3: Circulation
Chloe Sullivan, aka The Reporter, is not someone Lex expects to ever think about again, but now she's emailing him. He's dealing with a product issue at the plant, waiting to hear back from the warehouse that supposedly lost a shipment, and when he hears the ding from his inbox, he sits up, poised to tear into some incompetent shipping manager.
But the email is from Chloe. He opens it and reads:
Lex, I've been thinking a lot about what you said. You were right. I should have disclosed my connection to LuthorCorp right away, and I should have included a byline in the article to inform readers about potential bias. Thanks for bringing this to my attention. Chloe.
He stares for a long time, even after the warehouse email arrives. Does she expect a response? Does he intend to give one? Is it a trap?
He pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. Were his father present, he would accuse Lex of paranoia. He'd be right, of course, and he'd also get in Lex's head, making him feel simultaneously guilty and also twice as paranoid—look at that, it's working without Lionel even being present.
With something like reckless abandon, Lex types a response.
You're welcome.
That's that, he thinks. The last he'll hear of The Reporter.
But it's only the beginning.
CHLOE: Why do you care if I'm a good reporter anyway?
LEX: I care if you're reporting on me.
CHLOE: So you're saying if I get good enough, you'll do a real interview with me. Something like, "Lex Luthor: Man, Mystery, Myth."
LEX: Not with that headline.
CHLOE: Ah, so I just have to find the right headline. "Lex Luthor: Pianist Extraordinaire." "Lex Luthor: 21 and Having Fun." "Lex Luthor: . . ." Can you tell me something else about you so I can think of another headline?
LEX: You're not very sneaky.
CHLOE: No, I never have been. Serious question: What do you think about the meteor shower that hit Smallville 13 years ago?
Lex checks his watch. He needs to visit the plant before it closes for the night, and besides that, he doesn't know if her final question is innocent or if it's some kind of implication. After all, he was hit by that meteor shower as a child, a fact his father keeps tightly under wraps. He rubs one hand over his bald head self-consciously.
In the end, he sends one final message and then closes his laptop.
LEX: It's the most famous meteorological event in the country's history. I don't know what kind of opinion you expect me to have on a weather fact.
When he returns to the mansion late that night, he can't help but check. There's a response.
CHLOE: Fair enough. Well, here's my opinion on it. Ever since I started here at The Torch, I've been chasing a story about the effects those meteor rocks can have on people. For so long, it was just a theory, but lately, with Clark's help, we've been finding proof. Anyway, I think it explains a lot of the weird things that happen in Smallville. Even things that sometimes get blamed on LuthorCorp. On the topic of biases, I thought you should know that some of the prejudices against you could have another explanation.
It keeps Lex up late into the night, thinking. The next day, he searches out backdated copies of The Torch, devouring Chloe's old articles like she's the new John Donne and he's discovering poetry again for the first time.
She's fearless. The things she writes are insane—boys turning into bugs or leeching the body heat from others with just a touch—and yet Lex is tempted to believe it all. Part of that comes from Chloe's powerful prose, the confidence in every line that what she's reporting really is fact. Part of it comes from Lex's own experience with the unexplainable.
Either way, there's one thing he knows for certain, and he sends a final email.
LEX: Chloe, I don't think you'll ever be answering phones in a newsroom basement. I think you're destined for much bigger things.
Chloe is elbows-deep in a new article when someone taps on the door, and she looks up to see a familiar bald billionaire.
"Lex!" She fumbles like a spaz, knocking over her coffee cup. If the plastic to-go cup weren't already empty, she would be wearing coffee like an apron. Her face heats. "What brings you to the Crows' Nest?"
He takes his time entering Torch headquarters, studying the walls and all the pictures she has plastered across every space, examining her desk and brainstorming board. Chloe can't help thinking of his immaculate study, free from all clutter, and suddenly she's very aware of the tornado-land chaos that is her office.
"I came to talk to the principal," he finally says, "concerning a donation. I believe the school needs a cafeteria extension, or something along those lines."
His eyes meet hers at last, and her heart gives a flutter. She tells it to be quiet. If she ever wants to be a real journalist, she has to stop getting so easily flustered by people, even enigmatic billionaires.
"Lex, that's really generous. You didn't have to."
"I want to be a benefit to the community. And the LuthorCorp name could use some good press."
"Well, I'll be sure to dedicate the front page to the new cafeteria—assuming it's up to snuff. If your donation is just two extra chairs squeezed in the corner, then expect a ruthless character assassination instead."
She smiles to show she's joking but still wonders if she went too far. Lex is clearly wary of journalists.
He doesn't quite smile in return, but he doesn't look tense, either. With a quick gesture toward her empty cup, he says, "Looks like you're out of fuel. Can I buy you a coffee?"
Stop it, she tells all the renewed flutters in her chest. Out loud, she says, "Yeah! That'd be great. Just as long as you're prepared—I take my caffeine refuels by the gallon."
"I'm sure my wallet can handle it." Now he's smiling.
He steps over to the biggest wall in the room, her Wall of Weird. Chloe grabs her purse and moves to stand next to him. Even though she's dying to ask for his thoughts, she lets the silence reign, giving him space to absorb everything. There's a lot to absorb, after all. Smallville is the capital of unexplainable incidents.
When his eyes finally come to rest on the newspaper article detailing his crash off Loeb bridge—the one where Clark saved his life—Chloe tenses. Lex reaches out to lightly brush his fingers across the headline.
"Didn't expect to find myself here," he says, and his tone is too composed for her to read his emotions in it.
"It was a miracle you survived," she says, somewhat defensively. "It might be a totally normal miracle—I mean, most of the things on this wall are probably nothing more than coincidence or good luck—but I just can't help my curiosity."
He casts her a side glance, and to her surprise, there's warmth sparkling in his eyes. "That's something we have in common. Come with me. I want to show you something."
He takes her back to his mansion, and she has to admit the ride in his Porsche is a lot smoother and a lot faster than her VW. Inside the mansion, he has a room that's almost like a storage locker. It's a bit eerie, full of spotlights all trained on one item—a crushed car.
Chloe gasps. "This is the car you went off the bridge in, isn't it?"
At Lex's nod, she takes the initiative of examining what's left of the vehicle. The front has been smashed in like it hit a steel pillar, and the roof could rival a banana peel with the way it's been curled back. Chloe's never seen a wreck like it—at least not one that the driver walked away from with only bruises.
"I brought in an expert analyst," says Lex. "He's working on a simulation of what could have happened that day."
Chloe shakes her head. "I'll tell you what—the front of the car is one thing, but I don't think any simulation is going to explain how driving off a bridge leaves a roof like that. I mean, if I didn't know any better, I'd say it looks like someone just grabbed hold and—"
"Ripped it back?" Lex raises an eyebrow. "That's what I thought too."
"Okay, well"—Chloe riffles through her bag, pulling out her notebook and turning pages—"Tina Greer had some kind of super-strength from the meteor rocks, in addition to the shapeshifting. Greg Arkin was stronger than normal as well."
She shows him her notes, and he scans them thoughtfully before saying, "Well, unless Tina or Greg were lurking at the bottom of the river, Clark was the only person there."
"Clark Kent?" Chloe can't help a laugh. "I wish he had special abilities. Maybe he could get his articles in on time."
"You've never seen him do anything unexplainable?" Lex presses.
"The way he turns into a bumbling klutz whenever he's within ten feet of Lana Lang is certainly unexplainable, but ripping roofs off cars?" Chloe shakes her head. "Sorry, Lex. I don't think Clark is capable of that. He couldn't even make the football team."
Her stomach tightens around a silent wish, the hope that if Clark were special, that he would trust her enough to tell her. But no matter what she might wish, Chloe knows he doesn't regard her as that kind of friend. No matter how she feels toward him.
"You like him, don't you?"
She blushes, dropping her notebook. At least picking it up gives her an excuse to hide the blush. "Clark? He's . . . he's . . ."
Lex is far too intuitive for her good. Too patient as well. He slides his hands in his pockets and waits, letting the pressure in the air do all the work.
"Maybe a little," Chloe finally admits softly. She rolls her eyes at herself. "Sometimes I get frustrated at the double standard we have in society—like, Lana's a freshman, but she can date Whitney even though he's a senior, and no one thinks twice. But if I dated a freshman, suddenly it's awkward and weird and . . . Anyway, Clark's a great guy. If I were in his grade, maybe I'd have a chance."
More realistically, maybe it doesn't matter what age she is, because he only has eyes for Lana Lang.
Lex is quiet. He taps his fingers against the broken hood of the car, lips pursed in thought.
In the end, he says, "I think the best chance you have has nothing to do with your age, only with your honesty. Tell Clark how you feel. Trust that he'll see you for who you are."
Her heart tightens, tied up in doubt. "Who's that?"
"A fearless journalist. An honest person. A good friend."
She's stunned. For a few moments, she can't even find her voice.
"Are we friends?" she finally chokes out.
"Why not?" he drawls. Then he smiles. A real smile, warm and unrestrained. "Honestly, Clark's the only friend I have at the moment. I think I could use another. If you'll promise me one thing, Chloe."
It's strange how hard her heart pounds in her chest, how excited she is to have something she didn't even know she wanted. But truthfully, she doesn't really have friends either. She has Clark and Pete, but they're miles closer to each other than to her, and soon she'll be graduating and leaving them behind. Maybe that's the real reason she keeps dragging her feet with Clark.
"What's that?" she asks, waiting to hear Lex's condition.
He hesitates, then says, "Don't write about me?"
It's the way he turns it into a question that really hurts. The way his confidence melts into what she can only call vulnerability.
Chloe pulls her pen from her bag. She moves to stand right in front of Lex, ignoring the way he tenses. As if it's the most casual thing in the world, she reaches up and slides her pen into the breast-pocket of his white button-up, lingering a moment before slowly drawing her hand back.
For a moment, they hold each other's gazes. Then an unspoken agreement passes through the air, and they both smile. Lex has a fascinating smile. His mouth is small, which makes him look sterner than usual when he's determined to be stoic, but when he smiles, it balances his features, softens his eyes.
He's handsome, Chloe realizes, and that startles a nervous laugh out of her. She steps back, tucking her hair behind her ears.
"The pen's symbolic, of course," she babbles. "But the answer is yes. Or no, I guess—no, I won't write about you. Not if you really don't want me to. But you realize this means you have to give me all kinds of high-up networking connections so I can get interesting articles, since you're off the market."
"I'm sure I can manage something," Lex says.
"Also, you still owe me a coffee. My friends keep me fueled."
"A gallon of caffeine, coming right up."
Chloe's instincts tingle, the ones that usually point her toward a story. Now they're pointing her toward something else. Somehow, she has a feeling Lex could be the best friend she's ever had, in the most unexpected place. Once again, she can't help but be glad Clark happened to save Lex's life, and that sparks another thought.
"You know," she says, as she follows Lex back toward his car, "there was one other person in the river that day. You."
Lex shakes his head doubtfully. "You're saying I might have powers? That maybe I saved myself?"
"I don't know, but you might have come into contact with the meteor rocks without even realizing it. You wouldn't be the first." He holds her door open for her, and she pauses just before getting in. "However the miracle happened, I'm glad it did."
Lex leans in conspiratorially. "And you're not just saying that because you now have a bottomless fund of caffeine?"
Chloe laughs. She lets Lex take her to The Beanery, and she enjoys the start of something unexpected.