Fic: Love Letters From Your Dead Best Friend (Chlana-ish)
norwich36 wanted Chlana fic. I'm glad she did, because I like this :) I should write more femslashy stuff, considering that while guys are certainly hot, it's always girls I crush on (and, depressingly, they're always straight. There's this really smart girl in my Cultural Studies class with the most dykey haircut and clothes ever, but it turns out she's married. Eeep.)
Title: Love Letters From Your Dead Best Friend
Rating: PG
Characters: Chloe, Lana
Spoilers: Is set post-"Phantom"
Length: 1960 words
Cover by norwich36!
Three months after Lana dies, the first postcard arrives in Chloe's mailbox. There are bright magenta hibiscus flowers on it, bursting with colour, and the inscription "Greetings from Hawaii". On the back, there's only Chloe's address, written in a hand she doesn't recognize, and the space where the usual platitudes would be is empty. It smells, ever so faintly, of flowers.
"Weird," she says, and maybe she jokes about a stalker to Lois later on. The postcard lands at the bottom of a drawer, forgotten.
A week later, the next one arrives, and seems to clear up the mystery. I miss you, it says. Love, Jimmy. She calls Jimmy on his cell, and he very nearly goes crazy. It wasn't him, he insists, so genuinely worried that Chloe instantly believes him. Jimmy frets, telling her to be careful, until Chloe is annoyed and huffy when she hangs up. It keeps her from telling Clark, because Clark will react the same way, and unlike Jimmy, he's going to hover around her all the time. Since Lana is gone, Clark has been in turns reclusive and clingy.
She stares at the postcard. It's not Jimmy handwriting, which she verifies by looking at the Valentine card he gave her last year, the only piece of his handwriting she has available. Jimmy, who can be endearingly old-fashioned, is very much up-to-date when it comes to text messages and e-mails. The stamp and in the inscription in front of the card are Japanese. The picture is of a Zen stone garden, perfect circles drawn into a bed of pebbles. It's not a Jimmy kind of picture. Chloe frowns at her address written on it in awkward block letters and spends half an hour scouring her apartment for the first postcard, suddenly remembering it. The handwriting doesn't match. She puzzles out the Japanese letters of the postmark next, with the help of the ever-reliable internet. It tells her that he postcard is from Mitaka, a city in Tokyo prefecture that Chloe has never heard of.
The next postcard comes two weeks later - and Chloe has not exactly expected it, but nevertheless feels a thrill of excitement when she finds it. She can't help it, this is a mystery, even though it might be dangerous. This time the card is from Perth, Australia, the city at night, glittering and beautiful, fireworks like stars and comets in the sky. I'm fine, although it is lonely here. There are so many happy people and the sun shines all the time. Love, Jimmy, it says, in the same awkward handwriting as the address.
Who does such a thing? And since when does Chloe have stalkers? It always used to be Lana to whom this kind of thing happened.
She doesn't have to wait long for the fourth card. It's from Puerto Rico, but the image drives chills down Chloe's back: it's the Arecibo Radio Telescope dish, and all she can think is, Clark. This has to do with Clark.
The text confirms it. They're looking for Little Green Men here. It's awfully hot. None of the astronomers are as good-looking as Jodie Foster. Wish you were here, Jimmy.
She sits down in front of her laptop for hours, and finally she has confirmation: there are telescopes on Hawaii, in Mitaka and in Perth.
It gnaws at her, robs her sleep. What is the sender trying to say? That they know about Clark? That they know about Chloe's connection to aliens? Is it Lex? Why do they sign it with "Jimmy"? It has to be someone with money and a sick sense of humour.
But the fifth card changes everything. At first, it seems like just another link in the chain: again without text, it comes from Florence in Italy. A bit of research reveals that there is a small observatory in the outskirts of Florence. The image is of a ceiling painting, angels and saints in pastel colours, in the Uffizi, the most notable art museum of Florence. The postage stamp shows a bust of Niccolo Machiavelli.
There's so much beautiful art here, the card says. I want to create something beautiful myself. I bought a camera, but I haven't used it. When I sit down in my hotel room, all I can summon up are images of anger and regret. If I made something now, it'd be ugly. I think back, and the only thing that doesn't hurt is you. I remember how we used to sit on your bed and laugh all night and I've never needed anything so much. Jimmy.
There's so much despair in the letters, and Chloe's hands shake as realization strikes her like lightning. The card slips from her fingers, sails to the floor. She stares at it, her eyes burning, then picks it up again. Hurries to the others.
I remember how we used to sit on your bed and laugh all night.
And one of their favourite games was picking countries and cities they'd go to after highschool, when they were grown-up, when they'd have money. New York, Chloe's list always began. New York, San Francisco, London.
Lana's list used to start with France. Paris, the Provence, the Côte d'Azur. Italy, Florence and Venice. Japan, the temples in Kyoto. Some tropical island, like Hawaii. The Great Barrier reef in Australia.
And the telescopes. Of course. Whether it's a message about Clark or not, it's definitely a reference to the year Lana studied astronomy. Chloe reads the text on the Arecibo postcard again: They're looking for Little Green Men here. It's awfully hot. None of the astronomers are as good-looking as Jodie Foster. Wish you were here, Jimmy.
Little Green Men. Chloe grins, wipes the tears from her eyes. That's an X-Files episode, and she remembers watching it with Lana when Lana lived with them in Smallville after Nell moved to Metropolis. Lana hated X-Files with a passion, and Chloe was trying to make her see the light. "It's creepy," Lana used to moan. "There's enough stuff here in Smallville to give you nightmares." They never agreed on anything on TV, except hot guys. And Jodie Foster is a reference to "Contact". They watched that movie together, too. Lana loved it to bits. Chloe didn't want to like it, particularly the romance bits. One day Lana came to their shared room at MetU, and told Chloe, all flustered, that one of her fellow astronomy students, some geeky guy, had written her a fervent love letter. You're the girl I've been waiting for since Jodie Foster, it said, all earnest, and Chloe tried to so hard not to laugh.
She sits down, tries to breathe. Brushes back a strand of hair.
Lana. Lana is alive.
But how? Lex killed her. Only he hasn't. Lana is alive and free. Lana is on the run, that's why she signs her postcards as Jimmy, disguises them as love letters. That means, probably, that Lex doesn't know she's alive.
God. Does Lana believe Lex is screening Chloe's letters? Is he?
Chloe bites her lips, tries to concentrate. The postcards are strewn out in front of her on the coffee table. Stone circles, fireworks, flowers, art, a radio telescope. It's so damn risky, so obviously her. But then, no one else knows Lana as well as Chloe. Certainly not Clark, and probably not Lex.
Lana faked her death. All alone, apparently, because Clark's grief is not a lie. When did she learn to do that? It's one of those tricks Lana keeps pulling out of her hat whenever she is driven into a corner and stops waiting for someone to help her, save her. The first time Chloe realized that the little helpless vapid cheerleader was just what people wanted to see, that what Lana was patiently showing them was just for show was when Principal Kwan made her quit the Torch and Lana took over.
She remembers how she and her Dad used to ask Lana what she wanted for dinner. "Whatever you want," Lana used to say and smile, so kindly that it took them weeks to notice Lana never made a suggestion of her own. Chloe cornered her about it.
"I'm a guest," Lana said, uncomfortably. "I don't want to impose."
Chloe was flabbergasted then. "You're not a guest! You live with us. You're part of the family."
Lana nodded and smiled. Only weeks later did she finally give away a little part of the truth. "Nell used to say that all the time," Lana admitted. "'You're part of the family'. But I always felt like the least I could do was try and not be a burden."
"Did she make you feel that way?" Chloe asked. "Like a burden?"
"I don't know," Lana sighed. But Chloe kept watching her from then on, trying to fit into the spaces people offered her. Lana is good at that, at not being a burden. At being the cheerleader to the quarterback, the perfect houseguest, the wife of a Luthor. Only when the things people demand of her clash do the cracks show: when Jason wanted her to be his grown-up girlfriend from Paris and Smallville still wanted her to be everyone's highschool sweetheart, when she realized that she couldn't be Lex's girl and the girl she used to be at once. The endless dance with Clark, that's why they fumbled their steps all the time - Clark never came out and said what he wanted. Lana didn't know how not to be a burden with a boy who believed he was burden himself and it drove her to demand things of him instead - the truth, any sign of who he was and what he needed.
Chloe wonders who she made Lana be. The best friend of a girl who only ever got along with boys and Lois? The girl who stayed up all night and tolerated Chloe's nerdy television choices? Chloe knows she isn't good at saying what she wants herself. Maybe that's why Lana kept forgetting her, so caught up with Clark and Lex. Maybe that's what makes Lana write, I think back, and the only thing that doesn't hurt is you.
But apparently, when she is herself, without Clark or Lex or Chloe to take care of her, she can fake her death and somehow get money enough to travel the world. Did she steal it from Lex? The idea is close to inconceivable. But then, if they had had a divorce, the money would be legally hers.
Chloe wants to find her. But even if she finds her, she can't follow her, can't bring her home. If Lana thinks it isn't even safe to write with her own signature or call or write e-mail, then she either is seriously paranoid - which she never used to be - or has reason to believe that Chloe is being watched. Lana is on her own, all alone, somewhere out there. She has been so for four months, has been nobody's burden, has shaped herself after no one's ideal.
Four months is too early, too risky to follow her. Clark can't know. He'll lose all reason, go after her, if Chloe tells him about this. And Chloe must wait, until the dust has settled and Lex has forgotten Lana. Oh, who is she kidding? Lex won't forget, no more than Clark will. They'll only be distracted. But Chloe won't be. She'll puzzle this out, take all the clues and put them together. Lana is painting already, even if she doesn't realize it. She's painting a map for Chloe, so Chloe will know where she is going. She wonders who Lana will be when she finds her.
Until then all Chloe can do is wait for another love letter from her dead best friend.
Title: Love Letters From Your Dead Best Friend
Rating: PG
Characters: Chloe, Lana
Spoilers: Is set post-"Phantom"
Length: 1960 words
Cover by norwich36!
Three months after Lana dies, the first postcard arrives in Chloe's mailbox. There are bright magenta hibiscus flowers on it, bursting with colour, and the inscription "Greetings from Hawaii". On the back, there's only Chloe's address, written in a hand she doesn't recognize, and the space where the usual platitudes would be is empty. It smells, ever so faintly, of flowers.
"Weird," she says, and maybe she jokes about a stalker to Lois later on. The postcard lands at the bottom of a drawer, forgotten.
A week later, the next one arrives, and seems to clear up the mystery. I miss you, it says. Love, Jimmy. She calls Jimmy on his cell, and he very nearly goes crazy. It wasn't him, he insists, so genuinely worried that Chloe instantly believes him. Jimmy frets, telling her to be careful, until Chloe is annoyed and huffy when she hangs up. It keeps her from telling Clark, because Clark will react the same way, and unlike Jimmy, he's going to hover around her all the time. Since Lana is gone, Clark has been in turns reclusive and clingy.
She stares at the postcard. It's not Jimmy handwriting, which she verifies by looking at the Valentine card he gave her last year, the only piece of his handwriting she has available. Jimmy, who can be endearingly old-fashioned, is very much up-to-date when it comes to text messages and e-mails. The stamp and in the inscription in front of the card are Japanese. The picture is of a Zen stone garden, perfect circles drawn into a bed of pebbles. It's not a Jimmy kind of picture. Chloe frowns at her address written on it in awkward block letters and spends half an hour scouring her apartment for the first postcard, suddenly remembering it. The handwriting doesn't match. She puzzles out the Japanese letters of the postmark next, with the help of the ever-reliable internet. It tells her that he postcard is from Mitaka, a city in Tokyo prefecture that Chloe has never heard of.
The next postcard comes two weeks later - and Chloe has not exactly expected it, but nevertheless feels a thrill of excitement when she finds it. She can't help it, this is a mystery, even though it might be dangerous. This time the card is from Perth, Australia, the city at night, glittering and beautiful, fireworks like stars and comets in the sky. I'm fine, although it is lonely here. There are so many happy people and the sun shines all the time. Love, Jimmy, it says, in the same awkward handwriting as the address.
Who does such a thing? And since when does Chloe have stalkers? It always used to be Lana to whom this kind of thing happened.
She doesn't have to wait long for the fourth card. It's from Puerto Rico, but the image drives chills down Chloe's back: it's the Arecibo Radio Telescope dish, and all she can think is, Clark. This has to do with Clark.
The text confirms it. They're looking for Little Green Men here. It's awfully hot. None of the astronomers are as good-looking as Jodie Foster. Wish you were here, Jimmy.
She sits down in front of her laptop for hours, and finally she has confirmation: there are telescopes on Hawaii, in Mitaka and in Perth.
It gnaws at her, robs her sleep. What is the sender trying to say? That they know about Clark? That they know about Chloe's connection to aliens? Is it Lex? Why do they sign it with "Jimmy"? It has to be someone with money and a sick sense of humour.
But the fifth card changes everything. At first, it seems like just another link in the chain: again without text, it comes from Florence in Italy. A bit of research reveals that there is a small observatory in the outskirts of Florence. The image is of a ceiling painting, angels and saints in pastel colours, in the Uffizi, the most notable art museum of Florence. The postage stamp shows a bust of Niccolo Machiavelli.
There's so much beautiful art here, the card says. I want to create something beautiful myself. I bought a camera, but I haven't used it. When I sit down in my hotel room, all I can summon up are images of anger and regret. If I made something now, it'd be ugly. I think back, and the only thing that doesn't hurt is you. I remember how we used to sit on your bed and laugh all night and I've never needed anything so much. Jimmy.
There's so much despair in the letters, and Chloe's hands shake as realization strikes her like lightning. The card slips from her fingers, sails to the floor. She stares at it, her eyes burning, then picks it up again. Hurries to the others.
I remember how we used to sit on your bed and laugh all night.
And one of their favourite games was picking countries and cities they'd go to after highschool, when they were grown-up, when they'd have money. New York, Chloe's list always began. New York, San Francisco, London.
Lana's list used to start with France. Paris, the Provence, the Côte d'Azur. Italy, Florence and Venice. Japan, the temples in Kyoto. Some tropical island, like Hawaii. The Great Barrier reef in Australia.
And the telescopes. Of course. Whether it's a message about Clark or not, it's definitely a reference to the year Lana studied astronomy. Chloe reads the text on the Arecibo postcard again: They're looking for Little Green Men here. It's awfully hot. None of the astronomers are as good-looking as Jodie Foster. Wish you were here, Jimmy.
Little Green Men. Chloe grins, wipes the tears from her eyes. That's an X-Files episode, and she remembers watching it with Lana when Lana lived with them in Smallville after Nell moved to Metropolis. Lana hated X-Files with a passion, and Chloe was trying to make her see the light. "It's creepy," Lana used to moan. "There's enough stuff here in Smallville to give you nightmares." They never agreed on anything on TV, except hot guys. And Jodie Foster is a reference to "Contact". They watched that movie together, too. Lana loved it to bits. Chloe didn't want to like it, particularly the romance bits. One day Lana came to their shared room at MetU, and told Chloe, all flustered, that one of her fellow astronomy students, some geeky guy, had written her a fervent love letter. You're the girl I've been waiting for since Jodie Foster, it said, all earnest, and Chloe tried to so hard not to laugh.
She sits down, tries to breathe. Brushes back a strand of hair.
Lana. Lana is alive.
But how? Lex killed her. Only he hasn't. Lana is alive and free. Lana is on the run, that's why she signs her postcards as Jimmy, disguises them as love letters. That means, probably, that Lex doesn't know she's alive.
God. Does Lana believe Lex is screening Chloe's letters? Is he?
Chloe bites her lips, tries to concentrate. The postcards are strewn out in front of her on the coffee table. Stone circles, fireworks, flowers, art, a radio telescope. It's so damn risky, so obviously her. But then, no one else knows Lana as well as Chloe. Certainly not Clark, and probably not Lex.
Lana faked her death. All alone, apparently, because Clark's grief is not a lie. When did she learn to do that? It's one of those tricks Lana keeps pulling out of her hat whenever she is driven into a corner and stops waiting for someone to help her, save her. The first time Chloe realized that the little helpless vapid cheerleader was just what people wanted to see, that what Lana was patiently showing them was just for show was when Principal Kwan made her quit the Torch and Lana took over.
She remembers how she and her Dad used to ask Lana what she wanted for dinner. "Whatever you want," Lana used to say and smile, so kindly that it took them weeks to notice Lana never made a suggestion of her own. Chloe cornered her about it.
"I'm a guest," Lana said, uncomfortably. "I don't want to impose."
Chloe was flabbergasted then. "You're not a guest! You live with us. You're part of the family."
Lana nodded and smiled. Only weeks later did she finally give away a little part of the truth. "Nell used to say that all the time," Lana admitted. "'You're part of the family'. But I always felt like the least I could do was try and not be a burden."
"Did she make you feel that way?" Chloe asked. "Like a burden?"
"I don't know," Lana sighed. But Chloe kept watching her from then on, trying to fit into the spaces people offered her. Lana is good at that, at not being a burden. At being the cheerleader to the quarterback, the perfect houseguest, the wife of a Luthor. Only when the things people demand of her clash do the cracks show: when Jason wanted her to be his grown-up girlfriend from Paris and Smallville still wanted her to be everyone's highschool sweetheart, when she realized that she couldn't be Lex's girl and the girl she used to be at once. The endless dance with Clark, that's why they fumbled their steps all the time - Clark never came out and said what he wanted. Lana didn't know how not to be a burden with a boy who believed he was burden himself and it drove her to demand things of him instead - the truth, any sign of who he was and what he needed.
Chloe wonders who she made Lana be. The best friend of a girl who only ever got along with boys and Lois? The girl who stayed up all night and tolerated Chloe's nerdy television choices? Chloe knows she isn't good at saying what she wants herself. Maybe that's why Lana kept forgetting her, so caught up with Clark and Lex. Maybe that's what makes Lana write, I think back, and the only thing that doesn't hurt is you.
But apparently, when she is herself, without Clark or Lex or Chloe to take care of her, she can fake her death and somehow get money enough to travel the world. Did she steal it from Lex? The idea is close to inconceivable. But then, if they had had a divorce, the money would be legally hers.
Chloe wants to find her. But even if she finds her, she can't follow her, can't bring her home. If Lana thinks it isn't even safe to write with her own signature or call or write e-mail, then she either is seriously paranoid - which she never used to be - or has reason to believe that Chloe is being watched. Lana is on her own, all alone, somewhere out there. She has been so for four months, has been nobody's burden, has shaped herself after no one's ideal.
Four months is too early, too risky to follow her. Clark can't know. He'll lose all reason, go after her, if Chloe tells him about this. And Chloe must wait, until the dust has settled and Lex has forgotten Lana. Oh, who is she kidding? Lex won't forget, no more than Clark will. They'll only be distracted. But Chloe won't be. She'll puzzle this out, take all the clues and put them together. Lana is painting already, even if she doesn't realize it. She's painting a map for Chloe, so Chloe will know where she is going. She wonders who Lana will be when she finds her.
Until then all Chloe can do is wait for another love letter from her dead best friend.