Diplopia
Notes: Originally appeared in my LJ.
Chloe had truly believed that she'd let go.
Thinking back, she couldn't even count the number of times that she'd told
herself that it was over, that Clark Kent was simply not worth the grief he
caused her. Sweet, but completely and inexplicably clueless about how Chloe
felt, about how much it hurt every single time he didn't choose her. So,
although she didn't have even a ballpark figure on the number of times she'd
conceded defeat, she could easily recall specific instances.
The first time she'd entered the barn without warning and realized Clark was
using that telescope for something other than viewing constellations. Clark, who
had sworn up and down that he had no interest in girls at all, had been
passively stalking Lana Lang for God only knew how long. At least he'd been
embarrassed about it, but that was poor consolation to Chloe, all things
considered.
When Sean had nearly turned her into a popsicle, Clark had been there; he'd
saved her. The hug and the way Clark had hovered over her -- so protective; so
worried -- had given Chloe a little hope that maybe this time... But he'd been
gone less than a second after Lana's name had passed Chloe's lips. After giving
herself a mental ass kicking for providing the reminder, she'd said the words
into the empty air that still seemed to hold the heat of Clark even after his
swift departure -- "Never again."
Not the first time she'd uttered those words, and certainly not the last. Justin
had given her hope, because she'd truly felt something for him, something beyond
a simple physical attraction. That was a first for her since Clark had stumbled
into her life, all gangly limbed and sweet smiled. Justin had been the first to
want her that she'd wanted back, and so she'd made that promise to herself one
more time, intending to keep it and actually hopeful of success for once.
Too bad that Chloe attracted the homicidal type. When she'd regained
consciousness in the Kents' barn, finding herself clutched in Clark's arms, a
random thought had drifted through that it was probably a good sign that Clark
saw her as just a friend. She'd hate to see the consequences if he did, so it
really was better that he didn't notice her in "that way".
Except that he had.
Fingers closing over hers at the Talon, not letting go, and when she'd looked
up, her eyes still shaded with a vague haze of shock, Clark had been looking
back at her. *Really* looking for once. She felt like he was seeing a girl
rather than just a friend, and God, that was like floating. She'd been surprised
that her feet had stayed on the ground, and the flight of fancy direct from a
Rogers and Hammerstein musical had made her chuckle.
It didn't take long to come crashing back down.
Mr. Fordman's funeral, and the Longing Lana Gazes had returned in full force.
She was only half angry at Clark and Lana over it. The hottest portion of her
rage was self-directed, because she should have known better. She *did* know
better, but she'd allowed herself to be swayed by a moment caught in sincere
green eyes and a special smile.
Never. Again.
Then the latest in the never-ending supply of Chloe-specific homicidal maniacs
had decided that she would look perfect inside a custom built coffin. Shuddering
in the dark, screaming until her lungs ached, scratching at the coffin lid until
her nails broke and her fingers bled, Chloe had held on to one thing
-- Clark will find me --
She'd cried for her mother and for her father and to God, but she'd only had
hope for rescue from Clark. She'd *known* that Clark would save her, and she'd
never been more grateful or less likely to gloat in victory over being right
than when he'd opened the lid and lifted her out. Like no one else, Clark made
her feel safe.
At the hospital, Chloe had watched Clark and Lana lingering in the doorway
before they entered. She was prepared that time, simply waiting for the minute
that they shared one of those inappropriate looks and she'd be praying for the
energy to leap out of bed and choke them both. The danger had passed, so it was
time for Clark's focus to return to it's usual target.
It hadn't happened, and that was the biggest shock of all.
Clark's eyes had barely lifted from Chloe the entire time the three of them were
in the room. Chloe was grateful for Lana's help, she truly was, but watching
them leave together... She couldn't keep quiet, no matter how pathetic it might
seem to the two of them. She had been genuinely terrified, and for once when she
needed Clark...
He'd chosen *her*.
Clark had stayed, Lana had left, and Chloe had made every attempt to relax. It
had been easier with Clark there, the warmth of protection wrapping her up
tight, and she'd actually managed to fall asleep. It was only later, back at
home and calmed down somewhat, that Chloe put the pieces together of what had
happened in that room. Clark had finally put her first.
It had been a heady sensation, and Chloe'd felt the "lighter than air"
sensation again. She didn't even mind the inevitable crash, because she had felt
prepared for it.
What she hadn't been prepared for was Clark continuing to choose her, even with
the danger past. He'd asked her to the formal, had even apologized for not
asking sooner, and Chloe hadn't lied when she'd said it was worth the wait. It
was, to know that he'd done it because he wanted to and not because she'd
prompted him with subtle (okay, not so subtle) mentions of it like that time in
the loft.
So now, Chloe is walking out of the barn, and that sappy Vanessa Williams song
is playing in a repeat loop inside her head. Amazingly enough, she's not annoyed
by it, though it may be a case of her being unannoyable at the moment. And
really, it seems like an appropriate soundtrack to Chloe's personal musical.
She not only has a date for the formal; it's the date she wanted rather than a
substitute. Not that she'd had much time to go looking in between near-death
experiences, but still.
"Save the best for last" indeed. Chloe doesn't even think she'd
complain if snow suddenly fell in plastic flakes from the spring sky to catch in
her eyelashes and refuse to melt. The lack of reality she's experiencing calls
for poorly executed weather effects from a music video.
Who needs reality anyway? Chloe prefers to float.
She climbs into her car and heads for the highway, placing a call to her dad
when she stops for gas to let him know she's going shopping in Metropolis and
will be home late. Nothing she'd seen in the Smallville shops would work for
this date. The pink dress was nice, but Chloe's not looking to shatter the
illusion any sooner than necessary by wearing Lana's signature color.
Pink and innocent isn't the image she wants to convey anyway. She wants
something sophisticated and elegant that suits her coloring. She wants to make
sure the blinders are permanently knocked from Clark's vision. The perfect dress
for her perfect night, and she can almost see the right design as she pulls off
the exit that will take her to Harlow Drive.
Maybe something in red.
-- The End --