a befuddling secret within his immediate family. Like that time he baked the café? A slip-up. But nothing was said about it, even if he was almost arrested.

Rather shocked by Lana's interest in paying his loft a visit, Clark ran her words over again in his mind and wondered how to take it. Thinking with the right head, he responded smoothly with, "The brazen Lana Lang needing an invitation to my loft? Since when has this stopped you from coming over? Right. Never, to my account."

Glancing down at his watch, a wince contorted Clark's features.

"Goodnight, Lana," he added, looking back up to her with more lifeless eyes. Taking a last sip of the latte, he swiveled around and slipped off his seat, disappearing out the door with that unassuming swagger of his. All that was left behind was the correct amount of change, with tip, and a small sliver of paper with writing on it. Cheesily, it read:

'Open invitation to Clark's haven.'

Hrrrrn. Insolent boy. Blame it on Chloe for driving him away. The girl's sharp tongue had been rubbing off on Lana as of late, after the two girls recently buried the unspoken tension between them and began hanging out more often this semester. They had discovered a sense of sisterhood over their mutual superhero. Clark. At least, that was how they privately saw him, whether they admitted it to themselves or not.

Lana had particularly seen enough bizarre activity from the boy to be suspicious, though for someone who had known him most of his life, his strangeness was easy to overlook. Didn't explain the fact that he could seemingly be two places at once, though. And yet, it remained one of his more endearing traits. Argh.

"Since you stopped inviting me over!" Lana humored, insistently calling after him.

It was true. He never invited her over unless she asked. Clark Kent had another thing coming if he was about mistake her for some girl who visited people's houses unannounced. Unlike certain -mysterious boys- who visited her at the cafe every night, she was mindful of people's private space. Not one to impose her presence on others. Still, for someone of a relatively passive temperament and an even quieter presence, Lana shone in the crowd like Venus de Milo in her chrome-countered half shell. It was the smile, really. The smile she now readily equipped as he turned to leave.

"Expect me over tomorrow," she grinned winningly, sealing the date.

Lana's gaze failed to leave his figure until he was thoroughly out of the spiral doors. As she moved to pick up his money, her touch fell upon the piece of paper he had left behind. Her brows pursed in amusement. His chicken scratch handwriting was just like him. Lana shook her head.

"I'm so peeved I could kiss you."

But Clark wasn't around to hear her.