Title: Acetone
Author: Carmarthen (caerfyrddin @ gmail.com)
Fandom/Pairing: Smallville; Chloe/Lana UST
Disclaimer: They belong to the WB, not me.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: For Ryan and Dichotic, possibly -- futurefic.
Warnings: f/f slashiness, mention of OFC, present tense
Summary: Chloe paints Lana's nails before senior prom and thinks about attraction.
Archive: Yes to Small Town Girls, my personal site (http://thewritegirls.populli.net/carmarthen), others ask.
Notes:I wrote the first draft in October '02, after seeing the first two or three episodes of season two. Due to circumstances beyond my control, it didn't get finished until February '03, and I have still not seen most of season two. So it may or may not have been horribly Jossed by S2, but was originally written with only S1 in mind. This is why I don't write TV-based fic -- the eminent Jossability of everything freaks me out.

Thanks to Joanne Collins and Ayelet (cicelian) for betaing

Acetone

"Fudge," Lana says. Lana's nail polish is smeared, and she reaches for a tissue and the nail polish remover to wipe it off. Chloe tries not to giggle as she wonders how many false starts Lana has to go through every day just to get her perfectly painted nails.

"Want me to do your nails?" Chloe asks on impulse.

Lana looks up. "Sure," she says, sounding a bit surprised. Hasn't anyone painted her nails before? Chloe wonders, before remembering that Lana, too, doesn't really have any female friends.

"Hmm," Chloe says, poking through the bottles of nail polish she's brought. "How about this color?" She holds up a bottle of apple green nail polish from last Halloween.

"Chloe!" Lana squeaks. "It'll clash with my dress!"

Chloe pats Lana's bare knee comfortingly. Before Lana had moved in, she'd imagined that Lana would wear lacy nightgowns to bed, but she wears oversized tee-shirts like a normal person. in an odd way, this comforted Chloe. "I'm kidding, Lana. No dress-clashing, I promise."

"This one?" Lana asks, pointing to a dark silver-blue that shifts colors with the light.

"Okay."

Chloe unscrews the cap carefully and takes Lana's hand. The smell of acetone stings her nose as she begins to drag the brush carefully over Lana's nails, and she remembers the last time she painted someone else's nails.

It had been before she moved to Smallville, her eighth grade girlfriend, the first, last, and only, her biggest secret from Smallville.

Lana is nothing like Sarah, plump, red-haired Sarah who wore combat boots and ties and a pin on her messenger bag that said "Fuck you and your fascist standards of beauty," Sarah who went to youth rallies and marched in pride parades and who never quite managed to be a stereotypical dyke.

No, the only thing similar is the act of painting someone else's nails. It's just that the smell of acetone always makes Chloe think of Sarah. The memory still hurts, too. Leaving Sarah was the worst part of coming to Smallville. And sure, Chloe had gone and acquired a massive unrequited crush on Clark Kent, poster boy for Small Town, USA and even less like Sarah than Lana, but that had been largely because she'd believed him safe. He pined over Lana Lang (or perhaps Lex Luthor -- Chloe had never been quite sure), Chloe pined over him. They'd never get together, never break up, and it would still hurt but not as much.

But they had gotten together, sort of, and they had broken up, and it had hurt almost as much as leaving Sarah had. Chloe had decided to swear off romance. It just wasn't worth it.

And no, she cannot be getting a crush on sweet, straight Lana Lang, just because Lana is thoughtful and pretty and nothing like Sarah or Clark.

This is so stupid, Chloe thinks. She's Chloe Sullivan, Intrepid Girl Reporter, and she doesn't need romance. Stupid, stupid teenage hormones.

So. Not thinking about Lana's smile, or how her hair would smell, or how her laugh is the girliest thing ever, or how she would look if she wore something bright and dark for once. Not thinking about what it would be like to kiss her as she had kissed Sarah.

Lana says something Chloe doesn't hear.

"Sorry?"

"Other hand now?" Lana asks, smiling slightly.

"Oh." Chloe realizes that she's done with Lana's right hand and she's just sitting there cross-legged, holding Lana's hand. "Right. Distracted."

"What were you thinking about?" Lana asks. There's nothing but mild curiosity in her voice, but Chloe's suddenly seized with fear. It's silly; Lana can't know what -- who -- she was thinking of.

"Um. Old...boyfriend," Chloe finally says. "We broke up when I moved to Smallville."

"I'm sorry," Lana says, and Chloe almost hates her for it, because she knows that beneath the polished, pretty exterior, Lana really is sorry, because Lana always feels for other people's pain, and Lana can't really know what Chloe feels. But it passes. Lana is trying, really trying, to be friends without Clark like a ghost between them, and besides, Chloe's over Clark now, isn't she? Lana's over Clark too, if she ever had feelings for him. Happily single best friends, yeah.

Chloe wishes she didn't have a habit of falling for her best friends. "All done," she says, releasing Lana's other hand. "Don't smear it."

"Thanks," Lana says, blowing on her nails lightly to dry them.

"No problem," Chloe says, but her voice shakes a little as she asks, "What color should I use for me?" She finds herself missing the warmth of Lana's small, soft hand in hers.

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