This is definitely a Chloe/Lex. Wouldn't have it any other way.
DISCLAIMER: Smallville is not mine and will never be mine, because if it was mine, then I wouldn't be writing fanfiction, I would be writing their scripts.
* * * * * *
CHLOE
The Prom is in two days and Fate has already paid a visit to Smallville, sprinkling fairy dust over her favorite people to secure a magical, or at least eventful, night to remember.
In front of me, Clark's normally woeful face has been uplifted into a dreamy smile. Forget the weight of the world on his shoulders for now, he's got other things to be happier about. At this precise moment in the pause of a conversation, coffee blatantly ignored and where all other life forms cease to exist, Clark is blessing the twist of fate that had Whitney shipped off to visit a sick Aunt in Metropolis and left Lana dateless. Making him, of course, the number one willing contender applying for the position of Lana's stand-in 'friendly' date.
And of course, Lana accepted. Just two minutes ago, in fact. A quick moment of hesitation, long enough to kill Clark's fragile heart with the agony of suspense, before she agreed with an uncertain smile, assuring Clark that Whitney couldn't mind, since they're only FRIENDS. Right.
Sitting next to him, Pete is blessing the twist of fate that had Clark manhandling him, kicking and screaming, down the busy corridor to stand within two feet of The Hot Chick who normally sits next to him in English. Then thumped continuously on the back by the same friend so he could manage to get the question out.
Now they both sit in front of me, my normally dateless comrades, either one of whom I was sure I could make an impromptu prom date, which explains why I'm the only one in this little threesome without a prom date (okay that's not the only reason, but never mind).
And so here I sit, in front of them, cursing Fate for leaving me without a Prom date and without a hope in procuring a Prom date in hell, never mind TWO DAYS.
And while I'm at it, sit in front of my two best buddies, both of which keep on trailing off in conversations and getting caught up in what I can only describe as the Prom Haze. Gloating over their victories and dreaming of the magic that is to come within the next 48 hours.
The bastards!
Taking several deep breaths, I collect myself.
Momentarily pulled away from the Prom Haze, Clark peers at me and says, "Chloe, are you alright?"
I assure him that I am, the redness of my face is just from the heat, need a drink of water is all, and apparently satisfied by my answer, despite the freezing weather, Clark dives back into the Prom Haze.
Hmph.
To occupy my time, I gaze at the other customers of the Talon.
Everyone appears to be happy enough. If any of them are sulking over no Prom dates, they're certainly not showing it. But hey, maybe everyone does have a Prom date. Except me.
And maybe Lex Luthor sitting over there at the corner, but I doubt that he would worry over trivial matters like Prom dates when he was our age. But then again, Lex Luthor probably would have had no problems getting dates.
Yes. Trivial matters.
I'm a modern girl of this century, and who gives a cow if I go to the Prom without a date? It's a stupid tradition anyway. Waste your money on dresses and breaks your heart and builds your hopes up just so it could efficiently kill it later and makes you think murderous thoughts of the lucky girl who gets crowned Prom Queen for no other reason than the fact that she is the prettiest.
Screw the Prom.
Oh but DAMMIT, I already bought the damn dress!
From beneath my furrowed eyebrows, I glare at the two offenders who have both unwittingly stuck a big fat neon label LOSER on my forehead by leaving me dateless and are both looking very pleased for it.
They beam at me, oblivious to my glares. Because they're either too deeply embedded in the Prom Haze to notice or making a valiant effort to keep me from raining on their parade.
Ready to talk about anything but the Prom, I open my mouth to comment on anything, when an enthusiastic Clark says, "You know Lex said he'd lend me his limo!"
Despite the fact that any time one of us mentions the name 'Lex', Pete would immediately scowl and go into sullen mode (obviously the Prom Haze changes all of your earlier opinions and revises them to more agreeable standards), his grin widens at Clark's words. "That is smooth, Clark. Clara would have to deal with my Dad's car."
Forever generous, except when it comes to his blonde friend, he offers, "Well hey, maybe we can double date, then we'll BOTH get to use the limo."
"Are you kidding me? My one date with Clara and you want me to share it with you and Lana? Forget it, man. Thanks anyway."
"Your loss. Hey, Pete, where are you getting your tux?"
I gape at both of them, at ease in a conversation about Prom preparations while pointedly ignoring the fact that their solitary friend sitting with them has been simultaneously stabbed in the front by both of them.
The injustice of it all brings me to a level of sourness that could turn solid and glow green and affect my genes, turning me into an Incredible Hulk like creature sulking in my seat and ready to wreak havoc on luckier and prettier people.
But at this moment, I have another option opening itself up to me.
I could just not go.
I could save my (beautiful, pink and beautiful) Prom dress for another occasion. Then on the night itself, I could just stay home! And watch television! And not have to worry about looking pretty or manicures or hairdos or impressing my date or killing my feet by dancing in shoes that were not designed for dancing! I could pig out and watch a movie and be totally comfortable!
Yes, screw the Prom!
Resolved in this new positive, albeit pathetic, outlook, I beam at my two friends (traitors) and say loudly, "I think I'll skip the Prom this year."
They stop talking and look at me.
"Why?" Pete asks in a way that says he doesn't really want to know why.
"Because the Prom is wrong," I inform him airily. "All wrong for the modern girl of this century. To have to resort to getting a lowly man to ask her, then spend too much money on a dress for what? For a lousy corsage and photo and aching feet and years of therapy's worth of insecurity if you don't get the title, which is a 100% chance if Lana Lang is in your school, and…."
"Because you don't have a date?" Pete guesses.
All calmness is flying out the door, slowly but surely. "No, I don't have a date," I paste a grin on my face. "But that's hardly the point. You see, I don't WANT a date, I don't even want to go…."
"We could find you a date," Clark cuts in. "Or you could go with me and Lana!" I groan loudly. "We're only going as friends!" he protests.
"Oh, please." Thankfully Pete hasn't gone into the Prom Haze so much as to not roll his eyes skyward at that plastic comment.
"I'd really rather not, thanks all the same," I mutter darkly.
"So we'll get you a date!" Pete says, triumphantly, as if he's just found a cure for world hunger.
"And how do you propose on doing that? Digging out Lex Luthor's lake where my last date presides then microwaving him?"
"I'm pretty sure we could find someone better than that," Clark says reassuringly.
"In TWO DAYS?!" I almost yell, or maybe I did yell, because everyone looks up and stares at me. I've even managed to capture the attention of Lex Luthor, cocking an eyebrow at me, from the corner of the Talon.
Forget the Incredible Hulk, my sourness has reached peaks I never thought possible.
I smile in an attempt to inject my former nonchalant self over the frumpy neurotic loser that I have become.
Pete shrugs. "Yeah, you really need a date." Clark nods in agreement.
I glare at both of them. Traitorous mutts.
Before I cause another scene, I decide that maybe it's just better if I leave the whole area and start my pigging out session immediately, with no further delay.
If you find no comfort in your friends, then find your comfort in ice- cream.
With assurances from both Clark and Pete that my dating problems will soon be at an end, I leave. Quickly.
DISCLAIMER: Smallville is not mine and will never be mine, because if it was mine, then I wouldn't be writing fanfiction, I would be writing their scripts.
* * * * * *
CHLOE
The Prom is in two days and Fate has already paid a visit to Smallville, sprinkling fairy dust over her favorite people to secure a magical, or at least eventful, night to remember.
In front of me, Clark's normally woeful face has been uplifted into a dreamy smile. Forget the weight of the world on his shoulders for now, he's got other things to be happier about. At this precise moment in the pause of a conversation, coffee blatantly ignored and where all other life forms cease to exist, Clark is blessing the twist of fate that had Whitney shipped off to visit a sick Aunt in Metropolis and left Lana dateless. Making him, of course, the number one willing contender applying for the position of Lana's stand-in 'friendly' date.
And of course, Lana accepted. Just two minutes ago, in fact. A quick moment of hesitation, long enough to kill Clark's fragile heart with the agony of suspense, before she agreed with an uncertain smile, assuring Clark that Whitney couldn't mind, since they're only FRIENDS. Right.
Sitting next to him, Pete is blessing the twist of fate that had Clark manhandling him, kicking and screaming, down the busy corridor to stand within two feet of The Hot Chick who normally sits next to him in English. Then thumped continuously on the back by the same friend so he could manage to get the question out.
Now they both sit in front of me, my normally dateless comrades, either one of whom I was sure I could make an impromptu prom date, which explains why I'm the only one in this little threesome without a prom date (okay that's not the only reason, but never mind).
And so here I sit, in front of them, cursing Fate for leaving me without a Prom date and without a hope in procuring a Prom date in hell, never mind TWO DAYS.
And while I'm at it, sit in front of my two best buddies, both of which keep on trailing off in conversations and getting caught up in what I can only describe as the Prom Haze. Gloating over their victories and dreaming of the magic that is to come within the next 48 hours.
The bastards!
Taking several deep breaths, I collect myself.
Momentarily pulled away from the Prom Haze, Clark peers at me and says, "Chloe, are you alright?"
I assure him that I am, the redness of my face is just from the heat, need a drink of water is all, and apparently satisfied by my answer, despite the freezing weather, Clark dives back into the Prom Haze.
Hmph.
To occupy my time, I gaze at the other customers of the Talon.
Everyone appears to be happy enough. If any of them are sulking over no Prom dates, they're certainly not showing it. But hey, maybe everyone does have a Prom date. Except me.
And maybe Lex Luthor sitting over there at the corner, but I doubt that he would worry over trivial matters like Prom dates when he was our age. But then again, Lex Luthor probably would have had no problems getting dates.
Yes. Trivial matters.
I'm a modern girl of this century, and who gives a cow if I go to the Prom without a date? It's a stupid tradition anyway. Waste your money on dresses and breaks your heart and builds your hopes up just so it could efficiently kill it later and makes you think murderous thoughts of the lucky girl who gets crowned Prom Queen for no other reason than the fact that she is the prettiest.
Screw the Prom.
Oh but DAMMIT, I already bought the damn dress!
From beneath my furrowed eyebrows, I glare at the two offenders who have both unwittingly stuck a big fat neon label LOSER on my forehead by leaving me dateless and are both looking very pleased for it.
They beam at me, oblivious to my glares. Because they're either too deeply embedded in the Prom Haze to notice or making a valiant effort to keep me from raining on their parade.
Ready to talk about anything but the Prom, I open my mouth to comment on anything, when an enthusiastic Clark says, "You know Lex said he'd lend me his limo!"
Despite the fact that any time one of us mentions the name 'Lex', Pete would immediately scowl and go into sullen mode (obviously the Prom Haze changes all of your earlier opinions and revises them to more agreeable standards), his grin widens at Clark's words. "That is smooth, Clark. Clara would have to deal with my Dad's car."
Forever generous, except when it comes to his blonde friend, he offers, "Well hey, maybe we can double date, then we'll BOTH get to use the limo."
"Are you kidding me? My one date with Clara and you want me to share it with you and Lana? Forget it, man. Thanks anyway."
"Your loss. Hey, Pete, where are you getting your tux?"
I gape at both of them, at ease in a conversation about Prom preparations while pointedly ignoring the fact that their solitary friend sitting with them has been simultaneously stabbed in the front by both of them.
The injustice of it all brings me to a level of sourness that could turn solid and glow green and affect my genes, turning me into an Incredible Hulk like creature sulking in my seat and ready to wreak havoc on luckier and prettier people.
But at this moment, I have another option opening itself up to me.
I could just not go.
I could save my (beautiful, pink and beautiful) Prom dress for another occasion. Then on the night itself, I could just stay home! And watch television! And not have to worry about looking pretty or manicures or hairdos or impressing my date or killing my feet by dancing in shoes that were not designed for dancing! I could pig out and watch a movie and be totally comfortable!
Yes, screw the Prom!
Resolved in this new positive, albeit pathetic, outlook, I beam at my two friends (traitors) and say loudly, "I think I'll skip the Prom this year."
They stop talking and look at me.
"Why?" Pete asks in a way that says he doesn't really want to know why.
"Because the Prom is wrong," I inform him airily. "All wrong for the modern girl of this century. To have to resort to getting a lowly man to ask her, then spend too much money on a dress for what? For a lousy corsage and photo and aching feet and years of therapy's worth of insecurity if you don't get the title, which is a 100% chance if Lana Lang is in your school, and…."
"Because you don't have a date?" Pete guesses.
All calmness is flying out the door, slowly but surely. "No, I don't have a date," I paste a grin on my face. "But that's hardly the point. You see, I don't WANT a date, I don't even want to go…."
"We could find you a date," Clark cuts in. "Or you could go with me and Lana!" I groan loudly. "We're only going as friends!" he protests.
"Oh, please." Thankfully Pete hasn't gone into the Prom Haze so much as to not roll his eyes skyward at that plastic comment.
"I'd really rather not, thanks all the same," I mutter darkly.
"So we'll get you a date!" Pete says, triumphantly, as if he's just found a cure for world hunger.
"And how do you propose on doing that? Digging out Lex Luthor's lake where my last date presides then microwaving him?"
"I'm pretty sure we could find someone better than that," Clark says reassuringly.
"In TWO DAYS?!" I almost yell, or maybe I did yell, because everyone looks up and stares at me. I've even managed to capture the attention of Lex Luthor, cocking an eyebrow at me, from the corner of the Talon.
Forget the Incredible Hulk, my sourness has reached peaks I never thought possible.
I smile in an attempt to inject my former nonchalant self over the frumpy neurotic loser that I have become.
Pete shrugs. "Yeah, you really need a date." Clark nods in agreement.
I glare at both of them. Traitorous mutts.
Before I cause another scene, I decide that maybe it's just better if I leave the whole area and start my pigging out session immediately, with no further delay.
If you find no comfort in your friends, then find your comfort in ice- cream.
With assurances from both Clark and Pete that my dating problems will soon be at an end, I leave. Quickly.