There we are again! Thanks, as usual, for the lovely reviews, and sorry for the late update. This chapter just grew and grew…and grew.

Oh, nice people who put this story on their alert list (I know when you do. I don't know why, because I certainly never asked to be messaged whenever someone does, but I do know)…leave a review, will you? Please? I'll keep writing whether I'll get them or not, but it's so much nicer to get a little stimulation.

So, no more blathering and on with the story:

Seven: In which Chloe and Lex get close but romance is curiously lacking

Tuesday morning had broken with a clear blue sky after its customary mid-night snow. The trees were fluffy with snow, and ice crystals twinkled in the rising sun. One of the mansion's staff, a cleaning lady called Margaret, was beating the dust out of her duster, singing cheerfully.

Lex was sitting in front of the blazing hearth, on the animal skin (which he loathed but had kept around because his father had suggested not once but twice he get rid of the thing) with his back against the front legs of a loveseat. He clutched a mug of steaming coffee in one hand and pressed his cell phone to his ear with the other.

"So," said Lex, clenching his jaws together to keep his teeth from chattering, "how do normal people experience fatigue? Does it include headaches and muscle spasms?"

"Headaches? Sometimes," Dr Scanlan said. "Muscle spasms, not so frequently. Did you lift anything heavy, recently? Your muscles might have to get used to…"

"No," Lex interrupted him. He clamped down on his molars. He sounded like a pair of fucking castanets if he didn't. "I was fine yesterday. A bit tired." And possibly suicidal. And drunk. And freaking out. And tired as hell of being normal.

He did not say those last things, of course, instead waiting and hoping for an explanation. However, the good doctor only made an inquiring sound, urging him on. Damn the man. Lex didn't want to talk about his failing body. He didn't want to list his weaknesses one point at the time. He just wanted to know what kind of pill to swallow so he could function again.

"Now my back hurts, and my legs hurt, and my head hurts, and I'm coughing my lungs out," he snarled, getting as much unpleasantly private facts on the table in one go.

"I see," Scanlan said with a hint of a smile in his voice.

"Well, I don't," Lex snapped, then clenched his teeth together before they could rattle out more than a very short salsa beat. "Please, enlighten me."

"How are your sinuses?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you sneezing? Is your nose clogged? Do you…"

"No, thank god," Lex sighed. He coughed, swallowed, coughed some more. He sounded like a dog. A dog with castanet teeth. "I'm just cold. So what prescription can you give me?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," Scanlan said. "One more thing. Do you have a fever?"

"I don't know."

"Are you standing outside?"

Lex gazed out of the window. It looked cold and wet outside, and he shivered. "No, I'm sitting in front of the fire."

"Then you're running a fever," Scanlan concluded. "Congratulations, Lex. You're the proud new host to the Metropolis influenza virus."

"I have the flu?" Lex said blankly. He'd always thought flus an colds were mild afflictions. This morning when he dragged himself out of bed he thought he was going to fucking DIE. "But there's no…"

"Overflow of mucus?" Scanlan said with unreasonable cheer. "There's the difference between a cold and the flu to you. Colds generally make you feel miserable; they give you headaches and a stuffy head, but they don't give you a fever. The flu does."

"Fascinating," Lex grated out. "So what do you suggest I do? I have loads to do…interviews, meetings… Papers to write and factories to inspect, and I can't do it like this. Is there something you can subscribe to repress the symptoms?"

Scanlan, who turned out to be a doctor from hell, chuckled. "Lex, you can't suppress the flu. What I suggest you do is go back to bed with a hot water bottle, get yourself a pot of tea with a healthy dollop of whiskey, a couple of paracetamols or, if you're feeling very poorly, one ibuprofen, and sweat it out. This flu seems to run its course in a relatively short time; three days at the longest. You should feel fine in a week. If you don't feel better in two days…Do you have a thermometer?"

"No?"

"Of course not. You've never been sick before. Well, get a thermometer and call me if your fever rises above a hundred and one, or if it doesn't drop in the next two days."

"Two days?!" Lex cried. "I don't have time to lie in bed for two days!"

"Do you feel up to working now?" the doctor asked calmly. Lex seethed in silence. No, he didn't feel up to working. He hardly felt up to SITTING at the moment. "I thought so. Ibuprofen will help with the headache and generally make you feel better, but really, the one thing to cure the flu is bed rest and fluids. Make sure you keep warm, stay inside, and drink lots of tea, juice and water." He stopped. After a few seconds he asked, "Lex, are you still there?"

"…Yes." Even to himself he sounded like a whining child. "Thank you. I'll do what you suggest."

"You should feel better soon," Scanlan comforted. "The first two days are the worst. I'm sure that by the weekend, you're back to normal."

"Thank you," Lex said despondently, and hung up. He didn't want to go back to normal. He wanted to go back to sublime. This whole business was getting most dreadfully out of hand. Children missing and children dying. He himself turning hairy, stupid and sick, and no sign of anything of the above improving soon. What a drag. Of course it was almost Christmas, so it didn't really surprise him that his days were filled with gloom and misery, but still…this was one December to remember.

He sat there moping for a little longer, sipping his coffee and feeling sorry for himself until his Luthor heritage reared its proud head and forced him to his feet.

"Stop whining," it told him sharply in his father's voice, "and DO something about it. Luthors don't sulk! Scanlan said something about ibuprofen, so go and get it and get a move on, boy!"

"Right," said Lex. He reached out for the handset. At least he wouldn't have to go and buy the stuff himself. He would send Margaret to fetch his medicines and a thermometer, swapping two flies at once: he wouldn't have to show his face at the local pharmacy, and he'd also be rid of Margaret's horrible singing.

"Take pleasure in small victories when it seems you're losing the battle," he murmured to himself, then rang and gave his orders. It would take Margaret about half an hour to ride to town, get his supplies and return to the Mansion. He wanted to be at the plant at ten, so that gave the ibuprofen exactly 30 minutes to patch him up again. It had better succeed in that. If not, Lex Luthor would personally oversee a lemming-like mass drowning of pills in his private bathroom.

Chloe stepped into her little Honda at twelve thirty exact, just as she had planned. Punctuality was of the utmost importance, to a good reporter. Unfortunately, she had to stop again not two streets away from the Daily Planet because her heels were so high and thin they kept sliding from the accelerator, and she had to take off her boots and put on her sneakers. Even though she had brought the second pair of shoes with her for exactly this reason, it still made her sigh. It always looked so easy in movies. Why could Kate Beckinsale hunt vampires in a corset and five-inch heels, and was Chloe unable to drive in only three? It just wasn't fair.

However, the day was so clear and lovely Chloe quickly forgot her disappointment in her boot-wearing skills. The sky just outside Metropolis was bright blue with the occasional falcon trilling in the air, hunting for field mice or rabbits, and the thin layer of snow glittered in the sun. The Darkness piped cheerfully through her speakers and Chloe, remembering the man's outrageous costume in the video clip, sang along as loudly as she could:

Faking joyous surprise at the gifts we despise,
Drinking mulled wine with you.
On the twenty fifth day of the twelfth month the slay bells return,
Ringing true

Snowflakes melt in hell
That it would end
Don't let the bells end
Christmas time
Just let me leave please

Hmm, she thought, still singing, it's actually a pretty sad song. It sounds so cheery, but it's all about hating Christmas and missing people. It was the perfect song for Lex. Maybe she should buy him a Darkness cd and give it to him at Christmas. She grinned at the thought. Then again, he probably already had the song. Memorized. Possibly put the lyrics on his door instead of a wreathe with holly and pine apples.

Poor Lex. She'd love to invite him this Christmas, but since she spent it with Clark, Lois and Lana, like usual, she doubted anyone would actually thank her for such an invitation.

Well, the weather is cruel, she wailed, And the season of love warms the heart
But it still hurts
You've got your career spend the best part of life's joy apart
And it still hurts

So that's why I pray, each and every Christmas day
That it would end
Don't let the bells end
Christmas time
Just let me leave please

Why did Lex hate Christmas anyway? He'd told her that he did, but he never explained why. Some other traumatic family history? Perhaps she should try to get him drunk, one of these days, now he was less resilient, and get him to open a few mental closets for her. His were so stacked with skeletons that there was hardly any space left for healthy, red-cheeked children—or jolly Santa Clauses, this time of the year. A good early spring cleaning might just give him some space to gather some happy memories—to un-Scrooch him, as it were, and turn him into a happy Grinch.


Christmas time, Don't let the bells end,
Chloe sang merrily, steadfastly ignoring the depressive text. Yes, she could make this her project. The 'Help Lex Through Christmas Project'. It had a nice ring to it. And it was for a good cause, and it might be fun too, and it might just absolve her from her selfish decision not to hand out presents to poor children this year. She'd done it for four years in a row, now, and she really wanted to have an ordinary Christmas this year. One with a tree and turkey and bad punch or eggnog instead of a presents-filled but empty office with only her conscience keeping her warm.

And this year, she resolved, as the Darkness trailed off and The Pretenders came on, she was going to have sex at Christmas. It didn't matter with whom—well, ok, maybe it did, but…yes, definitely sex. Whether it was with old exes or with newly picked boyfriends, she wanted to wake up on Boxing Day and find herself locked in the loving arms of some wonderful Mr. Big. And whether Mr. Big then removed himself after bringing her breakfast in bed, or pledged his undying devotion to her while pampering her all day was really unimportant. She was sick and tired of waking up alone with a hangover for company. She was a wonderful woman, damn it, and men should be crawling at her feet, begging for attention (according to everyone she knew, in any case) so all she had to do was bend down, close her eyes and pull one up.

"Santa Claus is coming to town!" the Pointer Sisters exalted. He's gonna find out
who's naughty or nice.
Chloe, for some reason feeling guilty, abandoned the somewhat kinky picture of dozens of naked, writhing men in her head and sang along.

Does imagining half your male colleagues, your befriended billionaire, your alien never-to-be and two actors naked at your feet constitute as 'naughty'?

Chloe laughed.

Santa Claus is coming to town!

He sees you when you're sleeping,
He knows when you're awake.
He knows when you've been bad or good,
So be good for goodness sake!

"Dear Santa," she said, tapping the steering wheel with her fingers. "Please give me a man for Christmas. I don't care if he comes in a stocking. I've been a really good girl."

Then she considered. Perhaps she could combine the 'Help Lex Through Christmas Project' with her Christmas Resolve. After all, he was bound to be lonely. She could celebrate the evening with the Smallville gang and drive over to Lex's afterwards and find out whether he was red everywhere…

You better watch out, you better not shout! the Pointer Sisters warned, and Chloe, grinning, pulled her mind out of that gutter. She obviously needed coffee. Soaring high in reporter mode she should be, not fantasizing over her interviewee. Chuckling to herself, she put out her light and drove up to the nearest roadside café.

She was just driving into Smallville, two hours and two breaks later, when her Daily Planet phone mewed. It sounded just like a real cat; Chloe had acquired the sound by holding the phone over a nest with kittens and pressing record. She pulled it out of its leather holder on the desk board. The display read 'HIM', short for His Infernal Majesty, also known as Perry.

"Sullivan!" she called into the receiver. Perry hated people who answered a call with only their first name, or even worse, 'Yeah?'.

"Chloe? Perry speaking." As usual, the picture of a huge walrus sitting behind a desk sneaked, unbidden, into Chloe's mind. "Where are you at the moment?"

Chloe looked out of the window, where the Talon just slid out of view.

"Smallville, sir. I'm a bit early, but I was thinking…"

"You can turn around," Perry grumbled.

"Excuse me?"

"He canceled them! Luthor canceled every single appointment he had today—well, any he had with the press. He's bailed out!"

"What?" Lex, as far as she knew, had NEVER canceled a press meeting. He thrived on them. "Why?"

"I don't know." Perry was pissed off; his voice sounded as if he'd gargled with gravel. "That cold-hearted bitch of his didn't specify a reason. But I'm afraid you've wasted a drive to that godforsaken…"

"Hometown," Chloe interrupted brightly. "I've spent most of my childhood here." She punched the air when Perry was silent for a long moment before saying,

"Ah. Well. In that case…"

"I was planning on looking up some friends if I had any time to spare." Chloe continued. "And now it seems I have lots of time to spare, I can see quite a few. I mean, if you want, I can drive back, but I won't be back in Metropolis before six, and since I'd planned to stay the night here…"

"Okay okay okay, fine," Perry snarled. He was a nice man really, but he always sounded like an evil stepdad. "As long as you hand in your column on time."

"Already sent it, sir. And the article on the flower shops, too. Oh, and sir?"

"Yes?"

"Since I'm in Smallville anyway, I might check out the Mansion. If he's here, maybe I can see him anyway."

There was a soft, scraping sound on the other end of the line. Chloe imagined the walrus thoughtfully rubbing one flipper over his two o' clock shadow.

"Yeeeeesss…you were childhood friends, weren't you?"

"Well, friends is a bit of an exaggeration." In Smallville it was, anyway. She briefly wondered what their relationship would be called now. Less than friends. More than lovers. Acquaintances that sometimes abandoned all pretenses and licked pasta sauce from each other's face. It was complicated, really. "But he might see me when he refuses to receive other visitors. If I drive by the Mansion just after dinner…"

"Good, good," There was a beep on the line; another call coming through. "Do what you can. I'll see you tomorrow morning." And gone was the ever busy Perry.

"Goodbye to you too," Chloe sing-songed to the tone, switched off her phone and, chanting along with another Christmas carol, made a U-turn back to the Talon.

It was strange, Chloe reflected, how little the town had changed, and how that little bit of change had made it completely, unrecognizably different from the town she'd lived in as a child.

The Talon looked mainly the same, but Mrs. Kent wasn't in, hadn't been in for weeks, according to the pimply young man who'd made her her double moccaccino with chocolate sprinkles and cream, and without Lois or Lana or her old class mates the place felt…distant. The chairs were the same, and she had managed to get her favorite overstuffed leather chair in the corner next to the window, and it smelled the same, but…

"I'm getting old," she muttered to herself. One knew that one was joining the aged when one started growing nostalgic over coffee-stained chairs. The students that still seemed to be the Talon's most fervent guests, all seemed horribly young. Much younger than she'd been at that age. God, they looked like they couldn't be older than twelve!

Oh, there was Jack Voight, from her own class. Chloe hid behind the jutting sides of her chair and spied on him as he ordered his coffee. She'd never spent much time with Jack, but he was good with electronics and had fixed her scanner a couple of times. Correction, the Torch's scanner. She remembered him as a rather weedy boy with a friendly face and very fair, tousled curls. Now he was losing his hair and was wearing a biker jacket and a goatee that made him look like a garden gnome.

She sighed, and stayed out of sight until he had left.

While she was sitting there, trying to feel like she'd come home but in fact only realizing that she'd left it for good, she called Manning from the camera team to make sure Perry had told them the interview had been canceled. He had. Chloe sipped her coffee. She found a copy of the Torch tucked away between a couple of magazines and risked losing her chair to get it. The new editor was an idiot, and the articles were boring. The only thing remotely interesting, a story around a young woman gradually disintegrating, reeked of cheap sensation, made-up evidence, and was crawling with grammatical errors. Where was the research, the evidence, the passion? It made her depressed reading such sloppy journalism.

Halfway her second mug (one thing hadn't changed: Talon coffee was still wonderful, and so was the pie) an old friend she did want to talk to came in, and they spent about an hour in blithe conversation, recalling the ups and downs of school life and Harvest Parties. Then, at five, Caroline had to go and pick up her child at the crèche. Yes, she had a daughter, a boy of just two and a half years old. Didn't time fly? Hadn't Chloe received the birth card?

No, Chloe hadn't. She watched Caroline leave, still stunned to find someone of her own age a mother, and noticed how Caroline's choice of clothes had hardly changed in the past six years. You really couldn't wear those kind of skirts anymore, in Metropolis. But here in Smallville they were obviously still the height of fashion.

Chloe looked down on her beautiful sitting boots, recovered once she'd left the car, on her 60 denier tights, her stylish little brown suede/ black velour skirt, on her low-cut black sweater that so well displayed the small golden fish hanger that rested in the hollow between her collar bones, and sighed. Again. Ok, in Metropolis Caroline would be the laughing stock, but here in Smallville, it was Chloe who felt completely out of place.

How on earth had that happened? Clark hadn't changed. Not much, in any case. Whoever set eyes on him still thought 100 corn-fed Kansas farm boy, and he'd never said anything about not blending in here anymore, when he went to see his mom.

"But Lana had it too, when she came back from Paris," she thought aloud, and somehow that cheered her up again.

Now she had to lose half a liter of coffee, and then it was time to meet with another friend. She wouldn't have been able to see her if she'd have had to do the interview, but now she could have dinner with Jenny before visiting Lex and finding out why he was playing hokey.

Dinner was nice, and Jenny was good fun, as she'd always been, but Jenny was recently married, and she couldn't leave her husband waiting. It was hardly a quarter past six when Chloe swayed back to her car, feeling oddly disappointed and more than a little put out.

Nothing was as it had been anymore. The town seemed oppressively small, the people superficial. She was ashamed for feeling this way, yet couldn't help thinking that here, in Smallville, time had stood still and nothing had progressed. Without the endless golden cornfields and beautiful countryside in the summer, Smallville just didn't have anything to offer. Perry was right. It was a hole in the ground, a twinkling, Christmas-lit hole in the ground.

And suddenly, no matter how ridiculous it was, she was acutely homesick for the town she was in, the way it used to be, not the way it was now. It didn't make any sense; she was happy with her current life…and yet…if only she could be fifteen again, and be editor of the Torch, running around chasing mutants with Clark and Pete and…

"And have a pair of brains," she told herself angrily. She wiped at her eyes, cursed as she rubbed mascara into her eye. Now that wouldn't do. She'd look as if she'd been crying all night and she had to look smart to impress Lex into giving her his interview. No more tears. Fresh make-up. Fresh deodorant. There was no time to waste on stupid memories or wishful thinking. Vigorously, she reapplied new mascara. Lex had better see her. If he wouldn't, or wasn't home, she would be forced to show her disappointment in some way, for instance with her key in the paint of his car.

Chloe glared into her mirror. There was no sign of melancholy in her face. If the mascara was on a bit thick, it only made her lashes stand out more.

There were lights on at the Mansion, and if she was correct, that was Lex's favorite red Porsche parked on the driveway. He was home, she was sure of it. Nevertheless, she spent several minutes collecting herself. How best to approach him? Call him to say she was in the neighborhood because his message came through late and get in on his guilt? Play it personal and act worried? She wasn't worried, just curious. Or maybe bluff the guards and say he was expecting her, trusting that he wouldn't send her away? He probably wouldn't. After all, this was Lex they were talking about. But if he really was busy with something else, something that was urgent enough to cancel his appointments…

"Cool, professional, poise," she whispered to herself, then snorted and picked up her kitty phone. There were no names in its phonebook, only nicknames. Lex's was Spaghetti. She didn't think anyone would ever connect it to him.

It took hardly one ring before he picked up the phone with a short, hoarse, "Luthor."

Chloe pulled the phone away and gazed at it in surprise before quickly bringing it back to her cheek. He did have this number, didn't he? Hadn't he seen it was her?

"Hey Lex, it's Chloe. I…uh…" She waited. The tone of his voice would tell her what strategy to use to get into his house—at least, she hoped so. His initial answer hadn't been all that forthcoming.

"Chloe?" He was hoarse. And he sounded tense, if not unfriendly. "Sorry, I was expecting someone else."

"Are you busy?" Well of course he was, otherwise he wouldn't be expecting another to call. She ploughed ahead, "I, uh…I was in the neighborhood and I thought…"

"You're in Smallville?" Was that hope softening his voice?

She put in a girlish giggle for good measure. "Yeah. In fact, I'm standing right in front of your door. Your cancellation came through just as I rode into town." Stranded woman at your door, dear sir. Gallantly ask her in, if you please.

"I'm sorry." Good, but not good enough.

"Why'd you cancel the interviews, Lex?" she asked. "You never do. Are…is everything all right?" Suddenly, she thought of all those poor little kids. What if he'd rearranged his schedule because of them? God, she'd never live down the shame if she kept him from helping them!

But Lex just sighed, and coughed. Coughed! Now she was worried. And even more curious.

"Lex? Can I come in? If you're not too busy? If you're busy, that's ok, I don't want to keep you from anything, but since I was here anyway and I don't want to drive all the way back in the dark, I…"

"It's all right," he said huskily. "I'll tell Charlie to let you in. You can…" Beep. "Wait, there's my call. Just come on up."

She drove to the gate. It opened with a haunted house screech, and as she looked at the Scottish monstrosity looming, dark and threateningly, over the winter-bare garden a cold finger trailed along her spine. What a horrible place it was! Why didn't they put some lights in the trees or on the walls?

She parked her car behind Lex's, crawled out and crunched her way to the front door over the pebbles in the driveway. A muscled man with a bulge under his shoulder opened the door at her ring, and she was let in with a 'Mister Luthor is expecting you in the study."

Well duh, Chloe thought, but she upped her watts for him, and he was suitably impressed. She click-clacked down the hall, still knowing the way by heart even if she hadn't been here for ages. Darkness all around inside, too. Why Lex even returned here was a mystery to her. He'd once told her something vague about castles being fortresses, and how he liked being holed up here far away from the city…but that was just a load of crock. If Lex came here, it was either to have dealings with the plant, or when he was running away from something. So what was he running from now? The press? No, he'd assented to the interview at first. The Amy disaster, or the other kids? It wasn't like him to turn his back on something like that. So why then?

So ask him, Sullivan, a walrussy voice growled in her head. She hastily pushed Perry out.

First things first. She heard Lex's voice through the closed door of the study and, after a short knock, let herself in.

The first thing she noticed was the fact that he was red and fluffy, and a little shock passed through her. Somehow, over the evening, she had managed to forget that he wasn't all white and smooth anymore. It temporarily silenced her—which was fine, since Lex was still speaking into his cell phone. His laptop was…not on his desk but on the table in between the two black couches. A big, stylish tea pot hunkered down next to it, steam rising from its spout, and a decanter half-filled with golden liquid stood in the shadow of the computer's raised screen. And empty mug sat abandoned on the carpet.

Eh?

Lex himself was not behind his desk, or walking around as he usually did while on the telephone, but sitting on one of the couches. Or rather, he was draped over the couch, the arm leaning on the arm rest supporting his head while he spoke.

Eh??

He wasn't wearing shoes, only socks, and despite the heat of the fire he had on a thick, gray cotton sweater, no tie or even a shirt collar in sight. Without the distortion of the phone line, the roughness of his voice was even more distinct, and when he turned his head to face her his eyes seemed strange and gleaming and dilated. Combined with the high color in his cheeks and the uncharacteristic slump of his body, it made things abundantly clear.

Chloe gaped. He was sick. He had cancelled his interviews because he was sick! She didn't know whether to laugh wildly or be severely alarmed.

"…Right. Right. Keep following him," Lex told the person on the other side of the line. He pushed himself to a sitting position and beckoned Chloe in. She sat down on the cough opposite him, still watching him with unabashed interest. The corner of his mouth twitched, then he cast his eyes down and went back to his conversation. "If he does, notify me and follow him, but discreetly, of course. What? No. No, you shouldn't. Stay out of sight." He listened for a few moments, nodding into the phone. His left hand kept rubbing at his temple, unconsciously, Chloe thought, and she winced in sympathy. "Yes, that's a good idea. You do that. And get back to me, will you? You've got my number; call me if you find anything out."

He flipped his cell closed with a practiced movement of his wrist and turned those strange eyes on her. "Hello, Chloe." And damn, hearing her name pronounced with his ordinary drawl but in that throaty voice did weird things with her stomach. "Sorry I made you drive all the way here for nothing."

"That's ok," she reassured him. He smiled.

"Can I get you something to drink?" She started to shake her head, No, you just sit, I'll get it myself, but he had already hauled himself up and moved towards the liquor cabinet, silently concluding she'd want the cherry brandy she always had when she came here. Chloe studied him as he walked; everything he did was slow, as if he were moving in slow motion. Even blinking took twice the amount of time it normally would, and once she thought he would fall asleep while he was filling her glass.

"Uh, Lex…"

His cell rang and he started, mouthed sorry to Chloe, opened it, barked his name into it. Then he bowed, brought his hand to his head and started speaking in the strange, shlupping singsong of Chinese. And then, Chloe witnessed, for the second time in all the years that she'd known him, Lex Luthor unravel like a badly knotted carpet.

She didn't know squat about Chinese. But she did know that pauses like the ones was putting between words couldn't be normal. He sat down on the arm of the loveseat near the hearth, eyes tightly closed, the hand that wasn't holding the phone pressed hard against his forehead, face tight with concentration. He spoke for about seven minutes, getting ever more frustrated, and when he finished the conversation he all but crushed his cell in his hand and whispered, "Fuck!" with such distress it really upset Chloe.

"Are you all right?" she asked again, and his eyes opened with a start.

"What? Yes, yes, of course I am. Just…there's very little distinction between the words 'daughter' and 'pig' in Chinese, and I'm having difficulty getting the right tone because of my voice." He smiled blandly, then suddenly bent double and began to cough.

Again, Chloe winced. It sounded painful. In mid-cough, the phone rang yet again, and Lex swallowed hard in order to be able to answer it. This time, it was his father—at least, Chloe assumed there wasn't anyone else he'd greet with an icy, if rasping, "Hello, Dad."

Speaking to his father drove him to pace even though his body obviously wasn't in the condition for pacing; he swayed dangerously when he rounded the grand piano and had to lean his hand on the hood to keep from falling over. He apparently cut Daddy off in the middle of something he was saying, snarling, "I haven't got time for this now, Dad!" and slamming the poor phone down on the piano. It immediately began to ring again.

"Shut up!" Lex yelled at it exasperatedly. He picked it up, hissed, 'Fuck you!" when he saw the caller's identity, and pressed the call away. Within ten seconds, it rang again. Again, he cancelled the call. After another two times the phone finally remained silent.

Lex leaned heavily against the piano, breathing fast.

Chloe simply watched. She'd seen him freaking out on hallucinogens, but even then he'd been more in control than now…but after a few seconds of breathing air, Lex pulled himself together and faced her with a wan but genuine smile.

"Sorry," he said. "Rough day."

His laptop made a soft, chiming sound.

"Has it been like this all day?" Chloe asked. Lex, dragging himself away from the piano, shrugged.

"No…just from about four." He smirked. "Nice boots. Did you put those on for me? You really shouldn't have." The computer pinged more insistently, and Lex regarded it with comical disgust. "I'm coming! Did you have dinner yet? I have…" He stopped, both in words and motion, between the two couches, and rubbed his fingers over his face. "What was I doing?" he asked, almost plaintively. "I was doing something, and then…"

This, Chloe thought with rising alarm, is not good.

"Why don't you sit down?" she suggested, rising herself and pulling him down next to her. She made to put the back of her hand against his cheek but he pulled away and caught her hand in his.

He shook his head. "I'm fine. It's just…" His brow wrinkled as he tried to think. Finally, he threw his head back and burst out, "How do you deal with this? The sluggishness. The…the stupidity! My freaking brain is on strike!"

"Uh, Lex…" She shouldn't laugh, really. It really wasn't funny. But it was so comical to see Lex deal with what was obviously the flu in a typically Lex way; that is, to fight it and rile against it while the only thing to do was sit back and endure. She didn't like the way his eyes looked, though, all glassy and wet, and made another try to touch skin.

But he was back on his feet again, heading for the liquor cabinet. "I used to be able to do five, six different things at the same time," he spat as he splashed brandy into a glass. "Now? Two. At the most. See, I was offering you something to drink but then I was distracted by that phone call. It's hopeless."

Right, if he was going to be difficult, she didn't have to be pitiful. "Well, what can I say, Lex, men can't multi-task. You're not supposed to be able to do so anyway. Now women, can," she continued smugly. "And if we follow that line of thought, we can conclude that before Amy undid what the meteorites did to you, you actually were…"

"You say 'woman'," Lex said threateningly, "and I show you how well I can multitask with my Kill Bill prop sword, the poker, a flaming log and this carafe of brandy."

Chloe grinned at him. "Lex, you're all yak and no shack. You're hardly able to move. I could push you over with my little finger."

Lex huffed. "I'm suffering here, and you're talking about shack. You're a cruel, cruel…" He burst out coughing. Chloe grimaced as it went on and on; He's going to rupture something, this way. Finally she got up and went over to pound him on the back.

"That's a nasty cough you've got there, Mister Luthor," she said when the fit eased and he could breathe again. She rubbed his back in great circles. "Did you have it checked out?"

Lex gulped down the contents of the glass he'd just poured. "Didn't need to," he gasped, "Doctor diagnosed flu by phone and told me to sweat it out. I don't have time for sweats." He blinked at the empty glass. "Oh. Sorry. Force of habit. I'll get you another." He took a clean glass, but had to stop to cough again.

"Ok," Chloe said, plucking the glass out of his fingers and leading him back to the couch, "Let's forget about my drink and sit down. No, sit down. Turn your back towards me. Ok, sit still."

She cupped her hands and began to drum out a quick rhythm on his back, only hitting him with her fingers and heels of her hollow palms. Lex let her; he was too busy coughing his lungs out to be able to struggle. After a while, though, he subsided, and Chloe smiled when he made some inarticulate long-stretched sound that her drumming distorted into a kind of bleating. It seemed no one, not even grown men, could resist bleating when pummeled on the back.

When he hadn't coughed for almost a minute, she stopped, and pressed her fingers against the back of his bowed neck. Oh yes, he definitely had a fever, and a pretty high one at that. But he was smiling as he turned back to her, a strange, dreamy kind of smile she didn't think she'd ever seen before.

"Better?" she asked.

He nodded. "I remember my mother doing that, when I was sick as a child. I hadn't connected it to being a remedy against coughing."

"You were sick as a little boy?" Chloe asked. He gave her a lopsided smile. "Um. Yes. Why not." Lex rubbed his forehead, lost in thought. "Mine, too," said Chloe. "I used to get bronchitis from the Metropolis smog. She said it was to loosen the slime."

Lex stared at her. "Now that was a perfectly good memory you've just despoiled for life," he said dryly.

"I don't see why you're so revolted by a bit of slime, Lex. It's all human. Slime and snot and sweat and blood…I'm sorry you're feeling sick, but it's something we all have to go through."

He snorted. "I didn't. Correction, I didn't use to." He sighed. "Well, at least I was spared the phlegm and other…"

Ping, whined the laptop. In a Pavlovian reaction, Lex lifted the screen so that he could see it. The LuthorCorp Logo was doing a slow trot over a black background. When he moved his finger over the mouse pad, a password slot came up, and he typed something so fast Chloe couldn't see what it was.

"…disgustingness. Oh, for god's sake…" He knuckled his forehead.

Chloe snuck a look at the screen, and it was a testimony to how bad Lex was feeling that he didn't turned it away from her. What she saw was a list of names, several of which were highlit, and some of which were crossed through. She wondered what had made Lex moan like that; the names that were emphasized, or those that weren't.

Professional reporter mode, she thought. Initialize!

It was a bit hard with Lex sitting so close she could feel the heat radiate off of him. Unhealthy heat. Clark was always warm, even on cold days; benevolent alien heat, the warmth of the sun stored in his flesh like a battery. While Lex always made sure his hands were warm ("A cold hand triggers sensors in the mind that automatically conclude that the owner is either nervous, disinterested or in any other way inferior," Lex had once told her. "Just like clammy palms and dirty fingernails, and hands that don't squeeze when you shake them."), he usually was as cool to the touch as he looked. Maybe it was the remnant of her infatuation with Clark, or maybe she had, against all odds, some twisted nurse's instinct, but she could hardly keep her eager little hands off Lex's feverish skin.

Focus. She could always touch him later.

"What's that you're doing?"

"This?" He glanced back at her but didn't lower the screen. "It's a list with names from LuthorCare. I've put a few people on it to check alibis, backgrounds, family, the whole shebang…But it's going far too slow, and…"

He opened an email flashing at the bottom of the screen. Again, under her eyes. Either his brain had boiled dry or he just didn't care that she saw it. It read:

We've had to separate three of the children from the others and move them to a secluded room. Their vitals are stable but very weak. The new Ct4-R treatments has taken some effect, but we are worried especially about Emmy Sittard, who has lost seven pounds since last Saturday, when her condition started to rapidly deteriorate. We…

Lex closed the email; apparently he still read about three times as fast as Chloe. His entire figure was drooping.

"Emmy," Chloe said slowly. "She's one of your Cradle Cancer kids?"

Lex nodded. "I need to kill her mother."

"Let's pretend I didn't hear that."

"I do, though," Lex said. "If it weren't for that stuck-up bitch her daughter wouldn't be dying now." His phone rang, and an expression that was pure pain flashed over his face.

"I'll get it," Chloe said, and went to retrieve it from the liquor cabinet. "It's…um… Lucifer?"

Lex grinned. It was a bit strained but definitely a grin. He held out his hand. She dropped the still ringing phone into it and he opened it. "Dad," he said silkily. "You are not up to your usual excellence today. What made you think I would have changed my mind about discussing your project in the last ten minutes? No, this is not a good time. Yes, I know that." He was squirming, ready to get up any moment now and start pacing again. Chloe, as she sat down again, put her hand on his back. His muscles jumped at her touch, then coiled back into hard ropes while he fought one of his little verbal battles with his father.

Chloe had witnessed them a few times before; once in person, two or three times by phone. Lex usually cut them short—armistice, he'd sometimes say with a smirk—when other people were present, and Chloe had gotten the idea that he kind of liked these little fencing matches, just like he liked fencing with epees. Now, however, as she listened to what he was saying, and the way he said it, and the way his entire body tensed as if it were a physical fight, she began to believe it might not be that way after all.

Christ, she thought, I can't even imagine talking to my dad like that! Or him saying things to me that'd make me respond like that! It's awful! Poor Lex!

Then Poor Lex said a firm goodbye to Daddy, studied his phone with half-lidded eyes, and finally turned it off and threw it onto the other couch. Chloe heaved a sigh of relief.

"Would you like some tea?" Lex asked dully. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a host today. Did I offer you brandy already?"

"You did. Tea's fine. D'you have a mug somewhere? I'll get it myself, Lex, just point."

She searched a cupboard for a mug and found one with a cow on it. When she whisked around and returned to her seat, holding up the mug in triumph, she caught Lex somewhat unawares, that is to say without his 'me cool' mask in place, and her cool, poised, professional reporter's heart turned to something soft and gooey because, Oh, poor Lex! He looked absolutely miserable. The mask clicked in place only a second later, but she still wanted to hug him and tell him things would be all right.

Yeah, like he'd even WANT you to do that. He'd probably be horrified.

"I hope you like jasmine tea," Lex said, pouring.

"I do! It smells lovely."

"Hm. That's what I thought this morning. After a gallon or two you'll feel different about that. I hope it's still warm enough. Honey?"

"No thanks."

"Whiskey?"

"Lex, is there anything you don't put hard liquor into?"

He opened his mouth. Shut it. "I'm not sure," he said, pondering. "I don't think I put anything in my orange juice this morning. It's doctor's orders, though." He pinched the bridge of his nose, mask slipping again.

"Why don't you go to bed?" Chloe asked gently. "You look completely done in. Didn't the doctor order that, too? Bed rest?"

Lex sighed. It ended in a cough. He reached for his computer again. "I don't have the time. Besides, it's barely eight yet. I should have…"

"Do you have a headache?"

Once more that twitch of the corner of his mouth. I get it now, Chloe realized. It's amusement at his own shortcomings. Oh my sweet boy, are you one screwed up puppy. She put her mug on the armrest. "Put your head on my lap." Dilated eyes looked at her as if she'd just grown a second head. Chloe patted her thighs. "Come on, I won't bite, and it'll help. This was another thing my mother used to do for me when I was sick."

"You're hardly my mother, Chloe," Lex said huskily.

Down, boy. "I know that," she said patiently, and patted her lap again. Lex sometimes reminded her of a panther, one of those big, white ones, and weren't cats supposed to react to thumping sounds? Of course, he was more like a ginger tabby at the moment, but still. "Oh, come on. You didn't mind smearing tomato sauce all over my face and licking it off, I don't see why you'd be shy about putting your face…no, that was not a Freudian slip…your head in my lap."

"That was different," Lex murmured, but he did lie down and put one cheek on her thighs. Almost immediately he was struck by another coughing fit, sat up again, and coughed until Chloe really feared he'd bring up a lung. After that, she had no trouble whatsoever pulling him down again.

"Do you know," Lex drawled in a breathless whisper, "if I'm lying like this, I can see all the way…" She pressed her knees more firmly together, even though he was lying ON TOP of her skirt facing OUTWARDS and COULDN'T POSSIBLY see ANYTHING, "into your boots…"

"Bastard." She swatted his ear, but very softly. "You're sick, so act like it."

Lex stiffened again, but now she put two fingers on his temple and began to rub them in circles, and after a while he relaxed, his head heavy on her thighs. His eyelashes tickled her knees through her tights when he blinked. And now she finally had the chance to investigate…his hair.

It was still very short—too short to do anything but stand up straight from his head, but already it had grown long enough to feel more like a very soft brush than like stubble. A bit like velvet, stroked against the thread. His cheeks and jaws were very smooth, though; he must have shaved late in the afternoon, or maybe twice a day. She wouldn't put it past him. Hell, if she'd suddenly wake up with a beard, she'd shave it off twice a day, too. Most people smelled off, when they were sick. Lex smelled of shaving cream, whiskey and detergent. His face and neck were hot against her legs.

Still rubbing, she made an inquiring sound.

He made an equally non-verbose sound back, which she thought was affirmative. He didn't move, in any case. It moved her, to some extend, that he trusted her enough to let her hold him like this now that he was vulnerable—Lex liked to be the one in control of the situation, be it a conversation, an action, or sex. He was willing to relinquish some of that control, knowing that it was him controlling the forfeit of it, but only if he could take it back whenever he wanted to—but she actually thought it might not be so much a question of trust as of sheer exhaustion.

The man was a total mess.

The total mess cleared his throat. "Aren't you bored?" he asked sleepily.

"Not really."

"You can watch TV, if you like."

Ah, so he was comfy. Chloe smiled. "Won't it hurt your head?"

"You're working on that, aren't you?" Control. Freak. "The remote's on the side table next to you."

"Ok. I see the remote but I don't see the TV."

"Green button. Aim for the ugly painting with the half-naked woman on it."

Chloe did. The painting slid aside and revealed a 40 inch flat screen. "Neat," she muttered, impressed despite herself. Doctor Phil's untrustworthy con-man's face appeared larger than life, and she quickly switched to another channel. "Who's the painting by?"

"Some French guy. Don't remember his name at the moment. It's a copy, anyway." He jerked when Clint Eastwood rode in on a horse and started shooting people with an alarming din.

Chloe lowered the volume to a bare whisper and reassuringly stroked his forehead. She wasn't sure, but she thought he was growing even hotter.

"You sure you don't want to go to bed?" He just mm-ed, so she shrugged and got comfortable, rubbing Lex's temple with the fingers of one hand and holding her mug with the other. When Clint Eastwood started painting the desert town red, Lex shifted and moved one hand to her thigh—not to do anything interesting but to curl it in front of his face—and promptly fell asleep, increasing his weight with about 100 pounds, it felt like.

Chloe sat there, sipping tea, watching High Plane's Drifter, her mind calm and content. She wasn't sure why she was so happy with the whole situation. Sick people were boring. She always visited them, (and in once case opened her heart to him while he was unconscious, and had it kicked closed with a single muttered name) but she most certainly wasn't some caring Florence Nightingale. Considerate, that was what she was. Or was it compassionate? Maybe she was just dumb.

She changed her position; her leg was falling asleep. Lex murmured something, but settled down when she caressed his cheek. He slept so deeply she could hardly feel him breathe. It was getting late. Clint Eastwood had almost wiped out his entire town, and one of the antique clocks grated out eleven ancient-sounding dingdongs.

Time flies with sleeping billionaires on your knee.

But now the tea had completed its circuit, and unless Lex liked large wet stains on his leather couch, she really had to go to the bathroom. Carefully, she wriggled out from under Lex and went off to pee; when she came back, Lex was stabilizing himself with one leg still on the couch and one foot on the floor, both hands leaning on the back, balance awkward after sleeping like that. One side of his face was striped red from where it had lain on her skirt, the other side flushed with fever.

"Aww, you poor thing," Chloe sighed. She almost didn't recognize him.

Lex chuckled a little. "It's a bit like…being high," he whispered. "Only without the ecstasy and the flashy colors. Had I known that before…"

"Let's get you into bed. Do you have a thermometer?"

"Everybody keeps asking me that," Lex said crabbily. "What on earth am I to do with a thermometer? Will it make me feel better?"

"No, but it'll tell me what your temperature is," Chloe said. And although she was feeling really, really sorry for the guy, she couldn't help laughing at him either. She knew men often tended to sputter and act macho when facing sickness, but she'd never actually witnessed it close up. Her dad was a bit of a wimp when it came to the flu. He never protested being pampered. Or being taken his temperature.

"I assume it's higher than usual," Lex said. He shut down the laptop with slow, clumsy movements. "I wonder when it'll start raining. If it won't soon, we'll lose the crops."

Crops. Chloe stared at him. Lex held his head aside and blinked in slow motion into the glowing remains of the fire. "Lex, sweetie, I think you're hallucinating."

"Sweetie?" Amusement crinkled the outer corners of his eyes, but the eyes themselves were blank and glassy.

"Sorry," she smiled, "it comes with the fever. Come on, beddy time."

"Chloe, much as I appreciate your…"

"Lex, I am going to put you to bed and tuck you in, and if you keep protesting I'm going to arrange a baby-phone and keep watch while you sleep. You're in desperate need of some TLC. Do you have any aspirins?"

Lex let her push him into the hallway. "Upstairs," he muttered. "But I already ate half of the package, and apparently taking more would have some nasty side effects…"

"Half of the package?" Chloe asked shrilly. Trust Lex to overdose himself on aspirin.

"Well, about eight."

"Aspirin?"

"Well, ibuprofen, actually. They really work wonders, though…" He opened the door of his bedroom, gave her a backward glance, shrugged and entered with Chloe in his wake. The room was nice and warm, but not as hot as the study downstairs, and he shivered.

Chloe lifted the corner of his duvet. Nice, silk covers. The old smirk passed briefly over Lex's face, and then he crawled into bed and let her tuck him in.

"There," she said, satisfied. "Now you just go to sleep and you'll see…" she trailed off and looked at the alarm clock on the side table. "Is this set?"

"Mm."

"What time?"

"Six."

She turned it off. Lex didn't bother protesting. Good.

"So what are you going to do now?" Lex asked, and she shrugged.

"I can probably get a room at the Wayside Hotel, or…"

"You can stay here, if you want," Lex said. "The guest room's always prepared for guests. It's a guest room, after all. You can stay here for the night. You shouldn't drive at night—it's probably snowing again. It always snows when it's dark." He blinked. "You can stay here if you want."

Chloe nodded. "I think I might. Thanks, Lex."

He smiled. "Thank you for your TLC. I think I like you better without it, but thank you anyway."

"You do know what it means, don't you? TLC?"

"Of course I do. Helen used it all the time. I came to the conclusion that it meant something different for her, though. Total Love Control, or something. Take, Leave and Crash. Or maybe Talk, Lie and Conquer. I don't know." He sighed. "I'm really tired," he said softly, and Chloe kissed his hot forehead, knowing he wasn't just talking about his current physical state.

"Go to sleep. I promise I won't try to pry into your business tonight, just to ease your mind."

"Armistice," Lex murmured.

"Exactly. You'll feel much better tomorrow, you'll see. Good night, Lex."

"Good night." He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.

Chloe left his room and went in search of the guest room. The moment she left the room, Lex opened his eyes and turned on his alarm clock.

TBC