Written for: Fraz
Rating: G. I know. I'm so ashamed.
Requirements: Chloe/anyone female. (Because dammit, she doesn't get anywhere near enough girl-sex fics.) Anything goes, except for mooning over Clark. Chloe has to be more or less over him.
Summary: Chloe might be a little gay.
A/N: Lots of smooches to Madelyn for running the ficathon!
This isn't the worst thing that could have happened to her. There are worse things. Much worse. She isn't molting, freezing people, or sucking the life out of them. She hasn't lost the Torch or been kidnapped by little green men, and that's always a worry with the weirdness of Smallville and the plethora of cornfields.
Really, the town's practically begging for alien abductions.
But, still, it's not good.
Before now, falling for Clark had won as the most hopeless, frustrating, infuriating almost but not quite relationship Chloe has ever had, or not had as the case may be. Now, Chloe wishes for the time when a clueless farmboy with a Kodak smile and a hero complex that shouldn't be half as sexy as it is--was--is, whatever--was her definition of a bad idea.
No, her life is so much more complicated now, and surprise, surprise, it's Lana Lang that's the cause of her relationship angst.
Lana with her jasmine soap--the same kind her mother used, of course. Lana who wears her hair in braids when she goes to bed, who sings Madonna and Sarah McLaughlin in the shower--badly, if Chloe's being honest, and looks like a gerbil when she scrunches up her nose. Lana who's melancholy and walks the line between morbid and clinically depressed more often than the average goth rock star, but--but when it's just the two of them, she's different, sillier, more girl and less fairy princess. Chloe had no idea that would be so weirdly sexy.
Not just weirdly sexy, but really weirdly sexy, if she's being honest. And Chloe hasn't ruled out meteor rocks as the cause of her infatuation with the cute little tank tops Lana wears to bed. It won't surprise her one bit to find out they were adding it to the cafeteria food. The lunch ladies are a bit clannish, and it's the only reasonable explanation for her crush on someone who actually owns a Backstreet Boys CD. Or, it's the only explanation that doesn't necessitate immediate therapy.
"Chloe." Two knocks and the door cracks open, Lana peaking her head through. "Hi." Gerbil smile with the nose crinkling, and there has to be something in the water of Smallville that gives people unnaturally cute grins. "I was going to put on Never Been Kissed, and if you're not busy…"
"I'm not busy," Chloe says, closing her notebook and standing up. Having a semi-freak out doesn't count as busy. "I could do Mr Frailing's homework in my sleep. You don't even have to read the book to answer questions like 'what genre is the novel' and 'what's Maya Angelou's purpose for writing I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings'. Besides, who hasn't read Maya Angelou by the time they're in high school?" Chloe moves to the door, seeing the look on Lana's face that makes it obvious that she hasn't.
"I'll make the popcorn. You can't watch a movie without extra butter. Greasy fingers are essential to the Friday night movie experience."
She follows Lana down the stairs--Lana is way too slow, but the way she can't walk ten feet without turning around to grin at Chloe is enough of a distraction to make it OK--and wonders if a gay woman has already won the Pulitzer.
Maybe she'll be the first.
"David can paint a ten by ten room in three hours. Mark can paint a ten by ten room in five hours. How long will it take them to paint a fifteen by fifteen room together?"
"Too long?" She could be writing the article on the unsafe blocking of the fire doors by the cafeteria and how it violates the fire code, but instead she's stuck at the Talon working on algebra. She's never going to use this when she gets her job at the Daily Planet. "Just give them two and half hours and go out for coffee."
Lana's forehead wrinkles as she bends over, scribbling a fraction on her paper. "I think we're supposed to set this up like this, and if we add the the fractions together..." More scribbles. "Once we figure out how long it takes them to do the room together we multiply the answer by 1.5 for the size of the room, and that should give us the answer."
Chloe hadn't made it to the last three math classes, which happens way too often lately, but it isn't her fault George Harold had been infected with meteor gas. All she'd done was walk by the choir room--four doors away from the Torch's office--and heard him practicing the National Anthem with a range that could put opera singers to shame. Her throat still hurts from two days of talking too loud. At least her ears have stopped ringing.
Ducking her head down, Chloe copies the fraction onto her own paper and starts to solve it when Lana leans over her, soft brown hair touching Chloe's shoulder. Chloe's seriously considering switching to Lana's shampoo and conditioner if it can make her hair feel even half as good.
"Is this right?" She asks, looking up to see Lana's face a few inches from her own, lips parted.
It's quiet for a moment, and when Lana does speak her stuttery voice matches her pink cheeks. This town has definitely given Chloe a weakness for blushes. "Yeah, I--I think…" Bright grin. "It looks good."
And when Lana backs away, bumping into a person behind her and breaking two coffee cups, Chloe thinks it might be a good sign.
She doesn't even mind the cappuccino splatters on her copy of the Torch.
"Can you pass me the milk?" Lana asks as soon as Chloe walks into the kitchen, and it takes all her willpower not to flinch. Lana is cooking again.
Scratch that. Lana is attempting to cook. Attempting being the key word, because Lana doesn't do it well.
This isn't speculation. It's fact.
Before Lana moved in, Chloe and her dad were happy eating boxed cereal, microwave meals, hot dogs and macaroni and cheese, and Hot Pockets could exist indefinitely based solely on the amount consumed in the Sullivan household. And, when they got sick of those, which did happen every month or two, they would drive into the city and have a nice sit down dinner at Vescato or Spanelli's where they'd actually have several food groups at once without it coming from Hungry Man or Lean Cuisine.
This had worked just fine before Lana moved in, but neither Chloe nor her dad have the heart to tell Lana that her cooking was awful. Beyond awful. The word putrid comes to mind, but Chloe feels bad for even thinking it since Lana really does try.
It's not her fault that her potatoes are lumpy, her gravy burned, her meat tough on the outside and nearly cold in the center, and Chloe refuses to even remember the "casserole". That oh so memorable night had Chloe up for two hours trying to convince her dad to get a dog just so they could feed it scraps when Lana wasn't looking.
Her stomach didn't forgive her for days, and she's still thanks god that Lana only has time to do this once a week.
"Thank you," Lana says when Chloe hands her the milk. "Nell used to make clam chowder, and I don't have her recipe, but I watched her make it enough times…"
Chloe watches as Lana pours the milk pot, opening her mouth to ask why the clam chowder is orange before shutting it gain. It's probably best if she doesn't know.
"So, what are you working on?"
"Right now? Nothing. I finished the last edition tonight. It would have been two days ago, but between Clark being disappearo-boy and my computer deciding to freeze… Do you know it's almost impossible to get decent technical support? And I'm not just talking about Smallville. I was on the phone for three hours yesterday and transferred to two different people before they could help. If I find out Pete's using the Torch computers to look at porn again…"
Chloe picks up an apple and takes a few bites, hoping it'll be enough to fill her up so she can beg off dinner and heat something up after Lana's goes to bed.
"OK. I think this is about ready." Lana turns down the heat. "Would you come and," a quick gesture towards the sludge also known as clam chowder, and Chloe can hear the quotation marks her mind puts around that word, "let me know what you think?"
Facial muscles rebelling, Chloe stands and smiles, trying to look enthusiastic. She thinks she's probably failing, but at least there's an attempt being made.
Thick and lumpy--she can hear it's only the clams repeating in her head nonstop--with the color is reminiscent of the orange soda she used to get at McDonald's when she was a kid, it's one of Lana's more frightening creations.
Stifling a grimace, Chloe reminds herself that it can't possibly be as bad as the French thing Lana made with the duck that was nearly quacking it was so raw.
One bite and a suppressed gag flex later, Chloe is realizing that she's either really naïve or she's turning into an optimist.
"It's… That's…" The aftertaste is actually worse than the initial assault on her tastebuds. "Is that cinnamon?" Lana's smile drops with a nearly audible thunk. "It's not everyday you get to have your sweet and salty food together," Chloe says with a laugh. Damage control time. She's seconds away from getting the Lang Lip Quiver, and she has no defense against it. "It's dinner and dessert in one meal."
"I--Nell's was always a bit sweet."
"Well, it is sweet. Really. You have that covered."
Lana leans over and takes a bite before Chloe can stop her, and it's all Chloe can do to stop herself from laughing. It's not every day you see the homecoming queen bent over the sink trying to keep her food… well, maybe it isn't that odd.
Draping an arm around Lana's shoulders, Chloe leans over. "I'm sure there's something we can do to make it--"
"Better. To make it better."
"How long were you going to… I know it's bad, and I thought I'd get better, but I think I'm getting worse." Chloe hugs Lana's shaking shoulders before she realizes Lana's laughing. "It's just so bad. So, so bad. And you were just going to keep eating it, weren't you?"
Chloe shrugs. "We're friends. That's what friends do." She nudges Lana with her hip. "Besides, I've lost two pounds since you moved in, and I can fit in my old jeans again. It's not a complete loss."
Lana turns her head and Chloe has just enough time to catch the soft smile before there are lips pressing against her own. Just the barest scent of cherry flavored lip gloss before they're gone, and Lana's pulling back.
She's not supposed to pull away, Chloe's mind protests until she sees the look on Lana's face.
"No, it's not a complete loss," Lana says quietly.
Sliding a hand up Lana's collarbone to her neck, Chloe pulls Lana in, mouth parting. Lana opens to her, making a soft humming sound that could get addictive.
Oh yeah. Definitely gay.