Chloe once used any excuse to escape into The Talon for a little pick me up, almost requiring caffeine like most require oxygen. However, with the rising costs of java these days (thanks to the 'coffee is cool' movement that 'Friends' and Starbucks inspired), it's becoming increasingly harder to justify a three-dollar froth topped mochachino when she could just fuel up on the maxwell house brewed in the teacher's lounge. The switch wasn't quite as bad as going to decaf, but still one Chloe's having a hard time adjusting to. It might be easier if her friends didn't make a habit of hanging out at a coffee shop, and of course always insisting she come along.

It was becoming pretty hard to be creative with her reasons for staying behind at school instead of making the trek to The Talon. She did usually have something she could be working on for The Torch, but sometimes only a lie would work to have Clark take 'no' for an answer. Chloe's workaholic nature seemed to be a point of Clark's concern, so he often found the need to coax her away from her desk to enjoy a moment free of deadlines and responsibilites.

So, she would lie, even though she preferred to always be honest with Clark, something she knew was exclusive to she and Clark's relationship. Was it really that bad to fib and say "Oh man, I just finished my third mochachino, I guess I better sit this round out?" But sometimes it's just too hard for Chloe to say 'no' to Clark, perhaps since she secretly feared he might one day stop asking her along. So, today she feels she must give in and leave all the unfinished stories behind in The Torch office. Willed in by the incredible hold Clark Kent has over her, and her own deep rooted desire for a moment of normalcy, she finds herself following him to The Talon.

x X x

Chloe digs out the loose change that found its way into the lining of her purse, trying her best to be nonchalant in the company of her friend. It's easier for her to justify spending lost and forgotten change instead of bills that were already accounted for in her mind.

"Chloe, what do you want?" Clark asks, quizzically scanning the colorful chalk covered menu. "What are those things called you drink?" Clark calls out from the counter, turning back to face her, startling her hand out of her purse.

"Black coffee," she answers, clutching the few retrieved coins in her fist, zipping her purse closed with her other hand.

"Isn't that a little... plain?" Clark asks, arching his eyebrow, not used to hearing Chloe order something not slathered in foam, or cream, or sprinkles.

"I like to keep you guessing," Chloe says with a wink, able to pull of her ruse yet again with her trademark smile.

Moving closer towards him, she gently pries open his closed hand, placing enough change to cover the cost of her coffee in his palm. Jumping to defend her method of payment before he even has time to react, she adds "I just cleaned out my piggy bank. I figured they might like getting change for the till."

Mrs. Kent hand mixes a tall glass of chocolate milk for Clark, topping it off with a red striped straw, and two warm cookies on the side. She then pours a steaming cup of coffee for Chloe, sneaking an oatmeal raisin cookie on the small saucer beneath the cup.

"Here you go, Chloe," she says, handing them to her over the counter with her benevolent smile.

"But I didn't-" Chloe begins, only to be quickly hushed by Martha's simple 'shush' gesture and sweet mothering eyes.

Chloe blushes, but knows better than to challenge Mrs. Kent's charity. Anyone else who dared make a gesture insinuating Chloe's need, although true, would no doubt find them self besieged by a thousand reasons why she did not need such a gift. But, Mrs. Kent, the woman Chloe often dreamed was her own mother, was one who would never fall victim to Chloe's sharp tongue.

Maybe Martha sensed that Chloe was silently suffering. Maybe she picked up on the pallid tone that had overtaken the rosy blush that normally resides upon her cheeks. Or maybe, just maybe, Martha was simply acting like a mother, getting joy in being able to give her kids a cookie as an after school snack.

x X x

"Chloe?" Clark whispers, petting her hair gently with his large hand. "Chloe, we probably need to get you home," he says, still possessing a delicate tone.

As though suddenly jabbed in the ribs by a sharp object, Chloe's head flies off the table, her eyes blinking in dazed confusion. The dribbles of saliva that had seeped out during her slumber still trail down the corner of her mouth, though the moment she realizes its presence she quickly blots it away with the back of her hand, embarrassed that she unwillingly provided Clark with more proof of her imperfection.

"Where am I?" Chloe asks, slowly getting her wits about her.

"The Talon," Clark answers, showing Chloe the fresh cup of coffee sitting before her. "You've been asleep for a while."

"What time is it?" Chloe asks, realizing they are the only two people left.

"Nine o'clock," he answers with a grin, well aware that she's going to be upset that he allowed her to sleep so long.

"Oh my God!" she exclaims, jumping off of the chair, frantically looking around for her bag. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

It's not that she's upset that Clark let her sleep, quite honestly if her head wasn't spinning so much she probably would be quite touched that he was so caring and attentive to her needs. But as it is, all she can do is focus on her humiliation. Clark saw her laying in a pool of spit. What else could there be? Did she snore? Did he and Lana sit and laugh at all the horrible noises she makes while sleeping? Oh Lord, what about her hair? She can only imagine how horrible it must look after several hours of laying face down on a table.

Instinctively her hands go to her hair, frantically trying to brush the wayward strands into a more attractive do, actually doing more harm than good. Clark can't help but giggle, but he does attempt to hide the fact that he's laughing at her.

"What is it?" Chloe asks, paranoid as usual that Clark may have finally gotten wise and realized who she really is; anything but a perfect princess like Lana Lang. Chloe's a girl who drools, and snores, and has hair that many times looks more like it was combed with a weedwacker rather than a hairbrush. Regardless of how she feels these traits make her appear undesirable, they in fact are the qualities Clark treasures so in her.

"You look fine," Clark says, smiling, admiring her as he so often does.

Chloe's hands drop to her sides, blinking wide eyes at him. "Fine?" she thinks to herself, disappointed that Clark would choose such an insipid word to describe her looks. The sadness his words bring to her is evident on her face, yet she honestly is not surprised.

Clark, although typically devoid of the sensitivity required to deal with delicate female feelings, actually senses Chloe's disillusionment, and he tries his best to reassure her. "You know Chloe, I think you may have wasted your time with that beauty rest." How completely male of him. He had meant to say that she was so pretty that any amount of beauty sleep could not add to her looks. But, in typical bumbling Clark fashion he lost himself in his words.

Upon hearing his backhanded compliment, her widened eyes fill with water. She quickly tries to blink it away, knowing within seconds the pooled moisture will leak from her eyes, providing proof of her vulnerability. Although she truly is hanging on by a thread in this thing called life, she must maintain appearances. She must continue to pretend that she is the girl made of steel, impenetrable to those words that really do cut to the bone. No one must see her tears. She absolutely cannot give them to Clark.