Couple: ChLex

Rating: PG, maybe PG13

Disclaimer: Still own nothing.

Spoilers for: Season One, to be safe; this happens after Hug but before the premiere of S2

Feedback: Please. Constructive criticism keeps me happy.

Author's Note: I'm testing this, to see how it goes. This part starts to fill in the gaps between Lex's offer and the ending (in 'Lex's Confidante...'). If this part goes over well, I'll do a few more until I reach a satisfactory conclusion. Be warned --Superman, and their research, may not be a big part (I'm not that comfortable writing about that, since I don't know much about the comics and whatnot). Lex's POV.

Chloe Sullivan's Partner in Crime

Chloe does intrigue me --very much so. She's one of the most enigmatic people I've ever met (and I've met several). That, however, is not why I made the proposition. She never did ask why that day, so I haven't yet told her.

She has potential. Potential to be an amazing journalist, potential to make some lucky guy fall insanely in love with her, potential to destroy Clark Kent and all that for which he seems to stand.

That doesn't mean I plan to destroy him. I just know that Chloe has the capability to do so --I see it in her expression when she's going after a story. Her eyes get hungry and intense, her voice gets this...hard edge to it that's different from sarcasm --it's deeper, more cutting.

And the things she writes...I'd been surfing the Torch website for months before I approached her, to make sure she could help me. She has a dramatic grasp of the English language, first of all --her words have a certain elegant quality to them. The stories themselves aren't much, but that's the principal's fault. He has a chokehold over her, though I know she's tried to slip through his fingers in the past --for that, she's been reprimanded.

The first time it happened (Clark told me; this was before Chloe and I formally met), I wanted to drop by the school and tell Principal Kwan (may he rest in...contentment) that he had no idea what true journalism was if he was going to kick her around every time she tried to express herself...I'm-a-Luthor-Give-her-the-Torch-back-or-you'll-be-in-serious-trouble..etcetera, etcetera.

Under my wing, I believe, she'll act on her courage and write the things she really wants to write --investigate all the mutants she wants, and so forth. Why do I care so much? Simple: I love a good challenge.

"Hello, Luthor," she greets me, marching into my office, having come straight from school. (It's a few weeks after she accepted my offer.)

"Miss Sullivan," I return, darting my eyes from my laptop long enough to give her a smile. It's not forced.

"What are you working on?" she asks. She kneels on the floor in order to remove a file folder from her backpack. "I found some stuff on Clark's past feats." She hands me the folder, then comes around to my side of the desk.

I sit back in my chair to peruse the information: standard stuff about his being in the right place at the perfect time a little too often. I've seen most of it before, but I'm impressed by her handiwork. "How'd you acquire this, Miss Sullivan?" (My eyes naturally take in her form as she leans against the desk; her crimson shirt slides up her back, revealing white silk underwear beneath jeans. I'm tempted to run my finger over the waistband, but I stop myself.)

Her head tilts so our eyes meet, her familiar smirk lights up her face. "I'm just that good, Mister Luthor." She flips her hair back and taps a few keys on my laptop. "I can't believe you never told me about the octagon." Her brow furrows in a way that's completely sexy. (I can appreciate her aesthetic values as well as her brilliance.)

"Sorry," I say, not quite meaning it.

"Bite me," she retorts distractedly. Her fingers are rushing across the keys again.

My eyes lift from another document in the folder long enough for me to ask, "now what are you doing?"

Aha. She's looking at the re-enactment of The Porsche Incident. (Her eyes have that glow again.)

"That doesn't make sense, Lex," Chloe tells me.

"Mmm?" I'm busy reading her article on Eric Summers, the student she dubbed 'Super Boy'. It's a fair and concise story (describing him and his feats), but she presents no theories as to why he suddenly developed the weird abilities, then lost them just as abruptly.

A hand connects sharply with the back of my head. "Watch," she orders.

"Yes'm," I shoot back, smirking.

She rests on the arm of my chair, then takes my hand and uses it to activate the re-enactment once again. I've seen it about a thousand times, but when a sexy, incredibly intelligent woman wearing white silk underwear tells you to do something...even I, Lex Luthor, will do it.

"The impact of your car alone should have killed him, yes? You hit him straight on." She plays it again.

"Presumably. I've thought of that before, Miss Sullivan."

Naturally, she continues as though I haven't spoken. "Even if it didn't kill him, it would certainly knock the wind out of him. He'd fall into the water, gasp for breath, and drown. Yet, despite all that, he had enough strength to pull you out --after he-"

"-ripped the roof off my car with his bare hands. Yes." I'm not annoyed, I just want to get somewhere. She's shifted a bit, and her hip is dangerously close to my fingers.

Her head rotates and she fixes me with a Death Glare. "Don't interrupt me, Mister Luthor." Her voice borders on flirtatious.

"You dare take that tone with me?"

"I dare to do whatever I damn well please."

I like this girl.

"Now, can I finish? Or, since you get such immense joy out of hearing yourself talk, should I just leave and not tell you my theory?" Her eyes are hard, her lips are curved into a tighter smirk.

I like this girl a lot.

For a split second, I'm unable to think of anything to say --whether on purpose or not, she allows her knee to brush mine. (I close my eyes and tell myself to focus.) "Please, tell me your theory." Truth be told, I love hearing her speak. Hell, she could read a phonebook out loud, and I'd tape it to listen to it over and over again. But I digress.

"Meteor rocks," she says proudly.

I snicker. "I thought of that already."

There's that look again. "I'm not finished," Chloe tells me, punctuating the statement with a slap to my forehead, "so shut up, Luthor."

I shut up.

"Maybe this is a stretch, but what if Clark was around here when the meteors fell? When I ask him where he was that day, he always says the Kents hadn't adopted him yet. Combining that with how uncomfortable Lana's necklace makes him --notice he's conveniently never around when she's wearing it-- maybe he's got some weird allergic reaction to the rocks because of overexposure during the shower."

Man, she talks quickly.

I see what she's getting at, even though I can't quite figure out how all the pieces fit. "Why would he lie about where he was, then, Chloe?" I have an inkling of an idea, but I want to see where she takes it.

A pause. She picks up a pen and begins to chew on it. (Never mind that I spent a hundred dollars for it.) I can't take my eyes from her. "Maybe he was abandoned by his parents, or they were killed like Lana's, and he feels weird discussing it."

"So, you're saying the Kents found him?" I ask.

She shrugs, removes the pen from her mouth. "Why else would they be so weird about the circumstances of the adoption? Maybe they found him and just took him without checking to see if he was missing --and they feel guilty about not knowing if some family out there is missing their boy."

"That's an interesting theory. What does this have to do with the meteor rocks or Metropolis United?" I suddenly tilt the chair back, prop my feet on the desk, slip my hands behind my head, and watch her regain her balance. (I didn't mean to startle her. I think better when I sit in this position.)

"See, if he was abandoned in the corn field and developed a reaction to the rocks, and the Kents found him in the field and kept him illegally..." She abandons that line of thought. "What if the rocks caused something to happen to him, like all the other freaks here?"

I hold up a hand to stop her before she babbles on. "This is assuming he has this...reaction."

"Do you have a better explanation for any of this?" she wonders flippantly.

"No. I still don't see why, if the Kents just took Clark, they need Metropolis United."

"Are you really this dense, or are you trying to see what I've found out?"

"What do you think?"

Now her eyes are narrow, and her torso is twisting so she can stare at me. "Your father owned Metropolis United." She grabs another file from the folder (I hadn't finished reading them), and shows me something she discovered on the internet. I'm not surprised she's found it.

"So?" I ask, impressed.

"So!" She leaps off the chair, paper in hand, and starts to pace across the rug. "The guilt got to be too much for the Kents, so they went to the one man they knew could be trusted to help them with something semi-illegal-" I let the dig slide; since it's true "-and he arranges this whole 'adoption' thing for a price or a favor or whatever. Now, Jonathan is in Lionel's debt, or Lionel blackmailed him for some reason, and that's why Clark's father hates you and your father." Her chest is heaving as her soliloquy ends, her expression is triumphant.

"You're very good," I tell her honestly, "very good. Did you just think of all that?"

"I spent all of Algebra working on this. Think it's partly true?"

I purse my lips. "I think there's a definite possibility. My father owns almost everything in Metropolis, anyway." Pause. We stare at each other. Yes, I'm in definite lust now. There's something very sexy about the way her mind works. "What about The Porsche Incident?"

She hears the capitalization (she came up with the name) and grins one of those grins of hers. "The meteor rock could have given him some weird abilities. Come on, we've seen jocks who freeze to death then suck heat from their fellow students, boys who turn invisible and try to kill you when you won't date their sisters-" Her eyes twinkle maniacally at this one "-coaches who spew fire when their teams lose-" I read about this "-girls who shapeshift, loners who influence even you-" Again, she gives me a look "-and then Clark. Come on, Lex."

I only nod.

"You figured that out ages ago, didn't you?"

She's either annoyed at me for keeping my thoughts secret, or annoyed at herself for taking this long to figure it out.

"I had my thoughts, Miss Sullivan." I stand and walk to her side.

She faces me, sneering. "You have to stop being such a closed book, Luthor."

"I thought you were perceptive." I remind her of our initial discussion at the Torch.

Her index finger pokes me in the chest. "Sometimes you irritate the hell out of me."

"'Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others'," I say, bouncing lightly on the heels of my feet.

"Oscar Wilde," Chloe tells me instantly, eyebrows raising. "Didn't think you were one for foppish geniuses with stinging wits," she adds. Then she realizes her finger is still on my chest. She slides it downward (stopping just above my navel) and removes it.

"I guess there's quite a bit you don't know about me, Chloe." I'm serious now, waiting to see what she'll do.

She kisses me before I can react --kisses me quickly, but in such a way that I know she's either done it before, or is simply a fast learner.

We stand there, looking at each other defiantly, and I shiver.

"Well, then," Chloe says as though nothing has happened, "I'll see you tomorrow, Luthor." She gathers her things to go.

"We should experiment," I announce.

Chloe turns, bag in hand, hair falling in front of her face. "Clark's not getting hurt, Lex," she reminds me sternly (I begin to wonder if she truly means that, or if she's just trying to be 'the good friend').

"I wasn't talking about Clark." (Well, I was, but that wasn't all.)

Without batting an eye (she gets my meaning), Chloe retorts: "Well, maybe you ought to."

I like this girl a hell of a lot.

"We can talk about Clark tomorrow," she says. "See you then...partner."

She's still snickering halfway down the hall.

******

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