Just Shut Up Already!
Disclaimer: My lawyer tells me that if I don't slap a standard disclaimer above my fanfiction I might get sued. Oh no! That means they might take my 30-dollar mattress and my whole comic book collection. Well, I'm not going down with out a fight!
Summary: Stop me if you've heard this one before… A spunky blonde walks into a coffeehouse. She tries to get some time sensitive work done, but is interrupted more then a few times. Then she runs into an unexpected familiar face. She fails to see the punch line.
A/N: Please remind me how great I am. I never tire of hearing it. Tell me how my technical problems of the last chapter was none of my fault. Tell me that I am your inspiration. Tell me that the bill collectors knocking at my door are just jealous of my talent. After all, I am an attention whore. Or at least that's what Mrs. Kimberly told me. Those kindergarten teachers think they know everything. All joking aside, thanks for the reviews.
It's four o' clock. I've got about six hours before curfew hits. I can probably knock that back an hour, give or take, if I sweet-talk my father. So that gives me seven hours to complete all my homework, finish my article about insects in the cafeteria, do some research for Clark and Lana so that I don't look like I'm shirking on my cough responsibilities to them, and then find eight hundred dollars to get my car out of the shop so I won't have to take the bus or hope that a rich, mute man feels the need to pick up a hitchhiker.
I take my usual seat in my usual coffee shop. I take out the laptop that took me three summers to save up for and put it on the table. And I begin to type. This is good.
Type, type, type.
Hmmm… I'm really smart.
Type, type, type.
And witty!
Type, type, type.
Cross that out. I'm a witty genius. There must be something wrong with Clark if he doesn't want a fine catch like myself.
Type, type, type.
Oh nevermind. This is crap.
I delete the article and start over again.
"Chloe, would you like something to drink?" Martha asks me. I look up, pausing from my vigorous typing. If I don't get arthritis eventually, I'm becoming a born again Christian.
Martha is wearing the green Talon apron. I manage not to laugh. I will never get use to Clark's mother serving caffeine beverages to all of his friends and classmates. She smiles at me and waits for my answer.
"Sure." She waits some more and I remember that I have to tell her what it is that I want. She's not a mind reader, Chloe. Or is she? Oh jeez, get your mind off of the supernatural and order some coffee! "Coffee. Black."
"Black?"
"Yeah, it's going to be a long night."
She nods and says, "Okay, coming right up."
Type, type, type.
Martha comes back with my drink. I wait 'till she leaves to down it. It's already been a long day, I hardly want to be lectured right now. If coffee really does stunt your growth it's already too late for me.
I finish my article. Suddenly I feel like I can accomplish anything. This is a good feeling.
"Chloe Sullivan?" somebody asks. I look up from my computer. I don't recognize this person.
"That's me."
The girl sits in front of me. "I thought so," she says. She just sits there. I just sit here. We begin what seems to me to be a staring contest. I win, as always. Years of staring at the computer trained me.
"Aha!" I say in triumph.
"Is this a game to you?" she asks. Well, I don't think that staring contests constitute as jobs so... "Sullivan! You ruined my family!"
Okay, so I guess she doesn't want my autograph.
"Excuse me?"
"If it hadn't have been for your article on the toxic waste dumping, my father would still have his job. Now we have to leave Smallville and move to Metropolis."
Leave Smallville? She should be thanking me.
"Well maybe, he shouldn't have poisoned our drinking water. A baby was born with a six inch tail for god's sake!"
She huffs away. Martha comes back and refills my drink. She doesn't lecture me and I'm thankful.
By the time I finish my math homework, I feel much better then I had earlier. It's amazing what some solitude can do for you.
I take a sip of my third cup of coffee, when my phone rings. "Hello?"
"Miss Sullivan?"
"Speaking."
"This is Bob from Bob's" Bob's is the local mechanics. They're the reason I'll probably have to go to community college. They also fix toasters. "Your car's ready."
This isn't good. "What? Bob! You were going to hold onto it until I could get the funds to pay for it. You said that you couldn't fix it until you had the money. You said it!"
"Calm down, Miss," he says. Is he kidding me? If he tells me that he's going to sell my car to some guy or have it impounded, screw the law. I'll kill him. "It's paid for."
Paid for? How is that possible? Who would have the money to pay for the car that knows about my transportation troubles?
Luthor!
I'm so going to kill him. Who does he think he is? My father? I don't think so. He needs to stop trying to be the town hero by using his money to buy people. I can't be bought! Not for eight hundred dollars at least.
"Is the person who paid for my car still there?"
"Yes, Miss. He is. He said he wanted to wait until you got here, so that you can thank him in person."
I am going to tear him a new one.
It takes me an hour to get over to Bob's. The bus was crowded and my faith in humanity has dropped a little. Why, oh why, don't people shower?
Bob is standing outside. He doesn't look happy. "I was suppose to close half an hour ago."
"Sorry, Bob. No car, remember?"
He's not going to forgive me, but hopefully I'll never have to see him again. "Is Mr. Luthor still here?" I ask.
"Yes, Miss. Still here." He points inside. I follow in that direction.
"Boy, Lex, are you in some trouble!" I say. But I'm mistaken. It isn't Lex at all. Wrong Luthor.
I take a step back. "I'm afraid you have my mistaken my younger, less attractive self."
Less attractive, my ass. I take another step back. I don't need a car. I'll walk to school. Yeah. I'll get up at five and take a nice long stroll. It's good exercise.
He takes a step forward. There's no way I'm walking to school. Because I'll probably be dead before tomorrow morning.
I fumble through my purse. I know my mace is here some where. Damn it! I need a smaller purse!
"Miss Sullivan, you look frightened," he says. Damn right. I'd respond but I can't seem to open my mouth. "There is no need to worry."
Ha! "Ha!" Okay, so I managed to open my mouth. Maybe not the wisest choice in words.
"The car payment is just a series of apologies that I will be issuing you."
I take another step back and my back hits the door. The doorknob hits my middle back and I close my eyes for a split second in pain.
"Chloe, I'm just here to help you!"
"I don't want your help, you murderer!" I manage to spit out. The word murderer hits him hard. Did he just flinch?
"Chloe, I know that you're afraid, I do. But you need to listen to me." He steps forward again, too close for comfort. But then again being within 30 miles of Lionel Luthor is too close for comfort. "I'm here to help you.
"I'm afraid your life is in terrible danger."