Nights Torn Mad with Footsteps (NC-17)

[star del mar]

I'm so glad that you updated again, this story is sucking me in big time. I really do have to say that not only do I love the plot but I really am enjoying how you're flipping back between the past and the present. I like the little of glimpses of Chloe and Lex when they were together and at Chloe's fight to maintain herself while she was stuck in that house. It's interesting, I can't wait to see how this encounter goes, update again soon!

Steph*

[sabby]

Great chappies, the funeral scene was very well done describing Chloe's emotions and the subtle little signs in her interaction with Lex where quite telling. I like how you build her character with the help of the flashbacks. And as for Lex knowing, can't wait how you tell how he found out. My take is that after he noticed something was off at the funeral, he just couldn't let it go until he'd figured out what. Wouldn't put it past him to try and find older dental records or have a DNA test done. Too bad we didn't get to see the obsessive digging and probably won't since it's Chloe POV.

I really like this story, you managed to get me back to reading Chlex. Keep going.

[kimmie]

Oh, Wow this is really excellent, but please say Lex knows its Chloe, he has to, how could he not after being with her during that summer. Chloe needs someone to help her and it has to be Lex!!!

Update again really soon, please!!!

Kimmie

[kirt30]

loving this fic please update soon

[Kit Merlot]

This story is brilliantly inventive and has me on the edge of my seat!

More please

[pipersmum]

wow brilliant story but how can no-one recognise Chloe especially Lex or Clark??? Or for that matter what about Gabe?
Will Lex be able to help her
Please update soon as i am enjoying this and can't wait to find out if Lex has figured it out!

[squash]

WOW rhis fic is just so interesting and it has me so curious about what's going to ahppen next. You're an excellent writer and I'm really excited to read more of this story. By the way I really like the title and the constant transitions from past to present. Great work

[beantree]

Hi! Happy Monday. Here's the latest.

***Chapter Nine***

Two days ago he thought he had been going mad, conjuring familiarity where there was none. Eyes and lips; flutters of movement burned into his memory years ago emerged impossibly before his very eyes. They couldn’t be real. Simply his own illusions brought to life through grief. And there was grief. A surprisingly caustic anguish considering the rarity with which he allowed himself thoughts of her anymore. He kept his mind too occupied these days for past regrets to work their way in. Reading of her death in his own city’s newspaper was beyond unexpected, had stirred in him something he thought was abandoned ages ago.

Longing. For the past. For things he couldn’t have.

A small weakness allowed to fade away out of necessity. No effort was put into squelching it, the impulse had simply disappeared. But the resurrection of the feeling reminded him how integral an emotion it had been in his youth. It ruled him then.

News of Chloe’s death altered his temperament sharply and he resented the change. The request she posed to him years ago –'No keeping tabs, Lex, for the sake of both of our sanities.'— that he followed imperfectly but earnestly for over seven years was dismissed completely. Work was put on hold as he gathered all information available and some not quite so available in an attempt to find the series of events and connected individuals responsible for her death.

--She was fired from her job only days before. --
--She was becoming unpopular with Gotham’s brass but increasing her favor in the community. --
--No record existed of any ongoing investigations that might draw attempts at retaliation. --
--The coroner’s reports offered no physical evidence due to a lack of usable remains. --

Days worth of inquiry and still he came up short. The most sobering revelation, however, was the legitimacy of the dental records. The glimmer of hope in her possible survival was painfully extinguished. He struggled with the instinctual feeling that there was something more to all of this. After all, she had fooled the world with a fictitious death before. But the morning of her memorial service, arriving at the small chapel, Lex found himself unable to step through the doors and wondered if he should faithfully take up her entreaty at last. Let her go for the sake of his own sanity; was struggling to do that very thing when a battered looking woman stumbled out of the church.

And now he was standing in a small, plainly furnished apartment, staring at the woman who had stirred increasingly insistent questions within him.

“How are you feeling?”

“I feel… guilty that I’m alive.”

Doubt prickled at his mind, he anticipated a more guarded response. A face, so like hers, lurking behind the bruises and long hair. He wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him, if he was desperate enough to fool himself into believing in her survival. When he didn’t speak again she became restless under his gaze.

“Would you like something to drink?”

She was fighting against her distraction. He had interrupted her work. Her eyes wandering again and again to the laptop and hurricane of papers littered over the small kitchen table less than six feet away. She was itching to get back to it, desperate to cover it from his prying eyes, knew him well enough to know he would be looking.

It was her.

“No, thank you. I just stopped by to chat.” He saw her body recoil at the familiar words then try to conceal their effect on her.

“You’re the first to notice. Not that I’m completely shocked by that.”

He blinked at her words. Just like that, confirming his suspicions, barely a hesitation. The admission surprised him and he struggled to adjust.

“I always did have a certain reputation concerning my powers of observation.”

Her smile was tired, resigned and she let herself fall into an oversized chair and take him in, unconcerned now about maintaining her earlier caution.

“But you didn’t see it right away. When did you know?”

“In the courtyard, when I told you about the dental records. You immediately wrapped your left arm around your stomach. You always used to do that when something went wrong.” Her eyes fixed on him, looking for more in that statement. He gave her nothing. There was still bitterness there, running all the way from her abrupt departure from Metropolis years ago, to her ability, on those church steps, to look him in the eye, see suffering there, and not say a word about who she really was. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You know why.”

And he did. His head nodded subtly in understanding. He knew a hundred reasons why she kept her mouth shut. He might have done the same. No—without question he would have done just as she had, kept his cards close to his chest. There was little comfort in that knowledge, however. There had been a level of trust between them once, lost now. It stung to feel its absence.

************************************************** ********

She was uncharacteristically quiet, so much stillness in her manner that had never been there before. He kept a picture in his mind of Chloe Sullivan as a perpetual live wire, energy crackling right at the surface. He didn’t give the change in disposition much consideration initially, she had, after all, been living in solitude for a little more than a month.

He, in direct contrast, had been surrounded with insistent crowds; doctors first, then board members and lawyers. All wanting and needing different things from him, each new issue claiming urgency over the last. His elevated immune system, seemingly stifled by the never-ending stressors, failed to prevent an excruciatingly slow recovery. His frustration with the length of his recuperation was significant and Lex didn’t hesitate to let the various medical professionals in charge of his care know how he felt. His doctors tried to calm his displeasure by reminding him that he should be dead. That dose of nitrobenzene would have killed a man twice his size and there were moments in that hospital when he wished it had done just that. The pain was acute, nearly insurmountable. But he had healed. LuthorCorp was secured and under his control, Chloe was safely in his care. He had survived.

The first thing she asked, when he thought to question her, was for fresh food. Vegetables, meats, fruits. He brought them to her the next day and, barely saying a word, she began cooking dinner. Feeling superfluous to the situation, he turned, ready to leave her to the task, but she had asked him to stay. Not knowing how to react, he simply sat down and watched her prepare the meal, felt no desire to go back to the mélange of new problems surely waiting at his return. After several minutes, he hazarded to tease her lightly about the abandonment of her feminist principles. She turned to look at him and smiled sadly. –*I guess I just miss cooking for someone*.—and he’d had to look down, found he couldn’t meet her eyes. Knew what she was really saying was that she missed her life, missed Gabe, missed human contact this past month. He should have been there for her earlier, or at least sent someone to fill her in on the circumstances. But things were so chaotic then, he hadn’t known who he could trust with the task. So he had let her wait until he was well enough to come himself. Mostly well enough, anyway, but was spooked under the pressure of her gaze that first day; left without giving her one comforting word. His guilt brought him back the next day, his need for refuge from the world two days after that, and his growing concern for her well-being twice more.

This was his fifth visit to her in seven days and each time he found himself more hesitant to leave the serenity of this place, found immediate comfort in the fact that Chloe had little to say at first, but was beginning to feel a little uneasy at her silence. Somehow it seemed wrong that in their exchanges, he should be the talkative one. He was trying not to worry.

But here he was, not exactly sure what to say. Pretending his concentration was occupied with reviewing documents while she sat caddy corner from him, bare-feet propped on the coffee table, toes curling and uncurling in concentration as she read through today’s issue of the Daily Planet.

“No problems with the computer?”

“As with the other three times you’ve asked, Lex. Everything is wonderful, thank you. You don’t have to worry, I have everything I need.”

Somehow he doubted the truth in that proclamation. Wanting some kind of evidence that she was all right, he tried again.

“How are you, Chloe?” She looked up at him, surprised by the question, not sure how to take it.

“I’m fine, Lex. A little upset by recent trade developments in Argentina, but…”

“I’m being serious, you seem—evasive.”

A quiet laugh full of disbelief briefly escaped her lips.

“Right, …evasive.”

“Coyness doesn’t suit you,” he was annoyed with her response, frustrated with his own discomfort in even asking her.

“Alright.” She put her paper down, giving him her full attention, a challenge in her tone. “I’m lonely. Even when you’re in the room with me, it doesn’t go away. And I feel like a basketcase because it takes everything in me not to come running when I hear you walk through the door, but I know nothing will change because you don’t tell me anything.”

Her statement sounded absurd to him, considering the previous week’s interactions.

“Chloe, what are you talking about? It’s like pulling teeth to get you to speak. I’m the *only* one talking.”

“The problem is, Lex, you never *say* anything.”

“I’ve shared everything concerning my father’s trial with you.”

“But never anything concerning yourself.” He stared at her not knowing how to respond. She slumped back in her seat, bringing her fingers up to rub her eyes tiredly, “Not that you have any obligation to do so, I just…Why do you keep coming here, Lex?”

He thought about deflecting the question with a trite generality, but knew she was looking for something more; that the question was a kind of test to see if she would be able to rely on him for more than just deliveries of newspapers, food and electronics. His hesitation stretched, but she didn’t push him. Just waited.

“This is the only place where I’m not drowning in Lionel Luthor’s machinations.”

She looked up at him, surprised. Relief was on her face when she smiled, tears swimming in her eyes.

“Funny, this seems to be the very place where I *am*.”

And he chuckled lightly, knowing even as they sat quietly that the tension had drained, the floodgates were open. Each aware that the other was the bearer of the thing they were most in need of, hope that they could survive this.

************************************************** ********

“They’re trying to cover this up, Lex… Lex? Everything okay?” He tried to focus his attention back to the present, put away that moment he always considered to be the spark that set off the chain of events between them. Leading them right here, for better or worse.

“They ruled the explosion an accident, Chloe. Age and a faulty fuel line. Regardless of whether or not they actually found any evidence of tampering, the police report has the official stamp of ‘no foul play’ attached.” He noticed he had been saying her name in excess throughout this afternoon of divulgence, his voice rusty on a name as natural as his own once.

“Who runs the police department?”

“The city of Metropolis.” Spoken as a foregone conclusion. She smiled at his answer.

“But who *runs it* runs it?”

“When did you become such a paranoid cynic?”

“Exploding safe houses and poisoned brandy, Lex. You should know better than anyone.”

“No, speaking as a lifelong paranoid cynic, you were always incredibly trusting. Even then.” An uncomfortable silence descended from his words. He could tell she was cut by them, but he meant no offense.

“Well, in the spirit of regaining my sense of trust, I…” she paused, looked like she was going to say something difficult, but was unable to get the words out in the end, “I thought I would ask you to look into what the deal is with Garner. With LuthorCorp connections you might have an easier time than I would.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, instead watched her struggle to cover the emotion he stirred with his words. He felt stung that she wasn’t comfortable enough to just let him see that he’d hurt her.

“You can’t keep going like this, Chloe.”

“Like what, exactly?” Her tone was not offended, more distracted. He watched her move back to her notes at the kitchen table, looking for something to give him, relating to Garner he assumed. But she was only hovering, picking up one paper then putting it down for another with little focus. He couldn’t really blame her for wanting to distract herself from the turn in conversation. Their whole interaction this afternoon had been an unbelievable mind-fuck. For all the years apart, their ability to speak plainly and comfortably was as intact as it had ever been. And although the familiarity was gone, the ease of their discourse brought the illusion of closeness, of things between them being unchanged, somehow.

“Single-mindedness and unconfronted anger will only lead to a faster downfall.”

“Who is that? Confucius? Roosevelt?” she continued shuffling through documents, only half of her attention on him.

“Your father. He said that to me after my father had him fired, pretending he was talking about himself, but I’m fairly certain it was parting advice.” Her movements froze at the mention of her father, a tiny undercurrent of distress.

“You never told me about that.”

“Well, I’m telling you now, Chloe. Don’t get lost in this.”

“Advice from someone who knows,” she muttered to herself, sitting slowly down at the table, absorbed for a moment in thought. After a beat she looked up at him again, shaking her head softly. “Lois died because of this. My source mysteriously disappeared into the bowels of Harrow Institute. I can’t walk away.”

“And I don’t expect that. I just see you falling into the frenzy of the chase and ignoring self-preservation. Who’ll report the story if you don’t stay mindful of protecting yourself?”

“You,” she quipped, smiling as she ran her fingers along the edge of the table lightly. He laughed softly in response.

“If my relationship with the media and law-enforcement suddenly improves drastically, I’ll consider it.” Teasing in his voice and she was grinning back. A swell of camaraderie between them, stirring something old and deep. He missed this sometimes, missed her.

“…Clark.” The name seemed a non sequitur at first, her voice more serious suddenly. He felt thrown by the change, hunting for context.

And then he realized this was her plan, her way of telling him. Masquerading as Lois, she was going to use Clark to get a connection at the Planet, believed he could be entrusted with the task of deciding who at the paper could be relied on. Not an unreasonable plan, but Lex disliked it immediately. She was trusting Clark’s notorious snap judgment with her life. He worried Clark would step all over the delicacies of the situation. It was his number one talent these days, after all; flying around the city, stomping on daisies. Clark’s rapidly expanding undertaking was making Lex more and more uncomfortable of late. Using this same reckless man for help, especially with something that had most likely killed two people already, seemed unnecessarily careless.

“He writes obituaries, Chloe. This may be a little over his head,” displeasure not hidden from his voice.

“Yes, but Perry White is the one who got him that job. It’s not what you know, it’s who you know, right?”

“What if he recognizes you?” His manner had turned cold again and he saw her follow suit and harden herself against it.

“He won’t.”

“This is your fight, Chloe. I wish you well. Just be careful,” He rose to leave then, not knowing what else to say. He knew she was alive, knew the dangerous circumstances she stumbled into, leading her here. He got what he came for. “I’ll look into where Dr. Garner was hiding before popping up in Gotham and get back to you tomorrow.”

He strode toward the door, uneasy with the visit. There was too much history and he hated the way it unnerved him.

“Lex…” she called out as he reached for the handle, “I’m glad you came.”

“Even though I blew your cover.” He didn’t turn to look back at her, didn’t want to know what her eyes were saying.

“Because you blew my cover.” He opened the door and stepped out of the apartment without acknowledging her words. All these years and he felt himself being pulled in yet again.

Damn her.

***Chapter Ten***

Lex fought against the impulse to let his shoulders slump as he rode the elevator to the penthouse suite. Silence and steel, the air around him muffled and stark. He loved this part of the day. Three minutes to breathe, alone and unstudied. A small *ding* sounded as the doors opened into the foyer. He took his time checking the day’s mail, placing his keys in the small antique tray that always held them. A 19th century Empire salt cellar, purchased from a Swiss silver dealer years ago. Originally from the Regno delle Due Sicilie region; Naples, Italy today; if he remembered correctly. It amazed him how easily information fixed itself in his mind, he rarely forgot. Anything. Most of the time the talent was a blessing, sometimes quite the opposite.

The apartment was quiet but for the distant click, click, click of a keyboard from the undersized dining area connected to the kitchen. He found it amusing that she always chose locations traditionally used for eating meals as her workspace, rejecting anything resembling an office. He walked toward the sound without hurry, stepped into the room where she sat and leaned casually against the door frame, watching her. Her attention remained on the computer screen, fingers flying over the keys, a pencil held firmly in her teeth.

He wasn’t sure how this happened.

He’d intended to keep her at more of a distance, knew she probably intended the same, but somehow the situation wasn’t working out that way. There was a 60-40 chance he would find her here when he came home these days. The likelihood had been increasing steadily over the past several weeks as she became more and more uncomfortable spending time in her dead cousin’s apartment, though she refused to admit that was the reason for her presence. She glanced over at him quickly, eyes lighting up in greeting before her attention was back on the screen almost instantly.

“You want a drink?” his voice low as he continued to observe her.

“Yeah, give me a minute, I’ll meet you in there,” her words muffled and distorted through the pencil still in her mouth. Though she wasn’t looking, he nodded, retreating into the living room.

Fifteen minutes and an entire glass of cognac disappeared before she finally made her way over. She sat across from him, tucking her legs underneath her in the chair.

“I saw Clark today.”

He stood immediately, drifting across the room to pour himself another drink, a vodka tonic for her.

“Did you have a chance to ask him why he destroyed an entire mile of elevated commuter track that will cost the city millions to repair?”

“Don’t be acerbic, he saved a man’s life.”

“He stopped a desperate man from choosing to end his existence and did minor damage to a piece of equipment that now has no rail to run on.”

“His heart is in the right place.”

“But where is his head?”

She sighed disapprovingly, fighting to hide her own doubts about Clark’s handiwork. And he sobered, abandoning sarcasm for the question he really wanted to ask.

“Did he recognize you?” suspending the glass in front of her, catching her eye. She held his look for a moment, disappointment flickering on her face.

“No.” She took the drink, let her gaze drop to study the rippling liquid.

“I’m sorry,” and he was. Lex knew what this man meant to her still, though he abandoned that fondness long ago. But even so, he knew first-hand the solace in seeing his smile light up in recognition and the sting of watching his eyes narrow in distrust. Clark Kent had the ability to stir powerful emotions, always.

“No, I… it’s fine, good even. I didn’t expect him to. Just—standing there listening to him talk about me in the past tense was more than a little unnerving.” He took his seat again, noticing she had yet to look up from studying the glass, her fingers fidgeting lightly around the rim.

“Is he willing to help you?”

“Of course. He’s Clark, “ her voice suddenly wistful and distant, “You know, Lex, I’m feeling a bit of a headache coming on. I think I’m going to take off. Maybe get a little of that sleep-thing people keep talking about.” She set her drink down on the table, untouched. As she passed by his chair, he grabbed her wrist gently, detaining her. Lex let a smile flicker at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re allowed to be affected by this, Chloe.”

“No, I know. He’s just—not the same as I remember him.” She broke his hold on her, bringing that same hand up to rest on his shoulder. Just a fleeting touch.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Lunch at one,” he called out at her retreating figure. Unmoving, he listened until the doors closed, then downed his drink in one swallow.

************************************************** ********

Sometimes he lived wholly confident in the conviction that his life was under his careful control. Emotions disciplined for use to his own advantage, daily schedule set weeks in advance, time spent efficiently and effectively. But sometimes events occurred to teach him that the meticulous order he maintained in his life was only an illusion. The value in those moments was incalculable. He prided himself on being able to take in the lesson of his own fundamental powerlessness. With all the time spent trying to mould the future in order to eliminate surprise from his work and life, ungovernable circumstances brought a humility he appreciated. Today, however, the reminder of his fallibility held no gratification.

Hours ago, sitting in a café, windows open to the street, he’d glanced at his watch for the third time, impatient with her lateness. A screeching of tires and angry horn blast caught his attention and he saw her. Two blocks up the street, struggling to change a flat tire. Not a single consideration apparent for her tailored gray skirt and cream blouse in the way she got right down on the asphalt. He noticed flares placed around her as she sat in the street, warding off oncoming traffic, forcing them into the other lane. But she was lucky, cars were rare to pass. The road wasn’t busy at this hour. The scene made him smile; a microcosm of her entire personality. Too stubborn to just leave the issue until after lunch to be dealt with, insistent on changing the flat herself, no triple A in sight, completely ignoring the danger she was placing herself in by being in the middle of the street.

Lex stood from his seat, quickly giving a soft word to the waiter asking him to save the table and left the restaurant. Whether to stop her or help her he wasn’t sure, he supposed that depended on who won the argument. Either way, he felt relief to see Chloe’s struggling figure. Under the current circumstances, her tardiness could mean worse things than a flat. He moved up the sidewalk opposite from where her car was parked, chuckling to himself as she yanked aggressively at the seemingly stuck tire.

And then time stopped.

He felt his body freeze in confusion, then shock, then fear as a truck flew around the corner. The driver was aiming for her, was going to hit her, kill her right in front of his eyes. His legs unlocked and he began to run, her name ripping from his throat in a shouted warning. But he knew he couldn’t make it, his sprint stopped short as his body recoiled, waiting for the dull *thud* of impact. There was nothing he could do. But no sickening sound of collision came, just a flurry of blue and red, the squeal of spinning tires and the smell of burning rubber in the air as the truck took off down a side street. He whipped his head around, frantically searching for evidence that he hadn’t imaged that flash of movement.

He hadn’t.

No more than twenty feet ahead she lay, cradled in Clark’s—no, Superman’s—arms, her head lolling from the daze of being jerked across the street onto the sidewalk at an unnatural speed. Lex felt himself darken as he watched Clark run his hand along the side of her face tenderly, his eyes softening. On impulse, Lex hung back to watch the scene unfold. Chloe regained her focus shortly, eyes widening to see Clark hovering above her, a cloud of admiration moved across her face. Lex took one stilted step forward, but the crowd had already begun to gather. Instead he turned and walked away.

So here he found himself, seated behind this immense desk on the forty-eighth floor, all calls blocked, no interruptions. His fingers pressed deeply into his closed eyes as he struggled to understand why he was reacting so strongly to this event. Chloe’s life had been saved, that should be enough. He wanted it to be enough.

But the problem lay in that very matter. The preservation of her life that day was an impossibility. Lex could never have helped her in time, moreover, her survival had been out of human hands completely. Only the chance presence of a man, who could move faster than the eye could see, had saved her. What if next time he was across town, across the country, across the world? And in the end, the real issue was deeper than just one life, even Chloe’s. One man could not be everywhere, even a superman. The reliance of the general public on a savior from the sky, pulling them out of danger at the last minute, had the potential to turn Metropolis into a city of victims, passively waiting for the appearance of their hero. The heroic impulse inside themselves stifled. Or worse, these dramatic saves could begin to overshadow the everyday hero. Small acts of courage ignored into extinction. The idea unnerved him. Beyond these concerns he could feel more personal grievances fueling this unrest but they remained unexplored and he left them that way.

He was waiting for her. A little surprised, frankly, that he’d been waiting this long; wondered what was detaining her—knew what was detaining her.

“Mr. Luthor, a Lois Lane to see you.”

“Yes, send her in.” Her small figure stepped through the door. He could see fresh scrapes, prominent against her pale skin. Shallow, but red on her cheek, her right elbow, left calf. Her clothing disheveled.

“You look a mess.”

She moved to one of the chairs across the desk, sitting tenderly. “I’m sorry I missed lunch.”

He gave a small nod toward her appearance. “I’d say you have a pretty good excuse.”

She watched him, cautious of his mood. He wished she didn’t know him so well. “Yeah, some asshole almost mowed me down while I was changing my tire.” Her statement was too casual. She was testing the waters with him.

“Good thing Clark was around to clean up his mess.”

“What does that mean?”

“It stinks of a set-up, Chloe. Someone slashed your tire and tried to kill you. Clark trusted the wrong people and now they think that Lois Lane has become the liability Chloe Sullivan once was.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Just a coincidence then? You are allowed to be in denial about any number of things, but this is not one of them.”

“Clark would never intentionally…”

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it. His judgment can’t be trusted in the way you’d like. This hero worship has to stop.”

Anger flashed briefly in her eyes, but she paused before rebutting. A look of comprehension passed by on her features, disbelief and revelation filling her voice.

“You’re jealous.”

He felt a shock go through his system, like ice flooding his veins. A cold and sharp demeanor descended instantly, his words became careful, measured.

“What on earth could I possibly be jealous of?” She blinked, ignoring the uncomfortable inference.

“You think everyone sees him as unerringly honorable, beyond reproach; that they see you as a scheming business tycoon who’s never had a pure motive in his life. But you’re wrong. Not everyone is Jonathan Kent. Life isn’t that simple and you are not the only person who sees that. They see his transgressions and they see your generosity. Give the public some credit for being aware of the shades of gray.”

“Gray? The man plays judge, jury and sometimes executioner to the city’s population with no one to stop him. That is beyond dangerous.”

“Why are you suddenly being so unreasonable? Don’t you see the irony? You two are mirror images of each other. You use your resources and he uses his.”

He leaned forward slightly in his chair, elbows resting on his desk as he looked her more fully in the eye, his voice dropping. “Tell me you don’t see how frightening that is. One man with that much power.”

“It’s terrifying, Lex. Why do you think people are so unnerved by you?”

He leaned back again, eerie calm covering the maelstrom of confused emotion raging just below the surface. She was right, of course. And truly, his concerns regarding Clark were only theoretical. He knew how Clark thought, knew exactly what to expect from him and though he disliked the slap-dash methods, Lex found no fault in the sentiment. Not really. It was Chloe who scared him. Always catching him off guard, disrupting his equilibrium. Ever since he was twenty-four years old he found himself incredibly unhinged in her presence. He always liked the spark it created between them, but today’s events stirred something darker he was having trouble overcoming.

“All I’m try to express, Chloe, is that he’s put you at risk. You should ask yourself why you trust him so implicitly.”

“Because he is one of my oldest friends. Because I know the kind of person he is. Because he is helping me.” She spoke pointedly, trying to emphasize the parallel between Clark and himself. Lex imagined she and Clark had arguments identical to this one through the years, where she defended the flip position just as judiciously, but he was losing rationality now. He felt the urge to cut deep, shake her out of her own infuriatingly impartial reasoning.

“He’s helping Lois Lane. He doesn’t see you, Chloe. He never has.”

She flinched as if he’d hit her, her body trembling slightly, trying to control the rage and pain his words caused. She stood abruptly, turning her back and striding out of his office without another word. And he let her go. Horrified for touching on a vulnerability she once shared with him in a moment of complete trust, exploiting the knowledge.

'Single-mindedness and un-confronted anger’

Lex was amazed by how much insight Gabe had carried then, how much he still needed to integrate the advice into his life now. Standing from behind his desk, he hurled his fist down onto the surface in frustration, the sting of soon-to-be bruised knuckles feeling like appropriate punishment. He placed the throbbing hand calmly on his abdomen and began to consider what to do next.

[hfce]

WOw that was a powerful update but I am really confused. Did Chloe dye her her black? Is that why no one notices who she is? Does she not have the same voice?


Hope

[beantree]

Hee! She's been away for several years and looks a little different than she did when they knew her, plus when people think you're dead they're not really looking for you. It requires a bit of suspension of disbelief, I guess. If Gabe saw her though, I think he would know. ;-) Lana and Clark...well...