6: Gutter

The tornado did more damage than knocking out the mansion windows and taking down a few beams. The real damage wasn't structural at all; it was emotional.

Part of Lex hangs frozen in that moment when his father was pinned beneath a ceiling beam with more debris poised to fall, poised to impale. The emotion of that memory haunts. Because Lex really wished—even though it was just for a moment—that he lived in a world without his father. A world without the abuse, the belittlement, the expectations, the punishments, the tests and judgments and manipulations. For that single moment, Lex tasted freedom and was paralyzed by the venomed sweetness of it.

Then he saved Lionel's life. Because he's a fool. Because he can't stop himself from loving his father, even though the man will never love him back.

This is why he loses every contest with his father. Lionel is calculating; Lex is emotional. It's always been the biggest difference between them, the biggest failing of son following father. One of these days, Lex's emotion is going to get him killed.

Rather than claiming a new world, Lex returns to the old world and finds it even darker than before. His father's injuries make him blind, and he blames Lex. Because neither of them will ever forget that moment of hesitation.

Thanks to his father's surgeries and treatments, Lex misses Chloe's graduation. He hates himself for that—for abandoning her just the way Clark did. He isn't chasing another girl, true, but it's abandonment just the same. He at least manages to send a courier with her graduation gift: day-passes to a journalistic convention in Metropolis. He'd meant to take her himself, but it'll have to do.

Apparently, Chloe doesn't think so, because on the day of the convention, she winds up on his doorstep, passes in hand and eyebrows raised.

"I thought you'd like it more than a concert," Lex says, suddenly nervous he misjudged.

Instead of coming straight to his study, as usual, she told his security team to send him out here to meet her on the covered porch. The early morning sky is overcast and gloomy, heralding a grim confrontation, like she's come to call him out to duel over the way he skipped her graduation.

But when she responds, it's far from throwing a gauntlet.

"Are you kidding? This is the best gift anyone's ever given me!" She grins, melting all of his nerves under a ray of her light. "Aurora Carter is the keynote. Aurora Carter!"

With effort, he restrains his smile, instead furrowing his brow. "A reporter, I assume?"

"Three-time Emmy newscaster and latest recipient of the National Prize for Journalism—why am I explaining? You know exactly who she is! I know you always do your research. Lex, this is . . ." She shakes her head, lifting the passes. "You bought two passes."

"I assumed you'd take Clark or Pete. Whoever you're passing the literal Torch to post-graduation." He wonders if his dry tone sounds as forced to her ears as it does to his.

Whether his tone is the giveaway or she just knows him too well, Chloe steps forward, pressing the second pass lightly against his chest. Although there's no weight in it, her touch makes it a little harder to breathe.

"You were willing to endure an entire day of reporters for me." There's something like wonder in her green eyes as she looks up at him.

Heat creeps up the back of his neck. "It's really not that impressive. It's not like I haven't endured plenty of reporters in the past."

"Great!" The wonder gives way to mischief, and she leans into the pass with a bit more force. "Then you're still coming with me, and we're taking your Porsche."

Lex finally accepts the pass, because if she comes any closer, he might do something he'll regret. As it is, his fingers brush lightly across hers at the handoff, and for a moment, the rest of his thoughts vanish at the sensation of his skin across hers.

But the recent tornado made it painfully clear the price of one foolish moment, so he banishes those thoughts. Grounds himself back in reality.

"Chloe, I can't." He sets his jaw. "While my father's in physical therapy, he's living here at the mansion, and if I'm not here to manage that . . ."

It's a flimsy excuse. His father has an entire hired staff to help him, and no abandonment can be used to guilt Lex more than that single moment when he honestly wanted his father to die. He winces at the memory.

She studies him, turning her own pass in her hands. Then she slides it into her bag.

"Alright, then we stay."

He frowns. "What?"

"It's simple—I came here to be with you, so if you need to stay, if you need to help your father, then I'll stay and help too."

"You'd skip the convention? Really?"

The way she bites her lip betrays her entire psyche. She looks like a puppy denied the chance to frolic in a favorite park. Yet even so, she remains stubborn, shrugging with an obviously forced casualness.

Lex smiles. Her words play on repeat through his mind. I came here to be with you.

That's a much better moment to fixate on than the one that's been stuck in his head for weeks.

"Actually, I could use a reprieve," he admits. "I'll get my keys."

Chloe expects to feel a sense of freedom after graduation. She's already been accepted on scholarship to Met U, and she's got an interview lined up for an internship at The Daily Planet, so she knows where her future is heading.

Then why is she so nervous about it?

"We've never really talked about college," she says to Lex as they drive, the Porsche purring like a kitten while flying by the cornfields of Kansas. "You have a bachelor's degree, don't you?"

"Biochemical engineering," Lex says, one hand braced at the bottom of the steering wheel and his other arm resting casually along the driver's side window. "I graduated Excelsior at seventeen, went straight to Princeton, and earned my bachelor's at twenty. I'd just started graduate studies at Yale when my father banished me out here to run the Smallville plant. He wanted to teach me a real lesson, since I clearly wasn't learning what he'd hoped at college."

Chloe groans, both for his sake and her own, sliding her hands over her face. Since his father seems to be a particularly sensitive topic since the tornado, she avoids that and keeps the focus on college. "Lex, it's not enough that you're a billionaire—you have to be a genius, too?"

He gives a short laugh. "If I am a genius, I'm garden variety. The kind that's grown by an excess of money and access to tutors."

"You still put in the work."

"I enjoy learning."

"I don't know if I do." Chloe sighs. "I like chasing stories. Investigating and finding the truth. But mostly I like feeling like I'm making a difference. Like what I'm doing matters. It's really hard for me to feel that in a classroom—as if reading fifty pages of this textbook helps anyone at all when, really, it just makes me want to write an article about the failed structure of the American classroom. But I can't just skip college."

"If you want to be seen as a professional in your field, you need a degree. I get it." Lex shoots her an encouraging glance. "You know, when you're walking toward a destination, every step matters in getting there, and some of those steps will be through the mud. When it feels sticky and miserable, just remember where you're going."

Chloe turns her head against the headrest, watching him as he drives. His strong profile, pointed forward, never deterred.

If wherever she's going includes keeping him at her side, then she knows she can endure anything.

"You're smiling again," he teases. "Did I revolutionize your entire college outlook?"

Chloe ducks away, embarrassed to be caught staring. "I think you did. Are you sure your degree isn't in motivational speaking?"

"Maybe that will be my honorary doctorate once a university finally lauds me for my genius."

Shaking her head, Chloe says, "So tell me about Princeton. Did you live in a dorm?"

For the rest of the drive, they discuss college, the good and the bad. While Lex's educational experience is practically from a different planet than hers, she loves hearing his stories. Even more, she loves the way he shares them freely now, without even needing a prompt. She loves the way he trusts her with his past.

He came to a convention of journalists for her. She's trying desperately not to read too much into that, but the very thought fills her with a buzz stronger than any espresso shot.

The convention itself is a dream. Chloe fangirls over every big journalist in the house, from Aurora Carter to John Summers, whispering all their achievements to Lex, who definitely doesn't care but listens with an eternal patience anyway.

She's never seen him wear a hat before, but the moment they arrived at the convention, he slips on a black baseball cap, and it doesn't take long for her to realize why. During a socialization break, one attendee gets a good look at his face and immediately grows wide-eyed, nudging his companion and murmuring something about LuthorCorp. It was silly of Chloe not to think about what a public figure Lex is.

Without thinking, she grabs his hand, drawing him the other direction. He doesn't immediately pull away but instead sidles closer.

"Sorry," he says quietly, wincing. "Blending in has never been a specialty of mine. Young and bald makes for a terrible camouflage combination—you should have seen the stares I got as a ten-year-old. I wore a cap all through school for that very reason."

Chloe's a little distracted from his words by the feeling of his fingers in hers. The first time they met, she noticed he had long fingers. Piano hands. His skin isn't callused, but it's firm and rougher than hers, which is a delightful surprise for some reason. What was she expecting? She's never put any thought into how Lex's hands would feel.

Good. Holding his hand feels good. Better than good.

They duck around a corner, and Chloe pushes the button for the elevator. The convention center has three floors, and they're at the bottom. Most of the panels are on the top floor, with a bookstore and grand lecture hall on the second.

"You're handsome, Lex," she says, feeling heat in her cheeks. "You might stand out in a crowd, but I think it's for all the right reasons. I don't know how many people could pull off 'young and bald,' but you certainly do. So I think it was the right call to ditch the cap."

His thumb glides across hers, slow and pressured. But just as Chloe's heart picks up speed, the elevator arrives. She jumps at the ding. People spill out, and Lex releases her hand. Maybe he didn't mean anything by the gesture. Maybe he was just lost in thought. Fidgeting.

As they enter the elevator, Chloe stands as far apart from him as space allows, pulling out her schedule and burying her nose in it. "Next is the panel about investigative journalism! That's a definite yes. Um, after this, maybe the 'Story Through Photography'. . ."

She throws herself back into the convention experience. The day flashes by in a whirl of notes and excitement. Unfortunately, word spreads, especially in a crowd of truth-seekers, and by the time they reach the second-to-last session, Lex's identity has been fully outed. Everyone is whispering about the heir to LuthorCorp.

Chloe glares daggers at the latest nosey journalist craning to look in their direction. She jabs two fingers toward her own eyes and then toward the stage, where John Summers—a Pulitzer-prize winning journalist—is currently speaking about the soul of story.

Lex shifts in his seat. In a low voice, he murmurs, "I should have known I'd be the wrong companion for you."

"You are not the problem here," Chloe whispers hotly back. She can't believe the unprofessionalism of the open gawking. Sadly, she can see why Lex hates reporters.

As soon as the presentation ends, they duck out, but not quite fast enough. One thin-faced man is waiting by the doors, prepared to strike. He probably didn't hear a word of the presentation. He definitely didn't hear the part about how compelling stories are built from respect.

"Mr. Luthor!" he says with all the energy of a pouncing cat. "Spare a moment! I'd love to discuss your father's injuries and the future of LuthorCorp. Is it true you blinded him in a plot to seize the company?"

According to the man's badge, he's a news correspondent for The Inquisitor. That's a joke—pretending The Inquisitor reports actual news when it's all one big gossip column.

"I'm not here to be interviewed," Lex says coldly.

He moves to exit, but the man blocks the door. There's a line building behind them, though the crowd doesn't seem to be in a hurry to leave, only in a hurry to listen.

"Well, you can't give her the exclusive!" As the man's disdainful gaze narrows on Chloe, she tenses. He scoffs. "She has a student badge. She's not even a real reporter."

Clenching her pen, Chloe opens her mouth to retort, but Lex answers first.

"Actually, she's the only reporter with integrity I've ever met."

The heat that was already creeping into Chloe's face changes temperature, softening into a pleasant warmth. She stands a little taller.

But the man's smile turns oily. "Is that code for you're sleeping with her?"

Lex's frame stiffens, his lips thinning to an angry line. The growing crowd of reporters practically hums with anticipation, notebooks at the ready and pens poised to write. A physical altercation from Metropolis's biggest corporate heir? A scandal about to be revealed? Either one would make headlines.

The last thing Chloe wants is for Lex to be in a headline like that. Especially if she's the reason.

She raises her voice and speaks with all the fierceness of defending not only her best friend but the integrity of her career field at large. "Cliché, much? If you can't persuade a subject into an interview without casting shade at their sex life, then you may as well turn in your badge now. Real journalism takes skill—but hey, maybe you can do some technical writing instead. Get a job writing instruction manuals for Maytag. They can't read any drier than your current articles."

The crowd stirs and breaks into murmurs, a stronger reaction than Chloe expected, until she realizes John Summers was moving through, approaching them. Although he's barely Chloe's height, he has a commanding presence. A career journalist of the highest caliber.

"She's right," he says brusquely.

Chloe could die. She could fly. She's going to have those words tattooed on her forehead as an attributed quote, a memory of the day John Summers said she was right.

He points toward the door. "This isn't the place for an interview, people. Let's clear the room."

Since the Inquisitor correspondent is clearly gearing up to speak again, Lex pulls off his cap and drops it on the correspondent's head, flicking the visor down to block the man's face. The correspondent stumbles back, and Lex draws Chloe through the created opening while a few journalists laugh.

Once they reach the end of the hall, leaving the crowd behind, Lex comes to a stop. Chloe is still looking back, a little drunk on power.

"Did you hear? 'She's right.' John Summers said that about me."

"Don't let it go to your head," Lex drawls, but his lips twitch. Then he says, "I'll wait in the car. You can finish out the last session without distractions."

That effectively deflates her. Supposedly, this convention is full of her people, but the more she thinks about the encounter with the correspondent, the sicker she feels.

"Let's skip the final session," she says.

Lex squints down at her like she's just proclaimed she's quitting caffeine. "Skip the keynote. From someone named Aurora, I believe? The personal hero of Chloe Sullivan?"

"I have plenty of heroines." Chloe tries to make her voice sound flippant. "Besides, I'm suddenly thinking about pursuing a different career path entirely. Maybe as a car mechanic. No engine in existence could be oilier than some of the correspondents here."

"Some," Lex agrees, reaching out to gently squeeze her shoulder, "but not you. You're what a journalist is supposed to be, and it would be a shame to waste that."

Truthfully, the ink is in her veins, and she could never leave it behind. But her heart aches. "Is that how they always treat you, Lex? You said reporters used to corner you at school. Were they like that?"

He drops his hand, grimacing. "Most. When I was thirteen, a reporter caught me between classes at Excelsior to ask how I felt about my mother's death. He was so hungry for the exclusive, he reached me even before the news did. That was how I found out."

"No exclusive is worth hurting someone like that." Her voice cracks. "I'm sorry you've dealt with this for years. I'm sorry you dealt with it today."

On a day when he was just going out of his way to help a friend.

Wryly, Lex says, "Don't forget this one insulted you too."

Right. By implying she was the billionaire playboy's latest plaything.

Her ears burn again just thinking about it, and she looks down. Lex steps closer, slipping his fingers under her chin and gently lifting her face until she meets his eyes again. There's a fierce edge to his voice as he says, "I would never treat you like that, Chloe."

"Like, um, what, exactly?" Her pulse is pounding in her throat, like an alarm sounding at his touch.

"Like a tool to be manipulated, or a means to an end."

Right. Right—because the correspondent probably thought Lex would sleep with a reporter as a way to get flattering articles written about him. Lex means he would never do that.

And here she was worried he meant he would never consider sleeping with her at all.

Chloe swallows hard, trying to swallow every embarrassing thought, but they remain lodged. She's thinking about how handsome Lex looks without his ball cap, about how good his fingers feel, whether they're tangled in hers or gently stroking her chin—which is exactly what his thumb is doing. Chloe's traitorous eyes drop to his lips for just a fraction of a second.

"You'll miss Aurora," Lex says quietly. He lowers his hand.

Chloe snaps alert at that. She glances back down the hallway, empty of people. "Um, are you sure you don't mind waiting?"

"Go, Chloe." He smiles, nodding toward the elevators.

She dashes off, part of her relieved to be free of the confusing tension between them, part of her regretting every step. There's one elevator waiting, and she slides in with another running-late reporter. They exchange awkward greetings.

As the elevator rumbles downward, Chloe pulls a pen from her bag, turning it like a worry stone in her hands. What just happened? She almost kissed Lex. What was she thinking? She wasn't thinking! She got all caught up in a rush of ridiculous impulses.

This is all The Inquisitor's fault. Worthless tabloid, never reporting the truth.

Lex is her friend. And he would certainly never think of her as anything more than that. He's dated plenty of women, but they've all fit the same profile—tall, gorgeous, successful businesswomen. Which Chloe is not.

Clark wants Lana. Lex wants a girl like Victoria. And Chloe needs to stop looking at guys who will never look back at her.

She hitches her bag up on her shoulder, flicks her pen in a quick spin around her finger, and focuses all her attention on a keynote about being rational in an irrational world.