AlabamaWorley
15th December 2004, 07:42
Title: Exchange
Rating: PG
Summary: Post-Scare, some Christmas eccentricity
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc. Don't bother with the lawyer, you'd never get any money anyway!
Author's note: I'm technically on sabbatical from fic writing, but this one asked nicely and promised to keep it short. Enjoy!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I.
Outside, the crisp December air smelled of Christmas. The snow crackled under her boots, and she couldn’t help but think of how it would sound under the prancing and pawing of each little hoof on Christmas Eve. She smiled to herself at the warm thought, then sobered just as quickly. Was that a crazy thing to think?
She couldn’t help it. Since she’d found out about her mother weeks before, she’d questioned every stray thought that had run through her head. She couldn’t help but wonder if the occasional meteor-induced altering that she’d fallen victim to over the past few years hadn’t accelerated the deterioration of her mind. Gabe insisted that she was going to drive herself crazy just by worrying about it too much, but she saw the look in his eyes when she asked him what her mother’s early symptoms had been like, and how young she’d been when he realized something was wrong. Her father didn’t lie often, and he wasn’t good at it when he did.
But now, that was the least of his worries. Something else she’d done, unfortunately completely of her own volition, was putting them at risk… again.
Outside, the drive over had been illuminated by the soft glow of a million tiny lights celebrating the season, and she’d easily lost herself in the nostalgia that grew every year as additional moments were added to her happy reservoir of Christmas memories.
Inside, the still was almost oppressive. No decoration greeted her upon entrance, and no spicy smells of candles or potpourri assaulted her nostrils as they did in every other building she’d been in that day – that week, even. She felt like she’d entered a morgue, and it didn’t even occur to her to question the sanity of the thought. It was simply appropriate.
Stepping over the threshold, she closed the door to the manor and went in search of its master.
The screensaver blinked at him over and over. He found himself determined to work out the seemingly haphazard pattern the words made across the screen; subconsciously, he knew that the battle of wits with a random number generator was merely a way of dealing with the fact that he had had no warning regarding the disturbing news he’d received that morning, and no way of plotting what his next move should be. Despite all of his careful planning, all of the sacrifices he (she) had made, all of the risks he (she) had taken… he was completely at a loss. So he engaged the monitor, fixing it with a stare that would have paralyzed a human opponent. The screensaver bounced on.
He didn’t realize how much time had passed until she entered. He blinked, then winced as a sharp pang forked through his eyes. He would have a migraine later for certain. Ignoring his ocular spasms, she strode across the floor and stuck out her hand.
“Lex Luthor, I’m Chloe Sullivan.”
Rising, he took her hand. It was cold; the inane thought that she should really be wearing her gloves in this weather crossed his mind. He barely contained the sigh that the thought produced. If his guess was correct, she would soon have far more to fear than chapped skin.
“Forgive me, Miss Sullivan, but I believe we’ve met before.”
“Of course. I just wasn’t sure you remembered.” She flopped down in the chair across from his desk. “You don’t call, you don’t write…”
His eyebrow arched into a familiar pose.
“As I recall, I haven’t received any such indulgences from your fort in the same length of time.”
“Yeah, well… you didn’t give my dad his job back.”
Lex regarded her carefully for a moment before turning, hands in his pockets, to stare out of the colorful glass into the dark night.
“He didn’t ask.”
“He shouldn’t have had to.”
“Chloe, I-”
“I know. I’m safer far, far away from all things Luthor. So... I didn’t press the issue.” She knew that he didn’t want her to see his flinch, but it was there. She didn’t want to hurt him, and she certainly didn’t want him to think she’d lumped him into the same ten-foot-pole category the rest of the town had neatly deposited him into. “I’ve still been looking out for you, though.”
If she hadn’t been watching, she would have missed it, but his shoulders relaxed slightly. The turn of his head was almost imperceptible, but she knew his mannerisms well enough to know that it was his way of acknowledging he had known.
“Of course. You’re the brains behind the brawn.”
“Clark’s a smart guy. He’s just without resources.”
The sound he made was more of a sharp exhale than a laugh, but she saw the faint smile that went with it. He slowly made his way around the desk to sit in the chair next to hers.
“That, of course, is just a polite way of saying that he is encumbered by a frequent crisis of conscience that you and I have long since outgrown.”
She smiled at him, wondering in the back of her mind if the fact that they shared that trait made it a symptom of insanity. He was not, after all, the poster child for mental stability. She resolved to monitor her behavior for further signs of sociopathy.
“Then again,” she said, “it gives him the advantage of not being in our current predicament.”
“How is Gabe taking it?” he asked, relaxing further into his chair.
“He asked if I thought wringing your neck would please Lionel enough to get us off the hook. Other than that, he hasn’t said much.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“Why do you think I’m here?”
He grinned, then tipped his head back and closed his eyes.
“Am I to conclude that I was erroneous in assuming you’d come simply because you trust me implicitly to keep you safe?”
“I trust you to keep me safe about as much as I trust Clark to come to my rescue whenever the freaks take a break from Lana to come after me.”
He opened his eyes just enough to check. His stomach clenched a little at the burden her smile placed on him, but he accepted it willingly.
She watched his resting profile quietly. Vulnerability would not be a trait most would choose to see in him, but she’d been in a position to see some things he would not choose to reveal to most. She wouldn’t let his father get to him again.
II.
The plant was temporarily shut down while the remaining toxins from the explosion were cleared away. As a result, he was in his home office on a conference call to Japan when she staggered in two days later. He hastily ended the call before leaping from his seat to help her with her packages.
“What’s all this?”
“Files on the suspected whereabouts of Morgan Edge, the most probable benefactor behind your father’s release,” she said as he took the first box. He nodded and placed the box on the floor next to one of the chairs, then took the second. “Details on former business associates who might dislike your father enough to remove him from the picture.” He cocked his head, impressed, then reached for the third box. She twisted out of his reach. “This box is for me. You start on those.”
He was nearly done reading about Edge when he remembered she was there. He glanced up to check on her.
“What in the hell are you doing to my office?”
“It’s completely depressing in here. It’s a week before Christmas, Scrooge.” She straightened the greenery over the door, then turned to admire the small tree she’d put up in the corner. “Don’t worry, there’s no mistletoe. I wouldn’t want to give you any extra reasons to accost helpless brunettes who stumble across your path.”
“Very funny.”
“If I tell everyone I slept with you, will you send me some diamond earrings?” She batted her eyelashes innocently at his silent glare. “What? I haven’t found anything for Lana yet, I thought maybe I could regift them.”
“Are you finished?” he asked.
“Ooh, unless she already has some. She is a brunette…”
“Stop it now.” His tone brooked no argument.
“Stopping.” She sat down in the other chair and began sorting through men who could be nudged toward bumping off an enemy in a pinch.
III.
Four days before Christmas, he carried her into the office and hurried over to the couch. She was barely conscious – the chloroform hadn’t had a chance to take full effect before he’d happened upon the scene. After he put her down, he quickly tucked the gun into his waistband.
“screening.. sucks…” she was mumbling.
“My screening sucks?” he asked, carefully propping a pillow under her head.
“sec… security…”
“I know. Just rest now. You can make me a new plan later.” He gently brushed her hair out of her face as he dialed a number on his cell phone. The call connected after the first ring. “I have a mess for you to clean up…”
IV.
On Christmas Eve, she brought him a fuzzy red stocking.
“What’s this?” he asked, eyeing it warily.
“Merry Christmas.”
He carefully read the enclosed memo and glanced through the accompanying gruesome pictures.
“It’s done then.”
“It’s done.” Wanting to avoid an awkward moment, she turned to go.
“Wait. I have something for you too.” He moved around the desk to stand in front of her and handed her a manila folder. “I’m sorry it’s not wrapped.”
She read the papers slowly, then read them again. When she looked up, her eyes burned with rage.
“Clark told you.”
“You know he would never do that. I found out exactly three days before you did and I made sure your contacts got the same information as quickly as possible. Belle Reve is used to working with the top specialists in the world, and I thought you might feel better having her close by.”
“Can they.. can they help her?”
He rubbed her shoulder as he carefully chose his words.
“No. I’m sorry. She hasn’t had a lucid moment in several years. But they can monitor her behavior and study how her brain is working. They can come up with a way to keep the same thing from happening to you.”
Her tears slid unnoticed down her cheeks as her mouth worked in silence, searching for a coherent thought to express from among the thousands jumbling her mind.
“I don’t want to go crazy.”
“You should know that in at least the last three generations, the disorder did not set in until after childbirth.” He watched as her brows furrowed slightly while she processed the information. “I have some firsthand experience with the effects of postpartum trauma. I swear to you, Chloe, I won’t let it happen to you.”
She stood silently for a very long time, just staring at the floor. He watched her quietly for several minutes, waiting for some sort of reaction. Finally, he decided it would be best to leave her to her thoughts without an audience and started to step away.
“Lex,” she said softly. “There’s something else I wanted to give you.” She sniffled, then chuckled to herself. “Something I’ve wanted to give you for a long time, actually... something I think you really need, but would never admit to.”
“What’s that?”
She looked up then. Hesitantly, she crossed the few feet separating them and gingerly wrapped her arms around his neck. When he didn’t protest, she moved in and hugged him tightly, standing on her toes for maximum effect.
His initial reaction was to shut down and extricate himself as quickly as possible. But his second breath picked up her scent, and he held it for just a moment while it warmed him clear through. She smelled like gingerbread, like fresh pine, like cinnamon and vanilla, and like snowflakes at midnight all rolled into one.
She smelled like Christmas. He accepted her gift, and wrapped it up in his arms, and didn’t let go for a very long time.
Rating: PG
Summary: Post-Scare, some Christmas eccentricity
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc. Don't bother with the lawyer, you'd never get any money anyway!
Author's note: I'm technically on sabbatical from fic writing, but this one asked nicely and promised to keep it short. Enjoy!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I.
Outside, the crisp December air smelled of Christmas. The snow crackled under her boots, and she couldn’t help but think of how it would sound under the prancing and pawing of each little hoof on Christmas Eve. She smiled to herself at the warm thought, then sobered just as quickly. Was that a crazy thing to think?
She couldn’t help it. Since she’d found out about her mother weeks before, she’d questioned every stray thought that had run through her head. She couldn’t help but wonder if the occasional meteor-induced altering that she’d fallen victim to over the past few years hadn’t accelerated the deterioration of her mind. Gabe insisted that she was going to drive herself crazy just by worrying about it too much, but she saw the look in his eyes when she asked him what her mother’s early symptoms had been like, and how young she’d been when he realized something was wrong. Her father didn’t lie often, and he wasn’t good at it when he did.
But now, that was the least of his worries. Something else she’d done, unfortunately completely of her own volition, was putting them at risk… again.
Outside, the drive over had been illuminated by the soft glow of a million tiny lights celebrating the season, and she’d easily lost herself in the nostalgia that grew every year as additional moments were added to her happy reservoir of Christmas memories.
Inside, the still was almost oppressive. No decoration greeted her upon entrance, and no spicy smells of candles or potpourri assaulted her nostrils as they did in every other building she’d been in that day – that week, even. She felt like she’d entered a morgue, and it didn’t even occur to her to question the sanity of the thought. It was simply appropriate.
Stepping over the threshold, she closed the door to the manor and went in search of its master.
The screensaver blinked at him over and over. He found himself determined to work out the seemingly haphazard pattern the words made across the screen; subconsciously, he knew that the battle of wits with a random number generator was merely a way of dealing with the fact that he had had no warning regarding the disturbing news he’d received that morning, and no way of plotting what his next move should be. Despite all of his careful planning, all of the sacrifices he (she) had made, all of the risks he (she) had taken… he was completely at a loss. So he engaged the monitor, fixing it with a stare that would have paralyzed a human opponent. The screensaver bounced on.
He didn’t realize how much time had passed until she entered. He blinked, then winced as a sharp pang forked through his eyes. He would have a migraine later for certain. Ignoring his ocular spasms, she strode across the floor and stuck out her hand.
“Lex Luthor, I’m Chloe Sullivan.”
Rising, he took her hand. It was cold; the inane thought that she should really be wearing her gloves in this weather crossed his mind. He barely contained the sigh that the thought produced. If his guess was correct, she would soon have far more to fear than chapped skin.
“Forgive me, Miss Sullivan, but I believe we’ve met before.”
“Of course. I just wasn’t sure you remembered.” She flopped down in the chair across from his desk. “You don’t call, you don’t write…”
His eyebrow arched into a familiar pose.
“As I recall, I haven’t received any such indulgences from your fort in the same length of time.”
“Yeah, well… you didn’t give my dad his job back.”
Lex regarded her carefully for a moment before turning, hands in his pockets, to stare out of the colorful glass into the dark night.
“He didn’t ask.”
“He shouldn’t have had to.”
“Chloe, I-”
“I know. I’m safer far, far away from all things Luthor. So... I didn’t press the issue.” She knew that he didn’t want her to see his flinch, but it was there. She didn’t want to hurt him, and she certainly didn’t want him to think she’d lumped him into the same ten-foot-pole category the rest of the town had neatly deposited him into. “I’ve still been looking out for you, though.”
If she hadn’t been watching, she would have missed it, but his shoulders relaxed slightly. The turn of his head was almost imperceptible, but she knew his mannerisms well enough to know that it was his way of acknowledging he had known.
“Of course. You’re the brains behind the brawn.”
“Clark’s a smart guy. He’s just without resources.”
The sound he made was more of a sharp exhale than a laugh, but she saw the faint smile that went with it. He slowly made his way around the desk to sit in the chair next to hers.
“That, of course, is just a polite way of saying that he is encumbered by a frequent crisis of conscience that you and I have long since outgrown.”
She smiled at him, wondering in the back of her mind if the fact that they shared that trait made it a symptom of insanity. He was not, after all, the poster child for mental stability. She resolved to monitor her behavior for further signs of sociopathy.
“Then again,” she said, “it gives him the advantage of not being in our current predicament.”
“How is Gabe taking it?” he asked, relaxing further into his chair.
“He asked if I thought wringing your neck would please Lionel enough to get us off the hook. Other than that, he hasn’t said much.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“Why do you think I’m here?”
He grinned, then tipped his head back and closed his eyes.
“Am I to conclude that I was erroneous in assuming you’d come simply because you trust me implicitly to keep you safe?”
“I trust you to keep me safe about as much as I trust Clark to come to my rescue whenever the freaks take a break from Lana to come after me.”
He opened his eyes just enough to check. His stomach clenched a little at the burden her smile placed on him, but he accepted it willingly.
She watched his resting profile quietly. Vulnerability would not be a trait most would choose to see in him, but she’d been in a position to see some things he would not choose to reveal to most. She wouldn’t let his father get to him again.
II.
The plant was temporarily shut down while the remaining toxins from the explosion were cleared away. As a result, he was in his home office on a conference call to Japan when she staggered in two days later. He hastily ended the call before leaping from his seat to help her with her packages.
“What’s all this?”
“Files on the suspected whereabouts of Morgan Edge, the most probable benefactor behind your father’s release,” she said as he took the first box. He nodded and placed the box on the floor next to one of the chairs, then took the second. “Details on former business associates who might dislike your father enough to remove him from the picture.” He cocked his head, impressed, then reached for the third box. She twisted out of his reach. “This box is for me. You start on those.”
He was nearly done reading about Edge when he remembered she was there. He glanced up to check on her.
“What in the hell are you doing to my office?”
“It’s completely depressing in here. It’s a week before Christmas, Scrooge.” She straightened the greenery over the door, then turned to admire the small tree she’d put up in the corner. “Don’t worry, there’s no mistletoe. I wouldn’t want to give you any extra reasons to accost helpless brunettes who stumble across your path.”
“Very funny.”
“If I tell everyone I slept with you, will you send me some diamond earrings?” She batted her eyelashes innocently at his silent glare. “What? I haven’t found anything for Lana yet, I thought maybe I could regift them.”
“Are you finished?” he asked.
“Ooh, unless she already has some. She is a brunette…”
“Stop it now.” His tone brooked no argument.
“Stopping.” She sat down in the other chair and began sorting through men who could be nudged toward bumping off an enemy in a pinch.
III.
Four days before Christmas, he carried her into the office and hurried over to the couch. She was barely conscious – the chloroform hadn’t had a chance to take full effect before he’d happened upon the scene. After he put her down, he quickly tucked the gun into his waistband.
“screening.. sucks…” she was mumbling.
“My screening sucks?” he asked, carefully propping a pillow under her head.
“sec… security…”
“I know. Just rest now. You can make me a new plan later.” He gently brushed her hair out of her face as he dialed a number on his cell phone. The call connected after the first ring. “I have a mess for you to clean up…”
IV.
On Christmas Eve, she brought him a fuzzy red stocking.
“What’s this?” he asked, eyeing it warily.
“Merry Christmas.”
He carefully read the enclosed memo and glanced through the accompanying gruesome pictures.
“It’s done then.”
“It’s done.” Wanting to avoid an awkward moment, she turned to go.
“Wait. I have something for you too.” He moved around the desk to stand in front of her and handed her a manila folder. “I’m sorry it’s not wrapped.”
She read the papers slowly, then read them again. When she looked up, her eyes burned with rage.
“Clark told you.”
“You know he would never do that. I found out exactly three days before you did and I made sure your contacts got the same information as quickly as possible. Belle Reve is used to working with the top specialists in the world, and I thought you might feel better having her close by.”
“Can they.. can they help her?”
He rubbed her shoulder as he carefully chose his words.
“No. I’m sorry. She hasn’t had a lucid moment in several years. But they can monitor her behavior and study how her brain is working. They can come up with a way to keep the same thing from happening to you.”
Her tears slid unnoticed down her cheeks as her mouth worked in silence, searching for a coherent thought to express from among the thousands jumbling her mind.
“I don’t want to go crazy.”
“You should know that in at least the last three generations, the disorder did not set in until after childbirth.” He watched as her brows furrowed slightly while she processed the information. “I have some firsthand experience with the effects of postpartum trauma. I swear to you, Chloe, I won’t let it happen to you.”
She stood silently for a very long time, just staring at the floor. He watched her quietly for several minutes, waiting for some sort of reaction. Finally, he decided it would be best to leave her to her thoughts without an audience and started to step away.
“Lex,” she said softly. “There’s something else I wanted to give you.” She sniffled, then chuckled to herself. “Something I’ve wanted to give you for a long time, actually... something I think you really need, but would never admit to.”
“What’s that?”
She looked up then. Hesitantly, she crossed the few feet separating them and gingerly wrapped her arms around his neck. When he didn’t protest, she moved in and hugged him tightly, standing on her toes for maximum effect.
His initial reaction was to shut down and extricate himself as quickly as possible. But his second breath picked up her scent, and he held it for just a moment while it warmed him clear through. She smelled like gingerbread, like fresh pine, like cinnamon and vanilla, and like snowflakes at midnight all rolled into one.
She smelled like Christmas. He accepted her gift, and wrapped it up in his arms, and didn’t let go for a very long time.