5: Decline

Lex owes his life to The Reporter. Twice now, he's been kidnapped and held at gunpoint, certain he'll die, only to have her quick thinking and investigative skills find him when no one else can (or cares to). She and Clark are his own personal rescue team, more reliable than his own security, because whenever Lex is in trouble, Clark comes breaking down doors, and Chloe tells him where to break.

It's thrilling. It's also terrifying. Like a man walking onto an active minefield, Lex has crossed into very dangerous territory, where he fears the ground might explode at any moment. Because while he used to depend on only himself, now he's depending on two people who feel like real family, people who actually care about him, people he can trust in even his darkest moments. The more they come through for him, the higher they raise his hope. Maybe, this time, the ground will never explode. Maybe this is permanent. Maybe it isn't a minefield at all.

Can Lex dare to believe that?

Beyond the insecurities, there's also the problem of definitions. If he's found a family, then Clark is the brother he always wanted. Chloe, though . . .

Admittedly, he doesn't know where Chloe fits. He can't call her a sister. It doesn't feel right. But to say she's just a friend seems ungrateful. No one can do as much for someone else as Chloe's done for Lex and be just a friend.

Maybe he's afraid to admit what he really feels.

Maybe he's desperate to admit it.

Maybe he's just confused as hell.

"Lex? It's your move."

Lex blinks himself back to the present, standing at the pool table with Clark. Unlike Chloe, Clark is a formidable opponent, and he's just pocketed four balls in a row, which is what allowed Lex to lapse into thought.

Lex steps into position, aligning his pool cue, but his posture sinks low, weighed down by a ballast of thoughts and emotions. He strikes and misses, his target ball snagging on the corner of the pocket and rolling back onto the table.

Clark laughs, his blue eyes bright. Most days, he's all wide smiles and easy laughs, the carefree farm boy. Most days. Other days, he's a shadow keeping secrets, far from carefree. Today's a light day.

"What's got you in such a good mood?" Lex asks curiously, re-chalking his stick.

In response, Clark shuffles his feet, growing shy. It's his turn to miss, rebounding the cue ball at the wrong angle.

"Must be Lana," says Lex. The girl of Clark's dreams, the bringer-out of his bumbling side. Maybe she's finally broken up with her boyfriend; they've been on the rocks for a while.

"Actually, it's . . ." Clark twists the cue in his hands as he steps back from the table. "It's Chloe. She kind of . . . asked me to prom."

Lex strikes the cue ball too hard, sending it into the pocket right along with the six. He's playing like an embarrassment, and at the back of his mind, he can hear his father's criticism, ingrained from a lifetime of hearing it. Composure, son. A Luthor never cracks.

With effort, Lex draws in a deep, stabilizing breath.

"Prom," he repeats slowly. "That's certainly a big deal."

And he's certainly not jealous. He'd rather be held at gunpoint again than attend a public-school prom. Excelsior students skipped the awkward dancing and bad bands, opting instead for political machinations and cocktail parties. At least cocktail parties came with cocktails.

With a nervous laugh, Clark steps up for his shot. "I know, right? Technically, I can go, since my date's a senior. Lana's going with Whitney."

He deflates a bit at that. There's a moment of silence as he takes aim at a second ball after pocketing the first. It's his final stripe before the eight.

"So you said yes, I take it?" Lex looks down, tapping his cue against the floor.

The idea of Clark taking Chloe to prom while he's secretly—or not-so-secretly—pining for Lana feels like a heartbreak waiting to happen. But Chloe asked, and she certainly knows about Clark's crush, so what right does Lex have to get defensive on her behalf? He's even the one who told her to be honest about her feelings.

It's just . . .

It's just that he has some experience with feelings going awry. And he would never wish any kind of heartache on Chloe. After all, she's his . . . friend.

She's someone he cares about, that's all.

There's a sharp clack, and then the dull thud of ball hitting pocket. Clark's almost won this game. All he has to do is not miss his next shot.

"Yeah," he says, "I . . . I'm still kind of in shock, honestly. I had no idea Chloe liked me. Like that, you know. I mean, if anything, I thought maybe she'd ask you."

"Me?" Lex's eyebrows shoot up, lifting his gaze.

"With the way she always talks about you, I thought for sure . . ." Clark's smile falters, and he straightens from the table. "Do you like her?"

"She's a reporter." By instinct, Lex injects that with all the disdain he can muster. It works too well, making it sound like she's the vilest creature on the planet rather than someone he was just wrestling with feelings for. He winces, glad Chloe isn't present to hear, then adds, "Don't get me wrong—Chloe's incredible. All I mean is I could never date a reporter."

Clark seems satisfied with that. He leans into his final shot, calls the corner pocket, and sinks the eight.

"Good game." He's grinning over the win as he slots his pool stick back in the rack.

"Enjoy the victory while it lasts," Lex says with a smirk. Although if he has to lose to anyone, Clark is at least palatable.

Mostly.

Lex returns his own cue and rolls down his sleeves, fastening the buttons at his wrists. "I'd call for an immediate rematch, but unfortunately, I have a meeting with the plant manager."

Clark nods. "Um, before you go, I was hoping maybe I could ask for a favor? I don't exactly have money to rent a limo, but I think Chloe deserves better than to go to prom in my dad's pickup truck."

He's right. Chloe deserves the world.

"Tux, limo, whatever you need, Clark, consider it done." Lex smiles, crossing the room to retrieve his blazer from the chair where he draped it. "In fact, let me see if I can book Lifehouse for the event. They'll be miles better than whatever music arrangement the school has made, I'm sure."

"Lifehouse?" Clark blinks cluelessly.

"Chloe's favorite band. You didn't know?"

"Oh, that does sound familiar, I guess."

For a moment, Lex's hand tightens on the collar of his black blazer. Then he relaxes and shrugs it on. It doesn't matter if Clark knows every little detail about Chloe's interests. They've known each other for years. No doubt, he knows more than Lex. No doubt, he's a much better fit than Lex.

And Lex was never considering being an option anyway. Chloe's just family. Some kind of found family he can't put a word to, but family nonetheless—a caffeine-addicted cousin with strange habits, such as saving his life and being his compass whenever he's feeling lost, the way he was lost after Victoria.

"Treat her right," he tells Clark.

Chloe's senior prom is magical until it isn't.

It's not the tornado sirens that ruin it, not really. It's not being locked into the gym and told to bunker the storm.

It's the way Clark abandons her. After dancing to her favorite song from her favorite band, after hanging one breath from a kiss, after a sizzling connection she can't have just imagined, Clark drops her without a single word. Not even a stunted goodbye. The tornado sirens go off, and Clark's first thought is about Lana, whether Lana is safe.

Obviously, Chloe wants Lana to be safe. Obviously, her prom experience is not more important than anyone's life. And obviously, Chloe knows about Clark's feelings. But when she'd asked him to prom, expecting a no, he'd surprised her by getting genuinely excited. He'd said he thought there could be something between them, said he wanted to explore it.

Chloe knew any kind of lasting relationship was a long shot, but she'd hoped—desperately hoped—to have one magical date. The supposed highlight of high school with the cutest boy she knows. That's all she wanted.

So the way he rushes after another girl without so much as a backwards glance . . .

It tears Chloe's heart in half, like a newspaper ripped down the seam.

She stumbles her way to the edge of the gym, tripping on the hem of her pink prom dress, which was a silly impulse buy. She should have just come to prom in street clothes, treated it as a work engagement. Just research for an article. All the other students are huddled in groups, whispering anxiously about the twister. Chloe turns her face away from everyone, pulling her phone from her purse. She texts her dad, letting him know what's happened. Then her fingers move automatically to her text chain with Lex.

Before she can type a word, the phone vibrates in her hand, a new message envelope popping up. He's texted her first.

LEX: Are you safe?

After holding the tears back since Clark's abrupt departure, they fill Chloe's eyes at last. Her hands are shaking. She curls around the phone like it can offer the warmth of the person on the other side; in that moment, she'd give anything to feel Lex's arms around her, strong and secure.

Her phone buzzes again, repeated and insistent this time. It's a call.

She sniffs hard and clears her throat, trying to hide the evidence of emotion.

"Hey, Lex," she answers. "I'm okay. They locked down the gym. The funnels are supposed to be closer to your side of town."

"Don't be scared," he says, which tells her he can hear the tears she's trying to hide. "You're going to be just fine, Chloe. Stay inside."

He's always so calm. Normally, she worries he's suppressing his own emotions, but at the moment, that signature Lex calm is just what she needs. His is the voice she's heard a million times in late-night conversations over coffee, offering advice and insight, or offering teasingly terrible headlines no newspaper could ever print.

Lex is her real bunker in the storm.

Then he says, "Stay with Clark."

Chloe clenches her jaw, but the sob breaks free anyway. She closes her eyes, pressing her free hand to her forehead. "Clark's gone. He ran after Lana."

Slowly, she lowers her hand, staring at her wrist corsage. Pink camellias. She remembers the way Clark pulled it from hiding while they stood on his yellow porch, his parents watching with knowing expressions. She remembers how he slid it gently onto her wrist. They way he and Chloe grinned nervously at each other, two friends about to possibly become more.

So much for that.

The phone crackles. Whatever Lex says next is only choppy noise; the connection gets interrupted by the storm, stealing most of his words.

"Lex?" Chloe grips the phone with both hands. Just hearing his voice is such a comfort. Don't you dare take that, she directs fiercely at the unseen winds. She moves along the edge of the room, shouldering her way past other students, until the connection clears again. "Lex?"

"I'm here," he says. "Chloe, forget him."

Despite herself, she chokes out half a laugh. "You're not going to defend your best friend's honor?"

"He's plenty honorable, but he's also dumb as a post. Nobody's perfect."

The tightness in her chest eases. He's got her smiling again.

"You're going to be fine, Chloe, and I don't just mean the storm. You're destined for bigger things than a high school dance."

"I should have asked you," she whispers, but the static crackles again, and he probably doesn't hear.

The funnels are on his side of town. Has he evacuated or is he in the mansion? Does he have a storm cellar?

"Lex, where are you?"

Shehears something—a low, garbled voice, but it isn't his. It's in the room with him.

His father.

Chloe's knuckles whiten around her cell phone. Without knowing if he can even hear her, she says, "We're going to be fine, Lex. Both of us."

There's another burst of static, and then his voice cuts through, clear and calm. "I have to go."

The line goes dead.