Thank you for all the reviews! :)
DISCLAIMER: Smallville and all the characters are not mine (not even Lex, unfortunately). Although Mike is only a figment of my fluff crazed imagination, he's all mine.
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CHLOE
Lana has been nothing but sweet to me since the debacle that I'm aching to forget. Actually she's been sweeter than is her measured norm, almost syrupy in fact. I'm pretty sure this is because she feels partly responsible for my injury, which, seeing the evidence that she was in charge of the Talon at that time, is partly true.
So since my little trip to the hospital yesterday where I received two stitches (yes, after all that, it amounted to nothing but two stitches) painfully administered to my hand, then being drugged up for the most of the night before, Lana has been the bestest friend a chick could have.
Despite the fact that this chick is thinking of suing the patronage she partly owns.
That's right. I, Chloe Sullivan, tiny little woman with two stitches in her left hand, is going to sue the corporate giants and in particular, the owner, of the scene of my embarrassing calamity for what I hope to be an alarmingly huge amount of money.
Yes, I know what kind of light that puts me in at the moment. Forsaking my friendship just for a bit of news. But in all consideration, seeing that it's her fault to begin with, I really don't think she could put up that much of a fight.
Besides, I'm not really suing. I'm not that stupid. Although there is a possibility that I could win some cash in this event, there is also a possibility that the motley crew of demon spawn otherwise known as Lex Luthor's lawyers will sweep down on me with all sorts of facts and details of how accident-prone I am and that's not something I want the whole world to know about.
So I'm just pretending to sue. Or more to the point, I'm going to threaten to sue, on the condition that I'll be willing to shrug off the whole embarrassing ordeal in exchange for an interview with Lex Luthor. Because, at the end of the day and at the conclusion of whatever events, it's always just a story for the paper.
But this is not just an interview, my friends.
If I get my way (which I'm counting on – there are no tactic game plans here, just stubbornness), it will be a day-to-day diary in the life of Lex Luthor. For one week.
It would be the ultimate interview, and it would be mine.
Sometimes I can be so clever it startles me. But I'll have to thank the whole inspirational idea to the drugs prescribed to me, that enabled me to lie down staring at the ceiling blankly for three hours until finally an idea grew brighter in my mind.
The only flaw of this idea being that I would actually have to be with Lex Luthor on a day-to-day basis, and that doesn't sound like a roll in the hay. More like granite.
And just one another drawback as all Great Plans have: telling Lana.
So as she drives us to school the next morning, I figure there's no better moment than the present, with my accident fresh in her mind, the morning sun vainly trying to hold back the rain, and myself drugged up.
I was just about to broach the topic when she asked me something else.
"So what happened yesterday? When Lex took you to the hospital? I wanted to ask you last night, but you were too spaced out."
In truth, I'm just as spaced out now as I was last night, but drugs won't be stopping me from going to school today – not when I have to plan Lex Luthor's downfall at the Torch.
"I bled all over Lex's Jaguar," I reply, conversationally. She cringes. "You can't drive a bleeding victim to the hospital without expecting some damage to the interior of your vehicle. Anyway he got all the glory. Dad met us at the hospital, he must have called him on the way, I wasn't really sure what was going on. Anyway, you should have heard my Dad! He was thanking him non-stop, the amount of thank yous that came out of his mouth would have been sufficient enough to thank Lex for giving birth to me, for God's sake, not drive me to the emergency room. But still, he is Dad's boss." Then I stop.
If Lana was unable to guess how drugged up I was prior to this conversation, then she's going to have a clue pretty soon.
She gives me a sideways glance. "You shouldn't even be going to school today."
I change that topic. I had enough of that from my Dad this morning.
"Anyway, that's about it. Don't really remember what happened in the car, which is a shame, because I don't think I'd be riding in a Jaguar again anytime soon."
"How was his friend?" she asks.
"He was pretty attentive, actually. Kept on talking to me, don't know about what mind you, just so I'd keep my eyes open. God, it was all so dramatic! What would they say if they knew I only needed two stitches?"
She smiles, a little shrewdly and a little knowingly. Not a normal Lana smile. I narrow my eyes at her. There's only one shrewd mysterious bitch in this duo and that's me.
I'm about to broach that topic when she says laughingly, "I doubt that Lex would care much if you had one stitch as long as you were okay, and it's not like you're going to sue!"
She actually believes that such an evil thought would never cross my mind. Evidently Lana knows less about me than I thought.
I sigh. Unfortunately, it's about time she learned.
LEX
As is usual every day, by 9 a.m., I'm already in my car on my way to work. I'm a creature of habits, which is actually not a very complimentary thing to say about one's self. But then again, I'm hardly complimentary on the whole.
Digressing from the original topic. By 9 a.m., I'm on the way to work. As is usual, I'm exceeding the speed limit. As is usual, I'm getting away with it. By fifteen minutes past nine (it only takes about fifteen minutes to go anywhere in Smallville), I'm already parking my car. By twenty minutes past nine, my personal assistant will be reading out my schedule for the day and reminders for the week. By half past nine, Mr. Gabe Sullivan is by my side, ready to assist me in my daily circle around the plant.
In every human there's a habit formed somewhere, whether they're aware of it or not. Despite the fact that I'm the type of person who doesn't necessary follow life through a straight pattern, I crave stability in other ways. But being a man of habit doesn't not make me a spontaneous person, but at the same time, that isn't exactly complimentary either. Why would anyone want to acknowledge a recklessness of mind, a failure to think things through, an irregularity in behavior? A man is weak if he chooses to display that.
Or maybe I'm just covering up for my own boring life.
Anyway, there are a lot of equations that might form a habit. For example: my morning rituals. I'm in my car on my way to work at 9 a.m. on the dot every day because of one very good reason: my father goes down to the breakfast table at 9 a.m.
I exceed the speed limit time after time because that is something I do as naturally as breathing. If you were to tell me to drive slowly, I seriously wouldn't even know how to. Admittedly, this is a bad habit, but the only bad habit that has stuck with me from my teen hood. Which stemmed from driving fast away from Metropolis because the more distance I put between myself and my father, the more it made me breathe easier.
As for the circle around the plant, a corporation will never be successful if you turn a blind eye towards its operations.
These are the normal equations. But there have been more recent additions to the reasons as to why I am such a creature of habit.
Escaping from Mike.
It's only been three days and already I've had to stop myself from telling my maid to pack up his things and throw them out. Not that Mike himself is annoying me as such. It's just that from the days of college to the days of now, a lot of things have changed. I have a ton of responsibility on my shoulders, and Mike is still living the life of a law student (which, in all fairness, he still is). Not that I can blame him for it, it just happens to be that right now we both have different ideas of where the line between 'fun' and 'reckless' is.
He still wants to go club hopping, I'd rather play pool.
Am I just getting too old too fast?
Sheila, my personal assistant (who at times tends to get too personal) is reading out my schedule.
"You have a meeting with Mr. Jones at 10 a.m., and then the launching of Fletcher Company at noon, then you have…"
I watch her in a slight daze, finding myself concentrating on a spot between her eyebrows. My God. I'm 21 for fuck's sake. Tell me there's something better than this – endless meetings and launches and luncheons and dinners and gala parties…
"What do I have planned for Saturday?" I cut in. She looks at me, surprised. I can't say I blame her. I've never interrupted her before. Hell, I've never paid attention to her before.
"Oh," she says, in a tone of voice different from the drone I'm accustomed to hearing from her. "Oh, well let me check… okay, you have a charity fund-raiser ball in Metropolis."
I find myself weighing the entertainment factor in a ball and one episode of Amazing Race and know it's no contest. Unfortunately, I wouldn't have a choice in the matter – LexCorp made a huge contribution to that fund-raiser and it would just be bad business manners if I don't show up. And I'd probably have to bring Mike too.
I sigh. Saturday looks bad already.
CHLOE
Lana is shell-shocked. Can't say I blame her.
"Are you out of your mind?" she cries, her voice hitting that dangerous high note that only ever comes out when she's really panicking.
I don't respond well to questions of which the answer I am unsure of.
"You couldn't get away with it," she continues, in that high pitched voice. "Chloe, don't you think that Lex would see right through you?"
"No," I reply, indignantly.
"For an interview, Chloe? Is it even worth it?"
"An interview is worth about anything…" I start before she cuts me off again.
"And what if he turns you down? Are you going to sue him anyway? Correction, are you going to sue us anyway?"
"He won't turn me down!" I assure her. "He won't! He'll see it as a challenge more than anything. He knows I won't rest until I get that interview and he'd probably see it as an easy out…"
"And what if he doesn't?" I don't reply. "You're going to sue us anyway."
"Lana, you really don't have to take it personally…"
"How can I not take it personally?!" Her voice is all kinds of high notes now, I cringe as they attack my ears. Okay, admittedly, that was my bad, wrong thing to say.
I switch from self-righteous to comforting: "Lex is not going to say no. I promise you that! And if he does, I won't sue. Believe me Lana, my Dad would kill me. I would not take that risk." I think.
At the mention of my Dad, Lana relaxes. She's probably reasoning to herself right now, reassuring herself that yes, the Talon won't get sued because if there's even a hint of it to Mr. Gabe Sullivan, Miss Chloe Sullivan would be killed. Thank God for small favors.
But she still has her two cents to say, "Chloe, is this really necessary?"
I don't answer, and she doesn't press for one. She should know that question was moot.
Is it necessary for the paper? Maybe not, but it would help me out of a rut. But is it necessary for my peace of mind? Definitely.
LEX
I interrupted Gabe in the middle of a rather length summary about fertilizer treatments by asking him how his daughter was doing.
He looked startled, and I can't say I blame him. Usually I'm half-drifting off and half-paying attention to his words with an impolite freedom only reserved in directors of a company. I've never changed the topic before.
I repeat the question.
"She's fine," he replies, still surprised.
"Is she taking leave from school today?"
"Oh, no!" Gabe laughs, as if the idea is the most preposterous thing he has ever had the decency to hear. "No, Chloe doesn't take leave from school."
Hmm. Most teenagers I know would be screaming for an excuse to take leave from school. Obviously Chloe doesn't fall under the normal definition of 'teenagers'. "Shouldn't she be taking her rest?"
"You would think, Mr. Luthor. But Chloe doesn't like to stay home. And especially not for what she considers is only two stitches!"
I stare at him, with some disturbance of mind. Two stitches? All that blood on my suit and my Jaguar and it only amounted to two lousy stitches? You'd think she'd have ten with all that blood!
Gabe seems to notice my appalled silence and says, "Again, Mr. Luthor, I have to thank you for taking my daughter to the emergency room yesterday. It really was very kind of you."
I'd rather he hadn't said that, because now that queasy feeling in my stomach that I can only ascertain as guilt is starting up again. I feel my conscience, something I usually ignore, nagging away at me. If I had had my way, I wasn't going to bring her to that emergency room. And before that, I didn't even recognize her as the pretty woman that she is, rather just the friend of the pretty woman named Lana.
I could deal with guilt quite easily, after all there are a number of things in my life I should feel guilty about. It's nothing that a good blocking of the mind cannot solve. But there is no mental block in the world that could save you when the parent of the said person is looking at me so wide-eyed and earnestly, thinking that I'm the greatest of bosses for bringing his daughter to the emergency room, not thinking twice about leather interiors and Armani suits.
As Gabe continued his lengthy summary from where I interrupted him, I found myself drifting off totally from the subject and not paying him an ounce of attention. Guilt has grabbed my attention, completely and wholly, and I sorely regretted asking Gabe how his daughter was.
But as it is, I suppose there's no other way out of it but to get my conscience to ease up a little.
After the tour with Gabe I retreat back to my office and tell Sheila to order the biggest bouquet of lilies at the florist in town. And thinking it would be a nice personal touch, I would deliver the flowers myself.
But as I reach Smallville High and the office of the Torch to find one Chloe Sullivan glaring at me with a resolute look on her pretty face, I find myself wondering if I should have just lived with the guilt.
