Fic: His Girl Friday (7/9)
Fic: His Girl Friday (7/9)
Summary: He had to figure out where they stood. Otherwise, they couldn't go forward
Author: pen37
Beta: Clarksmuse
Fandoms: Smallville/Supernatural/DCU
Characters: Chloe, Sam, Dean, Jo
Pairing:Chloe/Dean
Rating: G
This is a part of the Special Projects series. You can find the rest of the series here.
Written for the Crossovers100 challenge. Prompt #58 Dinner. The table is here.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9a, Part 9b
Dean stared up at the Daily Planet building with a little bit of awe. He'd been here a couple of days ago, but he'd been so focused at getting to Chloe, that he hadn't really taken it in. Now, he touched the fake press pass that Chloe had made for him, and wondered if it would fool anyone.
If Chloe was any indication, then this building was filled to overflowing with sharp, observant, nosy people. Not the kind of folks that he could keep a lie up around for long.
Except that it isn’t a lie, he reminded himself. Chloe created the identity herself. Her cousins would vouch for me. I really am the guy who takes pictures for her. The only real lie is that my last name is Winchester, not Kent.
When he thought about it, it weirded him out that Clark Kent was supposedly his cousin. A guy who Dean had big question marks around regarding any past relationship to Chloe, and a guy who he might want to pound into the ground depending on the answer.
Dean wasn’t an idiot, however. He knew that beating up Chloe’s maybe former crush, and definitely good friend/family member, was no way to get into her heart. So it was probably better for him to avoid Clark all together.
He pasted on a smile and slung Chloe’s camera over one shoulder. He supposed it was actually his now. She’d taken the time to explain it to him, and then abandoned it to him when he’d insisted on going with her on a story that might involve a demon-possessed puppet in Memphis. Since then, she hadn’t bothered to reclaim it. Which was all well and good - he was kind of growing attached to it.
“I’m Dean Kent, freelance photographer,” he muttered to himself as he stepped through the doors - and into a hive of activity. To his surprise, he was instantly put at ease. If buildings had a character - The Daily Planet was Chloe: A classy chick full of motion and activity and purpose. It even smelled like Chloe - or Chloe smelled like it. The faint scent of newspaper and ink and adrenaline. It looked like it could have been the setting for any of those classic, black and white movies that she loved so much.
As he stared at the classic architecture, he felt like Humphrey Bogart or Cary Grant or any of Chloe’s other movie crushes could round the corner at any second.
If a building could flirt, The Daily Planet was making a damned good attempt at seducing him. He shook his head. He already had two women in his life. Chloe and the Impala. It was good that they got along and were willing to share. But adding a third woman to that mix might be trouble. Chloe would understand. The Impala - not so much.
“Kent?” He felt a hand close over his shoulder, and had to fight the urge to throw it off and go on the offensive. Remember? Civilians. He turned his head, and came face to face with an older, shorter, portly man. Dean raised an eyebrow in question.
“Dean Kent?” The older man pointed to Dean’s badge.
“Yes?” Dean squeaked. He hastily cleared his throat. “I mean - of course. Dean Kent. That’s me. Here to see Chloe.”
Since he was staying at her apartment and wanted to have a proper date with her; Chloe had suggested that he pick her up at work.
“We can start with a tour of the building, and I can show you my Pulitzer,” she’d said with that grin that left him feeling kinda squishy inside. Given the state of her apartment when he’d found her, he wondered if maybe The Planet was more home to her than the actual apartment.
Here in the present, the short guy gave him a version of that mysterious I know something you don’t smile that Chloe was famous for. Dean wondered whether it was something that all reporters did.
“Sullivan? She’s actually up in the newsroom,” the old dude said. He stretched his hand out in greeting. “Perry White.”
“Sir,” Dean nodded in greeting.
“Your dad was in the military, wasn’t he?” Perry said with an exasperated sigh. “At least you didn’t call me chief.”
“If you prefer?”
“Great Caesar’s Ghost! Of course not!” He nodded toward the elevator. “Come ride up with me, Kent.”
Dean wasn’t sure what was going on. He’d half-listened to Chloe’s long, rambling, teasing conversations with White enough to know that she nearly considered him to be a long-lost uncle. But Dean hadn’t been aware that White even knew he existed.
As soon as the doors closed, White gave him another one of those smiles. “Related to the Smallville Kents? Clark and his mom - Senator Kent?”
“Distantly,” Dean said nervously. He was pretty sure he was being interviewed. White’s style was different than Chloe’s. He smiled at you as if he already knew your secrets, and the questions were just formalities.
“Funny, Clark never mentioned you. I didn’t even realize there was another Kent with the journalism bug until Sullivan started submitting your photos with her stories.”
“I kind of fell into it,” Dean admitted. “Chloe and I happened to be in Memphis at the same time. I was working a different job, and she offered me the work.”
“Funny thing,” Perry said. “Your records in HR say that you started freelancing for us about a year before that. But those are the first photos that I’ve seen.”
“Imagine that,” Dean knew better than to take the bait. Let White draw his own conclusions.
White chuckled. “What is it about the Kents and the Sullivan-Lanes?”
“Sir?”
“I’d like to bring you on staff to be Sullivan’s full-time partner, Kent.”
Dean felt light-headed. “What?”
“I’ve always had an eye for talent, Kent. You’ve got some raw talent with that camera. It could stand to be improved.” He held up his hand to forestall any kind of refusal on Dean’s part. “So don’t get a big head. I wouldn’t offer you a full time position in the photography department.
“But Sullivan could use someone to keep her grounded when she goes off on one of her wild hares. And you seem up to the task of keeping up with her.”
“What?”
White sighed. “One of the reasons that I’m editor is that I have this talent for putting reporting teams together. Your work with a camera is a damn sight better than Sullivan’s. And it costs less to pay you than it does to fly a photographer out to meet Sullivan in Egypt or Oregon or wherever the wind blows her.”
“O-kay?” Dean still felt like he was treading water in a hurricane. He was being offered a job? Given the way that Chloe complained about how hard it had been for her to even get on staff, he didn’t expect this. Just like every time he’d ever been undercover, he smiled, and hoped to brazen his way through.
“Don’t get too excited, kid. You’ll only be making about a third of Sullivan’s salary. Not much more than you made working freelance. But - welcome on staff, kid.” Perry shook his hand as the elevator doors slid open. Then he turned, and exited the elevator.
Dean stood there, staring blankly out at the newsroom. The doors slid shut, and the elevator began its decent back to the lobby before he could even begin to process what just happened.
“I got paid for freelance?”
By the time he made it back up to the newsroom, he’d mostly recovered from the shock. He asked around, until he found Chloe’s desk - buried under a pile of accumulated newsroom refuse. After the shock of finding her apartment such a mess, her desk wasn’t all that surprising.
While he waited for Chloe to find her way back, he started tossing out the trash indiscriminately.
“Hey - what are you doing?”
He glanced up to see a dweeby guy in a sweater vest and bow tie standing there with his arms crossed. Judging by past disguises, and what Chloe said, this was obviously a Daily Planet photographer.
“Cleaning off Chloe’s desk,” Dean said in a well, duh kind of way as he shoveled a broken computer monitor into a 30-gallon trash can.
“Some of that stuff is important!” the guy protested.
“Then folks shouldn’t dump it on Chloe’s desk,” Dean held up a pica ruler, and gave it a curious look. He wielded it briefly like a samurai warrior, and then shrugged, and tossed it in the trash can alongside a broken computer monitor.”
“Who are you?” The guy asked with a confused look.
“Dean Wi-Kent,” he said as he picked up a photo cropper, and slid the little arm back and forth experimentally. “Who are you?”
“James Olsen, chief photographer.” The kid stood taller.
“Oh, you’re Jimmy,” Dean nodded. Chloe had mentioned a time or two that she’d dated one of the photographers on staff. But she’d also laughed about him and evil Egyptians, so Dean wasn’t too worried. Although - he looked Jimmy’s wardrobe over, and remembered the way that Chloe had tried to disguise him in Memphis. Girl has got to have a serious geek fetish, Dean thought with a mental laugh.
He’d have to keep that in mind if he wanted to make a serious attempt at getting her into bed. Maybe somewhere down the road, he could pick up a pair of glasses and see how she reacted. Maybe they could play naughty college professor and the kinky cheerleader. That would be awesome.
Jimmy gave him an odd look and shrugged. “I’ll let Chloe know that you’re here.” Implied in that statement was the hint that if she didn’t want him cleaning her desk, he ought to stop.
“Whatever, dude.” Dean picked up a stack of Inquisitors dating from 1975, and dumped them into the can too.
He was just finding a Daily Planet mug to dump all of her scattered ink pens in when Lois walked up. “I thought I’d warn you that Chloe is coming over,” she looked him up and down, and smiled in approval. “You wore a suit? Nice.”
Dean felt silly - although it helped him blend in here at the Daily Planet. Still, he would be happy when he could pack away the fed-suit put on his faded jeans and workboots, and hit the road again. Hopefully, with Chloe sitting next to him where he could put his arm around her.
“Just so we’re clear on something, Dean?” Lois smiled at him. “Chloe is my baby cousin. You make her happy - which means you’re okay in my book. But should that ever change?”
“Is this the part where you tell me that you have a .38 and a shovel?” Dean rolled his eyes.
“I may not have all of Chloe’s contacts,” Lois narrowed her eyes at him. “But I do know Superman. Forget the .38 and the shovel. You screw this up? I’ll get him to drop a building on you.”
Dean gave her a nervous smile. Something dangerous sparked in Lois’ eyes when she was defending Chloe. It reminded him of Ellen when she was defending Jo. “I get you.”
“Good. Now where are you two going?”
Dean sighed. “No clue.”
“Thought not,” Lois shook her head. She grabbed a spare pen from the pen cup, opened the first drawer on the right, and pulled out one of those long skinny reporter’s notebooks. She jotted down some information, and then tore off the page and handed it to him.
“I’ve got reservations booked for the two of you in an hour. She’s always wanted to go here. The bill is already taken care of.”
Dean looked from the paper to Lois and back. “Why are you doing this?”
“Like I said,” Lois rolled her eyes. “You make Chloe happy. And Clark and I want to see Chloe happy.”
“Clark?” All the big questions suddenly came flooding back. “Look, I know he’s your husband and all . . . but about Clark.”
“You saw that letter, didn’t you?” Lois said wryly.
“Letter?”
“You didn’t see the letter?”
“I saw her yearbook. With lots of girly hearts around Clark’s picture.”
“Oh,” Lois rolled her eyes. “If you have a spare year or two, I’ll tell you all about Clark and Chloe. It’s a long soap opera. The letter is just one of those things Chloe wrote when she was seventeen, pouring her heart out.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“No,” Lois said. “But I was around for most of it. I know that there’s nothing to worry about there.”
Dean raised an eyebrow in response.
“Long story short: there are two kinds of people. The kind you grow out of, and the kind you grow into. Clark and Chloe never could grow into one another. By the time Clark was looking for a smart, sarcastic reporter, Chloe had moved on.
“It’s sad. But the relationship wouldn’t have ever worked, anyway. Throughout the first half of their friendship, Chloe played second fiddle to another girl. It wrecked her self-esteem, and she didn’t have a lot to begin with after Aunt Moira left and Uncle Gabe worked all the time - there’s a free tip for you in that, by the way.
“I don’t think that Chloe could ever have dated Clark without waiting for the other shoe to drop. When she finally realized that, she worked hard to get their friendship on a platonic footing.”
“So that doesn’t bother you?” Dean asked.
“I was never Clark’s second choice, or even his third, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Lois rolled her eyes. “Clark was kind of emotionally stunted as a teenager. Most guys are, but he was particularly so. By the time I was willing to even go on a date with him, I made him work for it. You don’t do that for third choice.
“But you need to understand something, Dean. You date Chloe? You’d better be patient for her to let you in. And you’d better take every chance you get to show her that you’re not going to leave her. Because those are her hang-ups. And she’s coming over now - so I’m going.
Dean glanced across the room, and saw Chloe making her way over to them. He’d seen her in reporter’s clothes before. Sensible Mary Jane shoes, slacks and blouses. But the tailored skirt, clovage-revealing blouse and fuck-me heels that she was wearing sent all the blood rushing southward.
“Woah!” he breathed, and tried to remember Sam’s advice from earlier. Something about second base being for second dates. “Baseball,” he muttered. “Baseball.”
“Just remember my threat,” Lois whispered. “Buildings. Heavy ones.” With one of those Mona Lisa smiles that left Dean with no doubt that this was Chloe’s cousin, she turned, and stalked off across the newsroom.
“What were you and Lois talking about?” Chloe asked suspiciously.
“Oh, the usual.” Dean shrugged. “Hurt my baby cousin and I’ll drop a building on you.”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “If that’s all she threatened you with, then she likes you.”
“How can you tell?”
“Usually she threatens to shoot my dates with one of Uncle Sam’s howitzers.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dean said with a smirk. “By the way - you look hot.”
Chloe looked down - a faint blush stained her cheeks.
“I mean nice. You look nice. Hot in a nice way.”
“Thanks,” She smiled up at him. “So, are we taking the Impala?”
Dean grinned. “Oh yeah. I spent most of the day waxing my baby just for this.”
“Thought so,” Chloe said good-naturedly. “Just so we’re clear on something, Dean? The Impala is the only baby that’s getting waxed tonight.”
“Thought you might say that,” Dean groused.
Chloe full-on grinned at him, and linked arms with his. He kind of liked the way she automatically moved into his personal space anytime he was around. Like she was sheltering herself from the world. Taking refuge in his presence. Plus, it gave him the best view of her . . . assets. “Play your cards right, and I might agree to a second date.”
He took in her smiling face and all the things the neckline of that almost-indecent blouse wasn’t covering, and grinned at her. “Oh God, I hope so.”
Summary: He had to figure out where they stood. Otherwise, they couldn't go forward
Author: pen37
Beta: Clarksmuse
Fandoms: Smallville/Supernatural/DCU
Characters: Chloe, Sam, Dean, Jo
Pairing:Chloe/Dean
Rating: G
This is a part of the Special Projects series. You can find the rest of the series here.
Written for the Crossovers100 challenge. Prompt #58 Dinner. The table is here.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9a, Part 9b
Dean stared up at the Daily Planet building with a little bit of awe. He'd been here a couple of days ago, but he'd been so focused at getting to Chloe, that he hadn't really taken it in. Now, he touched the fake press pass that Chloe had made for him, and wondered if it would fool anyone.
If Chloe was any indication, then this building was filled to overflowing with sharp, observant, nosy people. Not the kind of folks that he could keep a lie up around for long.
Except that it isn’t a lie, he reminded himself. Chloe created the identity herself. Her cousins would vouch for me. I really am the guy who takes pictures for her. The only real lie is that my last name is Winchester, not Kent.
When he thought about it, it weirded him out that Clark Kent was supposedly his cousin. A guy who Dean had big question marks around regarding any past relationship to Chloe, and a guy who he might want to pound into the ground depending on the answer.
Dean wasn’t an idiot, however. He knew that beating up Chloe’s maybe former crush, and definitely good friend/family member, was no way to get into her heart. So it was probably better for him to avoid Clark all together.
He pasted on a smile and slung Chloe’s camera over one shoulder. He supposed it was actually his now. She’d taken the time to explain it to him, and then abandoned it to him when he’d insisted on going with her on a story that might involve a demon-possessed puppet in Memphis. Since then, she hadn’t bothered to reclaim it. Which was all well and good - he was kind of growing attached to it.
“I’m Dean Kent, freelance photographer,” he muttered to himself as he stepped through the doors - and into a hive of activity. To his surprise, he was instantly put at ease. If buildings had a character - The Daily Planet was Chloe: A classy chick full of motion and activity and purpose. It even smelled like Chloe - or Chloe smelled like it. The faint scent of newspaper and ink and adrenaline. It looked like it could have been the setting for any of those classic, black and white movies that she loved so much.
As he stared at the classic architecture, he felt like Humphrey Bogart or Cary Grant or any of Chloe’s other movie crushes could round the corner at any second.
If a building could flirt, The Daily Planet was making a damned good attempt at seducing him. He shook his head. He already had two women in his life. Chloe and the Impala. It was good that they got along and were willing to share. But adding a third woman to that mix might be trouble. Chloe would understand. The Impala - not so much.
“Kent?” He felt a hand close over his shoulder, and had to fight the urge to throw it off and go on the offensive. Remember? Civilians. He turned his head, and came face to face with an older, shorter, portly man. Dean raised an eyebrow in question.
“Dean Kent?” The older man pointed to Dean’s badge.
“Yes?” Dean squeaked. He hastily cleared his throat. “I mean - of course. Dean Kent. That’s me. Here to see Chloe.”
Since he was staying at her apartment and wanted to have a proper date with her; Chloe had suggested that he pick her up at work.
“We can start with a tour of the building, and I can show you my Pulitzer,” she’d said with that grin that left him feeling kinda squishy inside. Given the state of her apartment when he’d found her, he wondered if maybe The Planet was more home to her than the actual apartment.
Here in the present, the short guy gave him a version of that mysterious I know something you don’t smile that Chloe was famous for. Dean wondered whether it was something that all reporters did.
“Sullivan? She’s actually up in the newsroom,” the old dude said. He stretched his hand out in greeting. “Perry White.”
“Sir,” Dean nodded in greeting.
“Your dad was in the military, wasn’t he?” Perry said with an exasperated sigh. “At least you didn’t call me chief.”
“If you prefer?”
“Great Caesar’s Ghost! Of course not!” He nodded toward the elevator. “Come ride up with me, Kent.”
Dean wasn’t sure what was going on. He’d half-listened to Chloe’s long, rambling, teasing conversations with White enough to know that she nearly considered him to be a long-lost uncle. But Dean hadn’t been aware that White even knew he existed.
As soon as the doors closed, White gave him another one of those smiles. “Related to the Smallville Kents? Clark and his mom - Senator Kent?”
“Distantly,” Dean said nervously. He was pretty sure he was being interviewed. White’s style was different than Chloe’s. He smiled at you as if he already knew your secrets, and the questions were just formalities.
“Funny, Clark never mentioned you. I didn’t even realize there was another Kent with the journalism bug until Sullivan started submitting your photos with her stories.”
“I kind of fell into it,” Dean admitted. “Chloe and I happened to be in Memphis at the same time. I was working a different job, and she offered me the work.”
“Funny thing,” Perry said. “Your records in HR say that you started freelancing for us about a year before that. But those are the first photos that I’ve seen.”
“Imagine that,” Dean knew better than to take the bait. Let White draw his own conclusions.
White chuckled. “What is it about the Kents and the Sullivan-Lanes?”
“Sir?”
“I’d like to bring you on staff to be Sullivan’s full-time partner, Kent.”
Dean felt light-headed. “What?”
“I’ve always had an eye for talent, Kent. You’ve got some raw talent with that camera. It could stand to be improved.” He held up his hand to forestall any kind of refusal on Dean’s part. “So don’t get a big head. I wouldn’t offer you a full time position in the photography department.
“But Sullivan could use someone to keep her grounded when she goes off on one of her wild hares. And you seem up to the task of keeping up with her.”
“What?”
White sighed. “One of the reasons that I’m editor is that I have this talent for putting reporting teams together. Your work with a camera is a damn sight better than Sullivan’s. And it costs less to pay you than it does to fly a photographer out to meet Sullivan in Egypt or Oregon or wherever the wind blows her.”
“O-kay?” Dean still felt like he was treading water in a hurricane. He was being offered a job? Given the way that Chloe complained about how hard it had been for her to even get on staff, he didn’t expect this. Just like every time he’d ever been undercover, he smiled, and hoped to brazen his way through.
“Don’t get too excited, kid. You’ll only be making about a third of Sullivan’s salary. Not much more than you made working freelance. But - welcome on staff, kid.” Perry shook his hand as the elevator doors slid open. Then he turned, and exited the elevator.
Dean stood there, staring blankly out at the newsroom. The doors slid shut, and the elevator began its decent back to the lobby before he could even begin to process what just happened.
“I got paid for freelance?”
By the time he made it back up to the newsroom, he’d mostly recovered from the shock. He asked around, until he found Chloe’s desk - buried under a pile of accumulated newsroom refuse. After the shock of finding her apartment such a mess, her desk wasn’t all that surprising.
While he waited for Chloe to find her way back, he started tossing out the trash indiscriminately.
“Hey - what are you doing?”
He glanced up to see a dweeby guy in a sweater vest and bow tie standing there with his arms crossed. Judging by past disguises, and what Chloe said, this was obviously a Daily Planet photographer.
“Cleaning off Chloe’s desk,” Dean said in a well, duh kind of way as he shoveled a broken computer monitor into a 30-gallon trash can.
“Some of that stuff is important!” the guy protested.
“Then folks shouldn’t dump it on Chloe’s desk,” Dean held up a pica ruler, and gave it a curious look. He wielded it briefly like a samurai warrior, and then shrugged, and tossed it in the trash can alongside a broken computer monitor.”
“Who are you?” The guy asked with a confused look.
“Dean Wi-Kent,” he said as he picked up a photo cropper, and slid the little arm back and forth experimentally. “Who are you?”
“James Olsen, chief photographer.” The kid stood taller.
“Oh, you’re Jimmy,” Dean nodded. Chloe had mentioned a time or two that she’d dated one of the photographers on staff. But she’d also laughed about him and evil Egyptians, so Dean wasn’t too worried. Although - he looked Jimmy’s wardrobe over, and remembered the way that Chloe had tried to disguise him in Memphis. Girl has got to have a serious geek fetish, Dean thought with a mental laugh.
He’d have to keep that in mind if he wanted to make a serious attempt at getting her into bed. Maybe somewhere down the road, he could pick up a pair of glasses and see how she reacted. Maybe they could play naughty college professor and the kinky cheerleader. That would be awesome.
Jimmy gave him an odd look and shrugged. “I’ll let Chloe know that you’re here.” Implied in that statement was the hint that if she didn’t want him cleaning her desk, he ought to stop.
“Whatever, dude.” Dean picked up a stack of Inquisitors dating from 1975, and dumped them into the can too.
He was just finding a Daily Planet mug to dump all of her scattered ink pens in when Lois walked up. “I thought I’d warn you that Chloe is coming over,” she looked him up and down, and smiled in approval. “You wore a suit? Nice.”
Dean felt silly - although it helped him blend in here at the Daily Planet. Still, he would be happy when he could pack away the fed-suit put on his faded jeans and workboots, and hit the road again. Hopefully, with Chloe sitting next to him where he could put his arm around her.
“Just so we’re clear on something, Dean?” Lois smiled at him. “Chloe is my baby cousin. You make her happy - which means you’re okay in my book. But should that ever change?”
“Is this the part where you tell me that you have a .38 and a shovel?” Dean rolled his eyes.
“I may not have all of Chloe’s contacts,” Lois narrowed her eyes at him. “But I do know Superman. Forget the .38 and the shovel. You screw this up? I’ll get him to drop a building on you.”
Dean gave her a nervous smile. Something dangerous sparked in Lois’ eyes when she was defending Chloe. It reminded him of Ellen when she was defending Jo. “I get you.”
“Good. Now where are you two going?”
Dean sighed. “No clue.”
“Thought not,” Lois shook her head. She grabbed a spare pen from the pen cup, opened the first drawer on the right, and pulled out one of those long skinny reporter’s notebooks. She jotted down some information, and then tore off the page and handed it to him.
“I’ve got reservations booked for the two of you in an hour. She’s always wanted to go here. The bill is already taken care of.”
Dean looked from the paper to Lois and back. “Why are you doing this?”
“Like I said,” Lois rolled her eyes. “You make Chloe happy. And Clark and I want to see Chloe happy.”
“Clark?” All the big questions suddenly came flooding back. “Look, I know he’s your husband and all . . . but about Clark.”
“You saw that letter, didn’t you?” Lois said wryly.
“Letter?”
“You didn’t see the letter?”
“I saw her yearbook. With lots of girly hearts around Clark’s picture.”
“Oh,” Lois rolled her eyes. “If you have a spare year or two, I’ll tell you all about Clark and Chloe. It’s a long soap opera. The letter is just one of those things Chloe wrote when she was seventeen, pouring her heart out.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“No,” Lois said. “But I was around for most of it. I know that there’s nothing to worry about there.”
Dean raised an eyebrow in response.
“Long story short: there are two kinds of people. The kind you grow out of, and the kind you grow into. Clark and Chloe never could grow into one another. By the time Clark was looking for a smart, sarcastic reporter, Chloe had moved on.
“It’s sad. But the relationship wouldn’t have ever worked, anyway. Throughout the first half of their friendship, Chloe played second fiddle to another girl. It wrecked her self-esteem, and she didn’t have a lot to begin with after Aunt Moira left and Uncle Gabe worked all the time - there’s a free tip for you in that, by the way.
“I don’t think that Chloe could ever have dated Clark without waiting for the other shoe to drop. When she finally realized that, she worked hard to get their friendship on a platonic footing.”
“So that doesn’t bother you?” Dean asked.
“I was never Clark’s second choice, or even his third, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Lois rolled her eyes. “Clark was kind of emotionally stunted as a teenager. Most guys are, but he was particularly so. By the time I was willing to even go on a date with him, I made him work for it. You don’t do that for third choice.
“But you need to understand something, Dean. You date Chloe? You’d better be patient for her to let you in. And you’d better take every chance you get to show her that you’re not going to leave her. Because those are her hang-ups. And she’s coming over now - so I’m going.
Dean glanced across the room, and saw Chloe making her way over to them. He’d seen her in reporter’s clothes before. Sensible Mary Jane shoes, slacks and blouses. But the tailored skirt, clovage-revealing blouse and fuck-me heels that she was wearing sent all the blood rushing southward.
“Woah!” he breathed, and tried to remember Sam’s advice from earlier. Something about second base being for second dates. “Baseball,” he muttered. “Baseball.”
“Just remember my threat,” Lois whispered. “Buildings. Heavy ones.” With one of those Mona Lisa smiles that left Dean with no doubt that this was Chloe’s cousin, she turned, and stalked off across the newsroom.
“What were you and Lois talking about?” Chloe asked suspiciously.
“Oh, the usual.” Dean shrugged. “Hurt my baby cousin and I’ll drop a building on you.”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “If that’s all she threatened you with, then she likes you.”
“How can you tell?”
“Usually she threatens to shoot my dates with one of Uncle Sam’s howitzers.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dean said with a smirk. “By the way - you look hot.”
Chloe looked down - a faint blush stained her cheeks.
“I mean nice. You look nice. Hot in a nice way.”
“Thanks,” She smiled up at him. “So, are we taking the Impala?”
Dean grinned. “Oh yeah. I spent most of the day waxing my baby just for this.”
“Thought so,” Chloe said good-naturedly. “Just so we’re clear on something, Dean? The Impala is the only baby that’s getting waxed tonight.”
“Thought you might say that,” Dean groused.
Chloe full-on grinned at him, and linked arms with his. He kind of liked the way she automatically moved into his personal space anytime he was around. Like she was sheltering herself from the world. Taking refuge in his presence. Plus, it gave him the best view of her . . . assets. “Play your cards right, and I might agree to a second date.”
He took in her smiling face and all the things the neckline of that almost-indecent blouse wasn’t covering, and grinned at her. “Oh God, I hope so.”