4: Headline
Though the very concept feels like blasphemy, Lex sometimes finds friendship with The Reporter easier than friendship with Clark. Clark feels like a little brother to him—he makes Lex imagine what life might have been like if Julian had survived—so perhaps any friction between them is the sibling rivalry showing through. There's none of that with Chloe. Instead, The Reporter continuously proves herself as a friend Lex can count on.
Sometimes that support is logistical. She can dig up dirt faster than anyone he's ever met, and she's got "contacts" at every major industry within a hundred miles. It's only natural that people jump to help her—she's got an effortless honesty that eventually endears her to even the most reluctant of contacts. Lex can testify. Plus, she makes other people feel appreciated whenever they help, whether that's getting her information on a license plate or running something through a lab. Chloe is generous with her gratitude, and she makes others feel like they're contributing to something big, even when they don't know the details of it.
Lex very often needs information, and he does not possess that kind of charm, which leaves him either paying for his info or turning to Chloe. Not that he can't afford to pay, but watching Chloe's enthusiasm for a hunt is at least as enjoyable as getting the answers themselves. So whenever he needs information, he turns to Chloe. She always comes through.
Sometimes her support is more personal. Chloe is easy to talk to, and she's open-minded about even the strangest of topics. When Lex meets a man who claims to have seen a spaceship, Chloe doesn't dismiss the story out of hand or call Lex crazy for entertaining it. Instead, she lights up with contagious curiosity and babbles her way into a twenty-minute rabbit hole of the likelihood of extraterrestrial life. Then she blushes about getting carried away.
If Lex didn't already have a girlfriend—Victoria, a calculated risk with a gorgeous body—he might even go as far as to say Chloe is cute, though she'll always be too naïve for his romantic tastes.
Still, no one holds a midnight conversation like Chloe. And she's always up that late or later, working on deadlines or college scholarship applications or the homework she's neglected thanks to the previous two. Sometimes she'll swing by the mansion to talk about the latest and strangest in Smallville. Sometimes he'll drop by The Torch, even though it means sitting on a threadbare, grungy couch that's been through hell and high school.
One night, when his mind is exhausted from battling his father and trying to outthink Victoria and wondering if Clark is lying to him even though he promised to let it go and stop digging, Lex dozes off. When he startles awake on that ugly couch and looks for Chloe, she's typing away at her computer, ever-present coffee cup at her elbow. She notices his gaze and shoots him a smile.
"Why didn't you wake me?" he asks, voice still thick with sleep. Maybe she's been so engrossed in her writing, she forgot about him.
But she says, "I didn't see a reason to. You're safe here. I know I'm no substitute for a highly trained, highly paid security team, but I'd never let anything happen to you."
"What?" He releases a puff of laughter, part of him wondering if this is still a dream. "What kind of danger do you think comes hunting for me in my sleep?"
Pink stains her cheeks before she hides behind her coffee cup. "You're right. That was melodramatic."
"Sweet, though." Truthfully, no matter how silly the idea is of this five-and-a-half-foot smiley girl defending him from any of the dangers that might come hunting a Luthor, her words are warming all the same. Like a proffered hug.
There aren't many people Lex trusts in life. But in that moment, he realizes Chloe Sullivan has made the list. She and Clark may actually be the entirety of that list.
"I do worry about you sometimes, Lex." She plays with the lid of her cup, her voice quiet. "It just seems like you're facing so much . . . pressure. Especially from your dad."
When was the last time someone worried about him? Maybe not since his mom died.
Closing his eyes briefly, Lex allows himself to savor that feeling. But he can't sink too deep. Even with friends, he has to handle his life by himself, potential dangers and all. That's just the nature of it.
Lex scoots to the edge of the couch, brushing lint off his sleeve. "My father has his own ideas for my life, but I can handle him. You don't have to worry."
She squints at him for a moment, like she's trying to read the front page of a newspaper through a distorted glass. Lex works very hard to remain unreadable, and his efforts must succeed, because in the end, she gestures toward her screen. "Then it's your turn to worry about me. If this story doesn't get a catchy headline, then I don't have a paper for tomorrow."
He chuckles. Moving to stand behind her, one hand on her chair and one on her desk, he peers at what she's writing. It's about the woefully under-supplied science lab.
"How about: 'Lab Closed by Rat Revolt,' or 'Forget Science, Only Fund Football.'" In the tradition of their email exchange, he offers only terrible headlines when asked. His pride will never recover from "Lex Luthor: 21 and Having Fun."
Chloe shoots him an adorably irritated glare, and then she turns to her brainstorming board for real help. Even though he's tired, Lex waits for her to land on a title, then walks her to her car. Because sometimes he worries about her too, about how often she's alone at night, how much of her sleep is substituted by coffee.
"Take care, Chloe," he says, and he means that. Reporter or not, she's cemented herself in his life now, and without her, there'd be a hole he couldn't fill.
Chloe is best friends with a billionaire. Her instincts were right; they usually are. In just a matter of months, Lex comes to mean more to her than anyone else in her life. Sometimes she even feels a bit pathetic realizing how much she depends on that relationship in her life, how often she turns to Lex for advice and how much she values his responses. How treasured she holds every moment of his praise for her writing or her bravery.
He seems very convinced of that one—that she's brave. Chloe's never felt particularly brave; it's not like she's one of those journalists who goes undercover in a war zone or into witness protection for exposing a leader of the mob. If anyone is brave, it's Clark, because even when they're dealing with freaky meteor powers, he always charges in without any hesitation. Sometimes Chloe finds herself shaking while she's writing the stories, looking back on whatever they faced, but she's never seen Clark shake, not even in the face of death.
Lex is that same level of unflappable; it's no wonder he and Clark get along so well. In the short time she's known her favorite bald billionaire, he's been framed for bank robbery, threatened by meteor freaks, and even held as a hostage—which he volunteered for, offering his own life as an exchange to protect Clark's class during a field trip to the Smallville plant, when a former employee went off the rails.
She doesn't know what she would have done if that last one had gone wrong, but somehow, Lex found his way out of it, and when she spoke to him afterwards, he shrugged the entire ordeal off like it was just another day at the factory.
Brave, he calls her. As if he hasn't ever looked in a mirror.
Although, on the topic of mirrors, it does seem like there's something more than bravery at work in the way Lex conducts himself, something Chloe recognizes in herself, although to a lesser degree. It's the self-reliance of an only child. The odd independence of someone who grew up around grown-ups, who learned to imitate maturity faster than usual and to hide weakness, maybe even someone whose mother is gone, whose father spends all his attention on work and doesn't have any left to give to the lonely little kid at home.
Social class aside, she and Lex do have quite a bit in common. He just wears the loneliness with a lot more grace and a high-end Rolex.
Damn, it takes all her self-restraint not to write that line about the Rolex. But she keeps her promise to him, and she never writes a word, not even about the hostage situation where he saved the lives of Clark's entire class. She gives that article to Pete. Clark would have been her first choice, since he's the primary source, but he gets hedgy when she asks, and trying to get a hedgy Clark Kent to do anything is like trying to get an interview with the President.
At least Lex is always reliable. Now that she has a cell phone—an early graduation gift from her father—she and Lex text rather than emailing, and Lex is always prompt to respond.
Until one evening, when she texts him and he doesn't reply.
After fifteen minutes, she's checked her phone a half dozen times, and she finally just decides to head to The Beanery and let him catch up whenever he's ready. Maybe he has a business meeting or an emergency at the plant.
She brings her math book and an overdue assignment, which she can still turn in for partial credit if she finishes tonight. Her plan is to hand a few of the equations over to Lex, because it's always entertaining to watch him get pompous and talk about the curriculum in his private boarding school, Excelsior Academy, the ultimate school for rich kids, where he read The Art of War four times before graduation and started an entire business for a senior project.
Of course, it wasn't all a great experience for him. The last time they talked about it, he admitted to her, very quietly and very briefly, that his best friend had died at school. That he felt guilty for it, because instead of treasuring the friend he'd had, he'd instead been busy trying to fit in with the popular kids like Oliver Queen. He'd pushed his only friend away, then lost him.
Knowing that, it makes a lot of sense why Lex bends over backwards for Clark the way that he does. Why he's the most loyal friend Chloe has ever seen. And that's the thing about Lex—he fights hard to overcome his mistakes. To look them in the eye and become something better.
Bravery, yet again.
She settles at an empty table in the coffee shop, orders a double latte, and spreads out her homework. Soon enough, she's finished the quadratic equations, drained her cup, and still no response from Lex.
She tells herself not to be paranoid or nosey or whatever other emotion is driving her heart to pound, but all the same, she finds herself in her car, driving to Luthor Mansion, parking on the circular gravel drive and hurrying inside. Lex's security team knows her well by now, so even late at night, she gets nods of passage.
Lex is in his study, sitting in a leather chair before the fire, glass of brandy in hand—although it's still full, so he's either drunk on refills or he's just been staring into the flames rather than actually drinking.
Chloe releases a sigh of relief just seeing him. "Lex, you scared me!"
Slowly, he turns, blinking like he's waking up. "Chloe? What, uh . . . what brings you here?" He stands, setting the glass aside. Not drunk—his eyes are clear.
She walks in to meet him. "Just your radio silence when you're usually more reliable than The Times."
"If I stood you up, Chloe, I'm very sorry. I can assure you I didn't mean to."
She's already feeling silly. Clearly, he's fine, and it's not like he's obligated to keep his eyes glued to his phone.
But then she sees the yellow envelope on his coffee table, peeking out from beneath a few black-and-white surveillance photos, and it causes veins of ice to chill her heart, spreading a creeping sense of fear for her friend. Something is wrong.
"Lex, is someone blackmailing you?"
Before she can think better of it, she's already grabbed the photos. Investigative instincts—she can never turn them off. She winces as she realizes the photos are of, um . . . intimate activities, and she looks away, but not before she recognizes the two naked figures tangled together.
"Oh my . . ." Her soft whisper trails off as she presses her free hand to her mouth. She curls her fingers, tucking them beneath her chin. "Lex, is that your girlfriend and your . . . ?"
She can't even finish the horrifying thought.
"My father?" Lex finishes for her, tugging the photos from her hand and dropping them face down on the coffee table. His tone is cool, composed, dispassionate. "Don't worry, I broke up with her. Although I can't be certain if that was before or after she'd tested every bed in the Luthor household."
Despite that collected tone, he's tense, the lines of his jaw and shoulders rigid. Even if he wasn't, Chloe knows he's not as impervious as he pretends. No one is. That's not a bad thing—the tragedy is that he feels like he has to be. Like he can't ever fall apart.
Probably thanks to being raised by a dad capable of this. Chloe can only imagine what Lex's father does in response to any perceived "weakness." Berates it, exploits it.
What she wouldn't give to write an exposé on that man. To trumpet to the world his true nature and keep him from doing any more damage. If only it were that simple.
"Lex . . ." Chloe swallows. She wants to give him a hug, but she's not sure if that would be overstepping their friendship—
Too late. Her arms have gone rogue, wrapping around Lex before her mind can finish its warning. She makes it a quick hug at least, just a gentle squeeze before she steps back and looks up into his steely eyes, which are a little wider than usual.
"I can't imagine how you must be feeling," she murmurs. Is she red from head to toe? It certainly feels like it.
Lex is staring at her. He must think she's insane. Or clingy.
Finally, he says, "Well, I was feeling like I'd rather keep this a secret. Now I have to admit . . . it's nice having you here."
Feeling a sweep of relief, Chloe smiles. Lex doesn't smile back, but that's to be expected under the circumstances.
Instead, he sighs. Shakes his head as if dismissing the entire matter. "Victoria was only ever a strategy. My relationship with her didn't mean anything, and neither does this."
She wonders how much he believes that, because she remembers how worried he got when one of the meteor freaks tried to drown Victoria, how genuinely he thanked Clark for protecting her. She remembers one of her visits to the mansion, when Lex had three different gifts picked out for his girlfriend, agonizing over how she might respond to each. In the end, he'd gone with something different altogether. It wasn't a token thing, a gift for the sake of pretenses; he was genuinely searching for what would make her happy.
Lex Luthor is certainly a strategist, maybe out of necessity more than anything, but for the first time, she wonders if he's also a romantic. She wonders if he knows that truth or if he lies to even himself.
"You know," Chloe says gently, "it's okay if it's both. Maybe you started dating her because of the business alliance with her father, and you fell for her along the way. There's nothing wrong with that."
"Assuming any truth to your hypothesis, what's wrong with that is pretty self-explanatory." He gestures to the photos before reclaiming his brandy glass.
She plants her hands on her hips. "Okay, fine, but that's wrong with her, not with you."
After a moment, his shoulders curve, the tension draining. She can only hope that means he believes her.
"Someday, Lex, you're going to find the most amazing girl." Chloe's smile grows with every word, full of hope and a force of will to make the universe bend. "A girl who appreciates you for who you are. A girl who would never hurt you like this."
He pauses, glass half raised to his lips. She wishes she could read the expression on his face. It seems to be the moment right before a smile, but with the slight draw of his eyebrows, maybe it's actually the moment before a frown.
"I know you will," she insists. "Just wait."
Finally finishing his sip, he sets the glass down once more, and all he says is, "Chloe, I think I'm very lucky to have a friend like you."
The indecision of his expression settles on a smile, and he gestures her toward the pool table. She groans. Every time they play, he completely dominates—she's lucky if she can even knock one ball into another, much less aim one into a pocket. But for the sake of his heartache, she'll sacrifice her pride on the altar of billiards. She grabs a pool stick with extra force and claims the break.