Disclaimer: The characters (with the exception of a couple), lyrics aren't mine; the basic plot is mine, however. I borrowed a few ideas (the break-up scene, the videotape, personals' ad) from the surprisingly great movie, 'Next Stop, Wonderland', but I don't take credit for those few plot points. (And, as much as I love the dialogue in the opening scene, I paraphrased it.) All songs belong to Duncan Sheik.
Author's Note: Here's my return to the world of ChLex fic; let’s call this an experimental fic, because I really have no idea if it’ll work well. This is, by the way, completely AU. (Please be a little nice.) It hasn't been beta'd, so any mistakes are from my own ignorance or impatience.
Dedicated to: The Truth Seekers because they rock; also Jeff, because having your best friend dedicate a story to you (from a fandom in which you don't participate) is infinitely cooler than having said best friend bake you a pie to show how much she luffs you (especially since you hate nuts, and she hates fruit).
Summary: Sometimes random coincidences are anything but.
**Lately, something here
Don't feel right...
Don't you see
I'm breaking down** ('Half-Life')
Lex left his Business course and groaned; graduate school was beginning to drive him crazy. His father didn't believe that Lex knew enough about The Family Company (they made bloody *fertilizer*! What was there to KNOW?) so he forced his only son to go back to school.
He shuffled through the Met U campus, waving to a few acquaintances as he went on his way. His books were getting heavy, so he switched the pile to his other hand. He was glad he didn't have to live in a dorm; the stories he'd heard...
A few streets from his three-story home (modest, compared to the mansion his father had in the nearby town of Smallville), he noticed a dark-haired man, about Lex's age, loading a pick-up truck with heavy boxes; judging from the look of annoyance on the other man's face, he was probably leaving a lover (or so Lex told himself; he had a habit of making up stories about random people he saw).
Lex shook his head, wished the best of luck to the girl (or guy) the dark-haired man was leaving, then crossed the street. A few minutes later, he went by the Daily Planet building, smiling politely at an attractive blonde woman who was too busy rushing down the sidewalk to notice his gesture. Having not gotten a good look at her, it took Lex a while to make up a good story.
"She's probably hurrying home to see her fiance, so they can make wedding plans," he told himself; a woman like her (professional, put-together) certainly had found true love.
He wasn't sure where that came from; he wasn't big on love or meaningful romance. Sometimes, though, when he saw a content couple, he wanted that kind of happiness. Only sometimes; otherwise, he was perfectly content to be alone.
******
**..there are so many reasons
Why I should be down
..my love, you're not around..** ('On a High')
Chloe rushed across the busy Metropolis street, sighing; her job at the Planet (plain, old 'reporter') was beginning to annoy her. It wasn't stressful --it was just boring. She supposed she should have been glad that there wasn't more crime, but she wanted to be able to write something more than 'bus strike averted'; still, despite that, she was content with her simple life.
Her booted (cream-colored leather) feet slapped against the damp pavement (it had obviously rained while she was working) as she hurried to the brownstone apartment she shared with her boyfriend, Clark; who was a sheriff's deputy. He'd always said he was destined to save the world.
"Chloe, there you are," Clark said in a rush, hoisting a cardboard box on top of his pick up truck. (He was the only Metropolis resident who actually drove a run-down truck, as opposed to a BMW, or taking the bus instead of driving oneself.)
She stopped walking, froze. From the slight sheen of sweat that caused his thick brown curls to stick to his forehead (and the number of cartons already in the truck's bed), he'd obviously been lifting boxes all afternoon. "What the *hell* are you doing?" she asked loudly, her heart thudding; it was obvious what he was doing.
Clark turned from the vehicle, his gray t-shirt pulled tightly over his chest. "Leaving, Clo." He said it as though he were rattling off a grocery list, as opposed to breaking her heart in a million, little pieces.
Sure, she'd seen it coming; the petty fights, the evenings he spent in the bar with his best friend Pete, the nights he slept on the couch instead of in bed with her --she'd never guessed that all that would lead to *this*, though. "Why?" she snapped, crossing her arms over her classy, tan button-down shirt.
With a sigh, her (ex) boyfriend clasped his strong hands on her petite shoulders. "I think you know. It's not working." His fingers tried to run through her wavy blonde hair, but she gently pushed him away.
"That's not why you're going," Chloe corrected smartly.
His blue eyes hardened. "You're right. I need to go save the world, Chloe. I need to go be of *use* somewhere."
Of course; he had 'a cause'. "You've done that before," she reminded him harshly. It was funny how the same things that made her love him (he was dedicated to justice) made him leave her; made her hate him.
He brushed past her, and grabbed one last, small parcel from the stone steps of the apartment building. He fumbled through it, and handed her a cassette tape. "This explains it better." The final box went on the passenger's seat, through the open window.
Her intelligent eyes scanned the items in the back of the vehicle. "You're taking my stereo." It was *his* stereo, in actuality --he bought it-- but she was the one who actually used it.
"Yeah," was all Clark said, shrugging into his faded jean jacket.
"How can I listen to the tape if you take my stereo?"
A disinterested shrug. "You have friends."
Oh, he made her so ANGRY! "You better not come back in a few weeks, Clark," Chloe warned, tightening her fist over the tape so the outer case cracked.
"I won't," he promised. Without another word, he bolted to the other door of the truck, and clambered inside. "I won't ever bother you again, Chloe."
As he roared away, she hurtled the tape after him, and lifted her middle finger.
******
**It's tearing you apart
You haven't got the heart
You sit there and complain
It seems a little strange** ('Good Morning!')
"Alexander," Lionel Luthor said calmly, for the eighteenth time, "you need to come to this party."
Rolling his eyes, Lex propped his bare feet on his desk and switched the portable phone receiver to his other ear. "Dad, you can handle a pubilicity soiree on your own; not that you'll be socializing much."
"That's why I need you, son. You can entertain the guests."
"No, Dad," Lex barked. The last thing he wanted was to go to a lame party 'celebrating' the Smallville plant's tenth anniversary, or some such pointless occasion. "Hire some strippers if you want to keep 'the masses' entertained," he added sarcastically.
"Har har," Lionel shot back, his tone leading Lex to believe that one of his father's personal 'female servants' was going to be on hand, wearing very little clothing as she passed out drinks.
Lex was sick of business; sick of being told what to do. If his father would allow him to run his own life, the younger Luthor would have no qualms about runing the plant. Lionel, however, had Lex on a very short, choking leash. "Goodbye, Dad," he said flatly, cutting Lionel off midsentence by pressing the 'end' button on the phone.
******
**Hit the town
Still dressing down
Looking for some action** ('That Says it All')
"Hello, this is Pete. I can't come to the phone, but I really, really, really wish I could, since talking to you is much more entertaining than what I'm doing right now. Leave the usual info, so I can get back to you as soon as I'm done with whatever monotonous task I'm currently forcing myself to accomplish. *BEEP*."
Chloe grinned to herself when hearing her best friend's new answering machine message. Stretching out on the long rug that covered most of the wooden floor in the 'living room' area of the apartment, she thought about what to say. "Pete, it's me. Um..."
*Click*. "Clo, how's it going?" a deep, cheerful male voice greeted her.
"Clark left me," Chloe announced, by way of pleasantries.
"He's done that before," Pete reminded her calmly.
*Don't lash out* "Uh huh; for good, this time."
Her best friend winced. "Ouch. You know how you can cheer up? Come with me to the shindig in Smallville tonight. Paul was going to go, but his schedule doesn't allow it." (Paul, Pete's boyfriend of several years, was a stage actor. His rehearsals were often at weird times.)
Pete worked at the Planet as well, doing the Society page; whenever there was a Big Event, he was there, camera and notepad in hand, to describe the goings-on. "How would mingling with a bunch of old people, who have no interest in fertilizer, be fun? Anyway, don't I need to be invited?" Spending time with him would cheer her up, she knew, even if she had to suffer through a bland party to do it.
Muffled, background noises led her to believe that Pete was either calling from the office, or Paul had come home, looking for a kiss. "It'll be fun because you'll be with *me*, dear. I'm always allowed to bring a guest. I'll even take your picture, and put you on the page. Pick you up at six." He hung up without another word; as was his wont.
That left her two hours. Getting off the floor, Chloe quickly changed into a classy, deep red evening gown (she owned exactly one, for nights such as that one); after that, she had a quick snack (chips and salsa), then curled up on the couch to spend some quality time with Oscar Wilde (her one true obsession).
******
**Some say, it's all
Coming to an end
Some fool themselves
With thoughts of
New beginnings** ('In Between')
The next morning, Lex opened the Planet to the Society page, wanting to see what he missed the evening before; he didn't really care, he just wanted to see which Important Members of the Rich, Snotty Community were in attendance. "Ha, the Hardwicks," he muttered, sticking his middle finger (the paper was lying flat on his desk, leaving his hands free) up at Sir Harry and his trampy daughter; both were sneering at the camera.
The Luthors and the Hardwicks didn't get along (Lionel and Harry were competitors), but Lex especially didn't like them; Victoria had tried to seduce him on many occasions (they once attended boarding school together), only because she wanted to back stab him later. It didn't work, since, at the time, Lex had been more interested in finishing his education than enjoying bimbos. (The 'finishing his education' part had since changed to, 'getting through business school as soon as possible so I can run my own life, and not be under my father's thumb for the rest of my existence', but he still had no real interest in using women for their bodies.)
His bright eyes skimmed the rest of the page; there were a few more prominent business men (and their trophy wives) that he recognized, but no one incredibly interesting. The only person he didn't know was a blonde woman who was smiling slyly at the camera. The caption read, 'Local reporter Chloe Sullivan fits right in with the jetset.'
How anybody could smile sincerely (the woman's smile was honest and open, even though it was almost a smirk) at one of Lionel Luthor's gatherings was beyond Lex. "Whomever she is," he mused, closing the paper and turning on his laptop to get started on a paper he had due, "she obviously isn't a businesswoman. I wonder why she was there." Though he wanted to give it more thought, he soon found himself engrossed in his writing.
******
**Oh, darling
Don't you know
The darkness comes
And the darkness goes** ('She Runs Away')
It hadn't been a horrible event; she'd stayed by Pete's side, whispering obnoxious comments in his ear as he snapped photos of various debutantes that were decked out in evening wear. She was never one to be jealous of that life, though Pete confessed he sometimes was. Chloe herself had been happier insulting the pretentious businessmen as they'd talked stocks and told unfunny jokes in a huge clump (talking and laughing way too loudly to be sincere), and making rude remarks to men who'd checked her out too obviously.
"What?" she'd snapped at a very old man (who had a busty blonde clinging to him), whose eyes darted up and down her lithe body. "Is one underage, money-grubbing sex slave not enough?"
The busty blonde had shot venom at Chloe with her gaudily made up eyes. "At least I mean something to the people here, unlike you; the cameraman's date. How much is he paying you an hour?" was the sugary sweet reply.
"Wow," Chloe had retorted calmly, "that grade school education of yours really paid off. When are you going into middle school, dear?"
The blonde had huffed off (the old geezer not far behind), just as Pete had returned from taking a few more photos. They'd gone out to eat at a calm restaurant shortly after that; not before Pete had taken a photo of a very smug Chloe (she got such a rush out of being obnoxious, sometimes).
The day after, however, she was perfectly content to lounge around in jeans and a t-shirt. (It was a Saturday, so she didn't work.) She spent almost all morning sitting in a local bar, reading Oscar Wilde poetry and drinking water; it was her favorite way to pass time.
"Chloe, honey," Miranda (the green-haired bartender who Chloe had gotten to know during her frequent visits to the tiny establishment) began with a grin, cracking a mouthful of gum.
Raising her index finger as a way of saying, 'just a second', Chloe quickly finished a page before darting her eyes to meet Miranda's. "Yeah, Mir?"
"Why are you so miserable?" the other woman (whose voice was undercut with a southern accent) asked sweetly, leaning her elbows on the bar.
The blonde woman frowned. "I'm not."
A snort as the bartender poured a few shots of vodka for a happy couple. "How's Clark?"
(Clark used to accompany Chloe to the bar occasionally, even though he wasn't a drinker, either.) "He left," the reporter said fliply, going back to her reading.
"There, I knew you were miserable. You should put out a personal ad; that's how I met Gabe." (Miranda's boyfriend was a mild-mannered bouncer for a night club; he visited his girlfriend at work sometimes, and they were so disgustingly in love with each other that Chloe found herself rolling her eyes whenever she saw them.)
"No, Miranda; I'm perfectly fine being single." It was true, though most people Chloe told that to (Pete, her father, Miranda, her coworkers) had an impossible time believing it. "I should get home, Mir; might be having dinner with a friend & his boyfriend tonight." Slipping her book under one arm, she pulled a few crumpled bills out of her jeans' pocket with her other hand.
The bartender flattened and counted them. She took what Chloe owed her for the water, then pocketed the rest; Chloe always left a lot more for tip than she needed to. "Thanks, dear. Have a great evening."
On her way to the door, Chloe skillfully maneuvered through a throng of city men. "Sorry," a male voice whispered as he bumped into her on his own way out.
Chloe met the bright blue eyes briefly and smiled a bit. She didn't stop to get a look at the polite man, though she managed a quick, 'that's okay,' in response to his apology.
The phone was ringing as she hurried up the steps to her second floor apartment. Bolting inside the cheerful, purple room, she dove for the receiver just as her answering machine kicked on. "Hello!"
"Clo, heya," Pete said chipperly.
"Pete...hi." She was gasping for breath.
"Bad time?" Pete teased, implying that she'd been doing a lot more than running up a flight of stairs.
"No, just got home from the bar." She knew what he was thinking, and didn't care; he was always like that. "Are we still going out tonight?" While she held the phone with one hand, she kicked her boots off and rubbed her sore, bare feet with the other.
A pause while Pete and Paul held a quick chat. "Uh," Pete said distractedly, "Paul's got a show tonight; just announced. Wanna go?"
Of course she did. "Of course I do." (She'd have to wear her dress, but she'd suffer in order to see Paul 'do his thing'.)
Wrestling sounds, then Paul said, "hey, darling. You're going to come tonight?"
A sly grin filled Chloe's face as she headed to the bedroom with the phone. Off went her jeans, and she quickly lifted her white t-shirt over her head. "I'll always come for you, Paul," she said breathlessly, in a mock sexy tone.
Her best friend's boyfriend laughed. "That a girl. But what will we tell Pete?"
"Chloe, stop flirting with my boyfriend!" Pete yelled in the background.
Instead of her fancy dress (the playhouse wasn't as upscale as it could have been), Chloe opted for a calf-length, charcoal gray A-line skirt and a forest green tank top with wide, lacy straps. "He was flirting with me first, Pete," she shot back, getting on her hands and knees to dig around on the floor.
"Paul, stop flirting with my best friend!" Pete amended.
"Aha," Chloe whispered, finding the long green jacket that she'd bought for plays but never worn. "So, is Pete going to pick me up, or should I meet him?" (The couple was busy play-fighting, and she hated to interrupt, but she needed to know their specific plans.)
"Uh," Paul began. Chloe headed for her small, blue and white bathroom. "Pete says he'll meet you in the lobby in half an hour." She slipped her fingers underneath the running faucet, and cupped some water. Her damp fingers ran through her mussed hair, straightened and moistening it. Once it looked less disheveled, she carefully put it up in a low ponytail. It was hard to do while holding the phone with one shoulder, but she managed.
"Great, break a leg, Paul. Tell Pete he'd better be on time."
A chuckle. "Thanks, doll. He'll be there, else I'll break his legs."
"Kinky."
They both chuckled. "Bye, Clo."
"Bye, Paul."
Setting the phone on the shelf mounted on the wall (she'd hang it up later), Chloe surveyed her appearance. She wasn't one for dressing up, but it was an important occasion; make up was in order. She gritted her teeth as she brushed a dab of pale green shadow on her eyes, then smeared a light layer of coral lipstick over her mouth.
Kissing her reflection (leaving an imprint of her lips on the glass), she grinned. It was time to go get some culture.
******
**I keep trying to understand
This thing and that thing...
I guess I'll let you know
When I figure it out** ('Half-Life')
Lex didn't understand why his father forced the bimbo on him; Sandra was leggy, foreign, and blandly beautiful. Lionel had called his son before Lex went to the playhouse (seeking a reprieve from the grind of work), to say that the car would be arriving with 'a guest'. The Luthor heir was to 'take the guest out'.
Lionel meant for Lex to charm her with wine and dancing, then bed her; it smelled of a business deal. However, Father Luthor needed to learn that Lex had better things to do than screw a random bimbo. If he had to take her out, he wasn't going to change his plans; besides, the woman pobably would benefit from exposure to the arts.
He had a box at the semi-fancy, old fashioned playhouse (actually, Lionel did), but he didn't take advantage of it; Lex liked to mingle. He pulled Sandra along behind him, as he scoped out the floor for a good spot.
Four rows, center, from the front, there was a pair of empty seats; yes, they were at the aisle (he preferred being in the center), but they would do. He gratefully lowered his tired person onto one of the plush, soft, reclining seats. (Next to him, Sandra did the same, leaving one of her manicured hands on his thigh.)
Ignoring her, Lex found his opera glasses in the pocket of his black jacket, then flipped through the program; the play was a critically acclaimed work, about the things a young man discovered when visiting his estranged family for the first time in a decade. *Someone probably had a scandalous affair, somebody else probably swindeled money from whatever company he or she worked for, somebody else was probably secretly rich* Lex decided, having seen too many plays with the same basic plot.
Sandra was rambling, in her thick, European accent, about something vapid, so Lex gazed around the crowd with his tiny binoculars. There were the usual Bohemian-types; there were those who saw every play put on because they loved theatre; there were those who went to every play put on because it made them look good; there were Met U theatre majors who went to learn a thing or two; and there were those whom he couldn't put into any category.
On the left side of the rather large theatre, he noticed a young woman doing the same thing he was. An African American man was next to her, and every so often she'd crack a smile at something he whispered. Lex decided they were very close friends; not lovers because their hands never touched. (It was amazing how closely he could look with his binoculars.) The woman seemed to notice his staring; she smiled and waved. He waved back (a little embarrassed that she'd caught him), then saw another woman approach the one he was watching; obviously the first woman hadn't been waving at Lex.
The lights dimmed then, causing Lex to focus his attention on the stage. The only people he'd be watching were the actors now.
******
**Maybe that's coincidence
Maybe that's alright
..People say I should..
Leave it up to destiny...** ('On Her Mind')
The play had been wonderful; as the star, Paul had outdone himself, receiving a standing ovation. Chloe had never been so proud. She'd run into her good friend Lois before the show started, so the two women had left Pete & Paul, once the show ended, to go catch up over coffee.
Sunday (the next day), Chloe went back to Miranda's bar. She craved the quiet (hopefully Miranda didn't feel chatty) and anonimity; more than anything she wanted to just sit at a corner table (if Miranda wouldn't shut up), reading Oscar and losing herself. It wasn't her way of hiding from the world (as Pete said), it was her way of unwinding.
Luckily, the bar was crowded enough that the bartender was kept busy. Breathing in the familiar, smoke-laced air, Chloe settled onto her usual stool and opened 'An Ideal Husband' for the ninety-billionth time. During some point, Miranda had noticed that her most loyal customer was back; when Chloe glanced up from her reading briefly, a tall glass of ice water was sitting in front of her on a napkin. Raising it to her friend in thanks, Chloe sipped it.
When someone slid onto the stool next to hers, Chloe didn't look up; sometimes she liked seeing who else was there (and making up a story about the person), but she was too engrossed in Lord Goring's exploits.
"'Morality is simply the attitude we adopt towards people whom we personally dislike,'" a man said suddenly.
Whomever he was, he had to be addressing her; most people don't quote Oscar Wilde to strangers unless they have a good reason. Darting her head up, Chloe found herself looking at a pair of mischievious, dancing blue eyes, the owner of whom was handsome and bald.
"'..so, at least, I'm told at the club by people who are bald enough to know better'," she shot back, smiling warmly at him.
He returned the smile with a grin. "I don't mean to disturb you, but I noticed what you were reading," he said politely.
Upon second look, he was very handsome, and seemed very friendly. "Do you always flirt with strange women using Oscar's words?" Chloe wondered innocently. She staightened up (having been leaning against the bar casually), tugging on her black long-sleeved shirt.
He cocked his head to the side and pursed his nice lips. "I'm going to assume that was rhetorical."
She chuckled and took a long sip of water. *Wow, he has a great smile.* "It can be taken that way."
His outfit (silky white shirt, well-cut khakis) seemed expensive (he was probably one of the many 'elite, rich types' who lived in Metropolis), but he looked stifled in it; as though he'd be more relaxed in jeans and a faded band shirt. "My name's Lex; Alexander if you hate me."
Chloe laughed and held out her hand. "Chloe; plain 'Sullivan' if you're demanding a deadline."
Lex cracked a wry smile, gripping her hand firmly. He had the handshake of a businessman. "*The Daily Planet*," he guessed.
Releasing his hand, Chloe felt herself tingle all over. "Yes, how'd you know?"
A smirk from Lex, who tipped back a shot of vodka before replying. "Everybody either works for the *Planet*, or commutes to Smallville to work for the *Ledger*."
That was true. "And what about you, Lex?" Chloe asked, finding herself flirting.
He adopted her earlier pose, leaning against the bar comfortably. "I'm going to graduate school at Met U; don't really have time to work. My father's, um, well-off." He was genuinely embarrassed, and Chloe was charmed.
Her book was long forgotten. "Lex, if this isn't too forward, can I buy you a drink?"
His eyes twinkled. "Even though I was just going to ask you that same question, I'm always willing to let a woman buy me stuff."
Chloe bought them both another round.
She didn't leave the bar for another hour and a half,holding her book, and a cocktail napkin with Lex's number scrawled on it. Instinct told her that there was something in store for Lex and herself, though she wasn't crossing her fingers; let fate do what it would.
FINIS