Once, back when Lana Lang was nothing more than the pretty girl Clark worshipped from afar and Lex Luthor was just some rich kid who got the occasional mention in the Inquisitor for his Metropolis clubbing exploits, Chloe borrowed her dad's work computer, booted up its flashy graphics program and, with the help of Clark's latest school picture, composed a portrait of what their first child together would look like. She was a girl, with Chloe's nose and Clark's lips and cheekbones, and Chloe almost printed out her picture before realizing the absurdity of what she was doing and deleting the whole thing.
She's never had such sentimental notions about the man she's with now. Marriage, children, love - the very idea that these things could have been factors in their relationship is laughable. Even now, as she watches him lying beside her, eyes closed, completely still - a situation that should inspire all sorts of tender thoughts, perhaps of how innocent he looks, or how peaceful -- she feels nothing other than a vague sense of victory. Innocent and peaceful are, after all, ridiculous adjectives to apply to Lionel Luthor at any time.
Still she watches him, this man who took her virginity, as she lies naked in this bed where she gave it to him. The bed is not Lionel's. It is his son's, and has the 300-thread-count lavender sheets to prove it. She thinks of the younger man - he and Helen must have been the last to have sex here. She can imagine him pressing Helen into the mattress, see Helen's dark curls spread over the pillow Chloe rests her head on now, hear the intertwined gasping and moaning that must have matched their intertwined bodies. Sex with Lionel was nothing like that. It had all been function over form, and Chloe had been glad.
They, along with what seemed to be half the state of Kansas, had attended Lex and Helen's funeral today, stood with heads bowed around caskets just as empty as Chloe felt. It had been two weeks since search teams had pulled the wreckage of the newlywed's LuthorCorp jet from the bottom of the Caribbean Sea, over a hundred miles from any land capable of supporting life for the months they'd been missing.
Months that Clark, too, had been missing.
The Kents had come to the funeral. Their dark clothes had hung awkwardly from their bodies, emphasizing the pale, pinched look that comes from lack of sleep and losing too much weight in too short a period of time. It was a look familiar to Chloe; in addition to the Kents and Lana, it was becoming more and more pronounced in herself.
Lionel, however, did not have that problem. Oh, he certainly had no problem making sad faces and solemn speeches for the public, but alone with Chloe he acted no different than he had when Lex was still using this bed. He hadn't so much as flinched when Chloe had led him there earlier in the evening, not long after the last of the funeral functions had been completed. He had only commented with mild amusement on the appropriateness of her panties and bra being black along with her dress. She had selected the set that morning not so much for the funeral but more because they were the only remotely sexy pair she owned, and she knew that after the day's events she was finally going to allow Lionel to fuck her.
It had been easier than Chloe had thought it would be. She hadn't panicked, hadn't felt any fear at all - not when they Lionel had unclasped her bra, not as she had watched him roll on the condom, not even as he had slid into her and the pain had begun. That had been bad, but she supposed the physical pain made up for the emotional pain she ought to have felt. When Lionel came, all she could think was that she had finally done what Clark would never even allow himself to realize he wanted, and had been fucked by a Luthor.
Clark always fell in love with the exact sort of person she could never be.
But there was at least one thing Chloe and Lex Luthor had in common: When they wanted information, they would sacrifice anything to get it. As of late she and Lex, and Lionel, had all wanted information on the same subject: Clark. Now Lex was gone, Lionel thought Chloe could fill in whatever historical and personal gaps still remained in his knowledge, and Chloe had done what was necessary to find out what exactly it was Lionel knew in the first place.
She'd agreed to Lionel's terms because Clark had to be found, and she knew that with enough fact-gathering anything could be found. She'd sought out such an arrangement because if she could save Clark, if she could do this thing that no one else seemed capable of, maybe Clark would finally see her as someone special. She'd selected Lionel to get this information from because Lionel was a threat to Clark, and before a threat could be destroyed it first had to be assessed.
Chloe had finished assessing.
She stared across at Lionel's body, splattered with her blood and his own, one last time before slipping out of the bed. She dressed and left the castle, left Smallville, without looking back. Somewhere out there Clark was waiting for her.
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