giggle
Lex: (conversationally) So Clark, how DO you shave?
Clark: Um. (mumbles) Heat vision.
Lex: What? Speak up.
Clark: Heat vision. And an, um, mirror.
Lex: splod
I had no reviews for the last chapter, so I don't have anyone to thank either :P
Calm before the storm:
Twenty-five: in which Edge's plans with Chloe's purse become clearIt was the second of January and Chloe Sullivan was getting outraged glances from her fellow colleagues as she sat at her desk, humming as she filed through a toweringly stacked in-tray.
"Ok," Katie Johansson finally said, as Chloe burst into spontaneous song while sorting through a pile of transcribed lectures on SARS, "who is he, and what did you two do?"
"Huh?" She didn't really like Katie. She was tall, thin, pretty and persistent in an obtuse way Katie herself thought made her look professional, but which everybody else experienced as insensitive. As a matter of fact she was rather like Lois, but while Lois could be tactless, she wasn't mean, and Katie most definitely was. No overflowing D-cup could hide the fact that she was a nasty bitch, and as a result even the most desperate males of the department refused to have anything to do with her. Sometimes Chloe felt sorry for her; most of the time she tried to avoid her. Usually, this was easily accomplished since Katie was an anchor and seldom present. Today she was impossible to ignore.
"They guy who painted the 'I got some cock' sign on your forehead," Katie said rudely. "Who was it? Lex bloody Luthor? Don't tell me you're actually screwing him."
"You're totally right," Chloe said amiably, going back to her work. "I'm not telling you." Her singing mood had vanished, but she still hummed to herself, taking occasional sips of coffee while she made notes in the margin with a red pen.
Unfortunately, Katie was less interested in work than in gossip—which, to be true, was closely related—and leaned against Chloe's (still absent) neighbor's desk, studying her from behind long, curled lashes.
"What?" Chloe asked without looking up. "Is there something on my face? Beside the 'I got some cock' sign, of course?"
"Are you screwing him?"
"Oh yeah, big time. Man's out of the hospital for two days after sustaining major injuries…"
"During which you were present," Katie interjected.
"Uhuh. I'm sure he loves being reminded of the times we shared in the forest. You can't believe what a turn-on it is to sit knee-deep in a man's blood. Man, I get hot even thinking about it."
"So you aren't doing him?"
Chloe rolled her eyes. People like Katie Johansson were the reason she was so reluctant to confess she was seeing him. They took out every shred of romance and love and turned it into a relationship built on lust, greed and mutual exploitation. If she said 'Yup, I'm screwing Lex and wow, he's good at it!' there was no way Katie would ever believe it was because Chloe sincerely loved the guy. She shivered imagining Katie forcing an interview.
"No, Katie, I'm trying to WORK. So could you please go away and stick your nose in someone else's business?"
"Oh come one! Why won't you tell me? I swear I won't tell anyone."
"You wouldn't have to," the young man sitting two desks to the right of Chloe said, poking his head up. "Since we're in a public office and anything. Sod off, Katie, I have heaps to do. If you want to know, I cheated on my wife and had Chloe on Perry's desk just when the clock struck twelve last night."
"I can vouch for that," the mail room girl, Anna Boleyn (not related to the British queen) spoke up. She put another couple of envelopes in Chloe's in-tray. "I was there, too."
"Me too," the man against whose desk Katie was leaning added while he hung his jacket over the back of his chair. "I didn't cheat, though. Brought my wife right along. Becky loves threesomes."
Katie flung up her hands. "Ok, I get it. You don't need to make such a big deal out of it." She stomped off, even forgetting to sway her hips in her anger.
The others grinned. "Thanks, I guess," Chloe said. "Jeez, Chuck, I never knew you wanted me so badly."
Chuck had been married for exactly three weeks now and still seemed sun-struck with happiness about said situation. "It isn't you I'm fantasizing about," he deadpanned. "It's Perry's desk. I can't wait to smuggle Diane in one night and watch her writhe on all those files—I mean, really, the thought of that ash tray of his alone is enough to make me embarrass myself."
"Yes, I see the appeal," Anna snorted. She handed Chuck a stack of envelopes. "And here's your share for the new year. And these are for Gary. Gary, do you want them in your tray or shall I throw them into the trash can straight away?"
"Damn you, woman! Give me the chance to sit down, will you?"
"I just don't want to cause an avalanche. I've never seen such an amazing tower of unopened and unread mail. It's extraordinary! There must be stuff lying there from June last year! Have you ever considered calling World Records?"
As the usual office bickering and teasing continued around her, Chloe went back to her own mail. At the beginning of the year the mail always screwed up because of the Christmas mail and the holidays, so while her email inbox was relatively empty, the hardcopy stuff was overwhelming. She picked up a large yellow envelope, checking for a sender name. There was none. The only thing on the label was her name, Ms. C. Sullivan, and the P.O. Box of the Daily Planet. Nothing official, then. When she tilted the envelop to rip open the side, something inside of it shifted.
Hm. It felt like a key.
She opened the envelop and took out the simple sheet of white paper, interrupting herself to click her computer through MSN start up. Several of her contacts were only available by chat. "So," she murmured to herself as she unfolded the letter, "what have we got here, then? More New Year wishes? A whistleblower's requiem? A new..." She stopped. The letter was typed and printed in a font that resembled ordinary handwriting.
Miss Sullivan,
I trust you have had a pleasant New Year. However, there is work to be
done and therefore I am sending you this letter. Why a letter, I hear
you think. The answer is simple: there are some things one cannot send
by mail and one of them is the key you will find enclosed with this
note.
If you were to have this letter investigated by the police, they would
tell you that it contains two sets of fingerprints; on the letter my
own which, I dare say, have been in great demand with the local police
force these days. On the envelop you will find my prints again, and the prints of
the kind old lady living in Baltimore Junction, House number 6, who so
readily agreed to post this letter for a passing stranger on the 31st of
December. If you feel the need to have her checked out, please ask the police to be
polite, since she is a friendly old lady who only acted out of the
goodness of her heart.
By now you have probably taken out the key.
(Chloe had, and she almost crushed the paper in her suddenly sweaty fingers. Edge predicted her actions so accurately she didn't know whether to be scared or outraged.)
It is, as you can see, a key to a locker. The locker in question can
be found at the south Met Station, on the right side of the central
hall. You may have noted that the key does not have a number, but you
can easily find out what it is: the number of the locker corresponds
with the last three numbers on the verification tag in your purse.
In this locker you will find the lead to proof of several of LuthorCorp's illegal
deals and projects, including print-outs of links and documents I gave
to you but were no longer in existence. Of course, whether you go and
collect these documents is entirely up to you. There is nothing I can
do to force you. However, if you want to find out the truth, you now
have the key to access it.
Yours,
Martin Edge
She wanted to rip the paper apart, tear it to shreds, squeeze it to papier mache in the dregs of her coffee cup. That bastard! That insufferable son of a bitch! Her hands clenched and made the paper crackle...But she didn't tear it. She did not even fold it. She stared at the neatly printed lines and tried to make herself feel only anger and no curiosity.
But once again, Edge had drawn her in, playing on her weaknesses: the thrill of some kind of game and the everlasting desire to FIND OUT about the horrors in the basement of LuthorCorp.
She loved Lex—Did she? Yes, she did. A lot, actually. She couldn't even imagine not being with him anymore. If there had ever been anything personal to her desire to bring LuthorCorp down, it was long gone, and she didn't want to have anything to do with Edge and his private vendetta with Lex.
I should take this to the police. But what good would that do? Produce two sets of fingerprints, the most important of which was already known. And…She picked up her bag and looked inside. There, just above the zipper of an internal pocket a small incongruous red label with the stylized logo of the bag's manufacturer (Bailiz&Harriet) stuck out of a seam. She had studied that label several times, but it had always been there and it had not been tampered with. No one HAD tampered with it. She folded it and looked on the other side. The bag's manufacturer's number was 28319.
319.
Locker 319.
Locker 319 held all the secrets to bringing down LuthorCorp.
LuthorCorp and Lex.
"No." She put the letter back in the envelop, stuffed the key inside as well and crammed the whole of it into the lowest drawer of her desk. "I have better things to do." Forcefully putting the letter out of her mind, she went back to her work. Two hours later she could almost convince herself that she had forgotten all about Edge's little note.
The first week of the new year Chloe saw Lex only in the late evening since his PR manager had booked him full almost from daybreak to dinner. For Chloe as well there was a lot of catching up to do at work, so they only met up after dinner, once FOR dinner, screwed like bunnies, fell asleep in a coil and woke up alone—at least, Chloe woke up alone because Lex usually got up at six and left before the alarm clock went off at seven fifteen. The first two days Chloe felt guilty about sleeping soundly through any and all morning rituals Lex performed, but after a while even that became a routine.
Lex didn't need an alarm clock. He always opened his eyes at exactly six in the morning, no matter at what time he went to sleep, and was always immediately ready to start the day. Where Chloe needed lakes of caffeine to pull her out of post-sleep zombeism, Lex's body apparently produced its own stimulating substances. Neither did he need time to shed the stupidity brought on by sleep (Chloe was notoriously dumb when she'd just woken up, barely capable of intelligent conversation). Once she'd woken up at six ten because he was having a merry chat with one of his business colleagues…in Russian.
It was at this moment that she decided that Lex, unlike what everybody thought, was an alien as well. His father had been brainwashed into thinking he'd once had a redheaded son, because really, Lex's name was Al-Lex'nDr and he came from a neighboring colony of Krypton. No one who wasn't Russian and who had only been awake for a couple of minutes should be able to make jokes in Russian. It was freaky.
What was also freaky was how much he thrived on working. Sure, Chloe loved her job, and she'd spent many evenings poring over yellowed handwritten notes and ancient news papers, but unless there was some kind of mystery to be solved, or a criminal to be apprehended, she was very happy to go home in the evening.
But Lex, she got the feeling, made little distinction between work and spare time. Because of some fluke of nature he could take as much pleasure in reading the minutes of a meeting as she took in reading a good novel. Figuring out a way to finance a failing company in order to keep it out of the hands of the opposition was something he enjoyed, up to the point that he whistled a horrible tuneless melody all the while he was working.
Once she had shown up while he was almost hidden behind a stack of files.
"Sit down, have a drink," he'd said. "I'll be done in half an hour."
"Right," she'd said, but damned if he hadn't worked through it—and probably meticulously well—in twenty-seven minutes. Out of curiosity she paged through one of those files sometime later. She couldn't make head nor tails of it.
Being confronted with Lex's brilliance always made her feel a bit uncomfortable. She wasn't stupid by any means herself, but it was very easy to forget how scarily smart Lex was—despite the fact that the A. in A. Luthor stood for Arrogance. Somehow, he always managed to brag about how fucking intelligent he was without making her feel stupid (on the contrary, whenever he donned that superior smirk she felt like rolling her eyes), but reading through this stuff drove it home a hell of a lot more efficiently. Perhaps that was because there was always a touch of cynicism in his voice when he spoke about his brain power, as if there were downs as well as ups to being this smart.
Maybe there were, Chloe wouldn't know. She was pretty much satisfied with her own gray cells, but she couldn't image there was anything negative about being able to speak 14 languages and learn a new one in the span of a few weeks. Maybe one became bored sooner, or fed up with silly movies with moronic plots. Or maybe one started to ask more of one's own capacities. Lex picked up new things with envy-inspiring ease, but he was by no means perfect, and he could become terribly chagrined when he wanted to learn something and wasn't able to so.
Like whistling.
Thankfully, Lex did not often give her the chance to ponder the lowliness of her IQ compared to his. As long as he kept his work-related files locked away, kissed her a couple of times and made goofy comments on shows on TV, she had no trouble at all ignoring the fact that he was a genius.
It was much more difficult ignoring the envelope tucked away in her desk at the Planet.
She did manage to forget about Edge's hidden treasure for the full two glorious days she spent with Lex in Paris.
"If you want to go, that is," he said with a mocking little smile while they were smashing lobsters hidden in the back of the quaintest little restaurant.
"If I WANT to go??" she asked, and brought down her hammer so hard the lobster splattered all over the table. "Of course I want to go!"
Lex removed a piece of shell from his cheek. "I'd appreciate it if you'd handle that thing a trifle more carefully," he said dryly. "But if we're to go I suggest we go this weekend. Then it won't be so dreadfully crowded. Unless you have other plans…?"
"Plans that take precedence over going to Paris?" Chloe snorted. "Hardly. I'd love to go."
"Would you like to bring someone? Lois?"
She was sure he didn't mean it but there was something leery about the way he pronounced her cousin's name, as if the L wouldn't leave his mouth and stuck to his tongue. She grinned. "Nah. I think I'll just force you to do…what's the name of that street again? With all the shops?"
"Avenue Montaigne."
"Yes. You'll just have to bite through it."
Lex raised a cool eyebrow. "I can imagine worse than watching a woman go postal in clothing shops. But are you quite sure? Last time you said…"
"Lex…" She released her hammer and made to put her hand over his, then noticed her hand was sticky with lobster juice and covered in tiny bits of shell and licked her fingers instead. "I'd love to go with just you. Really."
"Good," Lex had said, and the following Friday she skipped up the steps of his small private jet.
It hardly reminded her of an airplane. She'd flown in airplanes before, and her main impressions had always been tiny chairs without leg room, salted peanuts and drinks served in ludicrously small plastic glasses. Lex's plane was spacious inside, and looked more like a hotel room than the inside of a vehicle. It even had two beds in a separate cabin. She tried not to gawk too much; after all, she wasn't a child anymore, and really, Luthor Luxury shouldn't impress her anymore. Nevertheless she found Lex observing her with an amused expression as she looked up from the mini bar (which was HUGE for a mini bar) when a disembodied man's voice announced they were ready for take-off and would they please strap in?
"Satisfied with the surroundings?" Lex asked with an indulging smirk.
"It'll do," she replied, and sank into a plush chair near the window. Lex, she noticed, was sitting closer to the isle, if the gangway between the chairs could be called that. She fastened her seat belt and pressed her nose against the glass when the motors gave their first roar. Lex opened a newspaper. She shot him an exasperated glance. "You don't have to be so bloody blasé about it, you know. I know you fly all the time but how can you ever get tired of taking off?" She felt her lips spread in a smile at the feeling of being pushed into her chair when the plane began to accelerate.
"Blasé?" He looked up from his news paper, still looking utterly comfortable but keeping his eyes averted from the windows. "I'm not blasé about flying."
"Then look at it! It's beautiful."
"I'd rather not, if it's the same to you."
And in the silence that followed his words, spoken so calmly and without any of his usual bravado, Chloe realized that she was a fool; what was more, she was a cold-hearted fool. He crashed. Way to go, Sullivan, that was a spectacular display of disregarding your loved one's traumatic experiences.
"I'm sorry," she said, and she hardly noticed that beautiful moment when the plane left the ground and ceased being land-bound transport and became airborne. "I hadn't thought…I didn't think…Oh Lex, why didn't you tell me before? You must hate flying!"
"Flying's ok," he said quietly. "It's taking off and landing that makes me just a tiny bit nervous." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about it."
"But we could have gone another way, or not all the way to Paris…"
"Don't be absurd." He shook his head and swallowed when they rose abruptly; Chloe swallowed too and her ears popped. "Like you said, I fly all the time; it's the only way to cover large distances quickly. I've just never really taken a liking to it." Indeed, he did not give the impression of actually being scared, it was more something like resignation; she still felt guilty.
"But after you crashed…"
"I crashed my cars too, multiple times," Lex shot back. "I still love driving. I never enjoyed flying. Hated it as a kid. Must be because you have no control over a plane at all, and if you do crash…well…not even Clark Kent can breathe life back into you if you do."
The fasten seat belt light blinked off, and he immediately got up and poured two glasses, one with what was probably scotch and one with what she expected was white wine.
"Well, we're up in the air already and I am pretty much convinced you didn't bribe my pilot to abandon plane and…" He stopped, shook his head again and took a gulp from his glass. "Sorry." He handed her her wine. "To Paris. When you drink that annoying pressure in your ears will disappear."
"To Paris," Chloe toasted, and then she got up and parked herself on his lap. "Are people liable to come in at unexpected moments?"
Lex grinned. He put his drink down on the table next to him and put his hands on her hips. "Not unless I call them."
"Mmm. And how long is this flight going to last again?"
"About twelve hours, I should say."
"That's an awful long time."
"Awful," Lex said, and began to undo the buttons of her blouse. "What are we to do?"
"Scrabble?"
"Window sex is going to be a bit of a problem, although the view would be even more spectacular."
"Will the staff notice if we have sex? I mean, won't they feel the plane bump or something?"
Lex shared some kind of secret with her navel. "Chloe, a plane weighs over three ton. I doubt we're going to be able to rock it—not unless you've brought a drill with you."
"Then let me introduce you to my Tarzan2000 Mr. Bumpy Rotating Power Love Vibrator Machine."
Lex's mouth quivered. "Rotating Power Love Vibrator Machine?"
"It's the latest fashion."
"Mm. Maybe we should play scrabble after all. I'm most curious for the words you'll come up with."
But in the end they just ended up having sex, and Chloe slept for most of the rest of the flight. She even slept amazingly well, and when she stepped off the plane in Paris, she was bouncing with energy.
Lex blinked owlishly against the light and claimed he needed coffee—Chloe was just fine with this since there very seldom was a time she was not in the mood for coffee—she didn't think he had closed his eyes for longer than a minute. She doubted she would have been able to sleep if she'd once been drugged and woken up going down. It didn't seem to bother him much, the lack of sleep. He drank three cups of hideously expensive coffee, devoured three croissants, splashed water in his face and proclaimed himself ready for shopping.
Chloe stuck her arm through his and dashed down the Avenue Montaigne with the same delight she had as a little girl running into Disney World.
L'Avenue Montaigne was a paradise for rich and famous shoppers (although Chloe did not recognize a single famous face). Dior, Chanel, Versace, Gucci, Prada, Valentino. Names Chloe only knew from the dresses the people she wrote about wore to balls and openings. She had never seen so many fur coats—real fur coats, the ones animals died for—in her life. At first the huge boutiques cowed her a little, as did the beautiful women in their dead stylish animals, but Lex simply pushed her through the glass doors of the nearest store, pointed at something on a mannequin and said, "Why don't you try that on?" and it was amazing how quickly she lost her timidity.
Lex patiently accompanied Chloe while she ran one shop in and out of the other, only speaking up when she hesitated because of the price.
"Just buy it already," he'd say with a little shrug. "If you want it, you can have it."
"But 200 euro for this slip of silk…it's outrageous! I mean, it's gorgeous, but…How many dollars is that? 300 or something?"
"Something like that." Lex sounded bored. "It looks good on you, so buy it. I insist. What's more, I promised. Buy it. You haven't even reached 2000 yet, and it's almost 2, so you'd better stop dawdling."
"2000…" She stared, aghast, at the bags she had so far collected.
"That's exactly 5 of the latest car I ordered," Lex mused. "And not even 0,5 of the LeXCorp Christmas donation to charity this year." He grinned, but the mischievous glint in his eyes somehow made him look boyishly charming instead of insufferably snobbish. "You're a delightfully cheap date, Chloe."
So Chloe bought clothes worth half her monthly salary she was SURE she would spill chocolate on the very first time she wore them while Lex hung over chairs and against walls, observing her with that mixture of amusement and wariness men automatically adopted whenever they went out with women who had clothes on their mind. If she fitted something he thought hideous, a comical grimace twisted his mouth, and most of the time Chloe heeded that expression, but sometimes she really couldn't ignore an item he thought revolting. One was a truly awful pair of snakeskin boots she fell in love with at first sight, and another was a designer hat with what looked like an entire ostrich draped over it.
"It's like a vulture!" Lex moaned when she eagerly plunked it down on her head and paraded in front of the mirror. "God, it's monstrous, Chloe, please take it off!"
"I like it," she protested. It was so horrible it was wonderful. She couldn't wait to wear it to work. "I want it!" And although he looked as if she had just stabbed her with a knife, Lex said, "Well, you've got my card, don't you?", and five minutes later Chloe left the shop with a big official hat box in her arms.
By three, Lex began to flag, so they took a short coffee break in a historical building.
"Are you getting tired?" Chloe asked, bouncing on her chair in a rush of shopping endorphins and strong French caffeine. "You're holding up admirably. I am proud of you, young grasshopper."
Lex snorted. "As long as you're having fun, I'm having fun," he drawled, but there was no sarcasm in his voice. "Tomorrow, it's culture day, so then I'll get my own back."
"Hah! You make it sound as if I'm some kind of barbarian! I like museums! And I want to climb the Eiffel Tower."
Lex peeked in one of her bags and smirked to himself. "I'm not sure you can still climb it. But there's an elevator so yes, we'll do that."
"Isn't Napoleon buried here, too? In some kind of dome?"
"Yes. At Les Invalides. If we have time we can pay it a visit. It's a bit too Julius Caesar to my taste, but quite impressive. By the way, if you want to get rid of all those parcels, we can have them taken to the hotel."
"Shouldn't we check in anyway? And what about my suitcase?"
"It's already been dropped off, and we can check in whenever we want. I know the proprietor," Lex added. "You can shop until the stores close at eight," he winced quietly, "and we're still ensured of a warm welcome at the hotel."
"They close at eight? Good god, only five hours left!"
"I have created a monster," Lex sighed. He let Chloe pay for the coffee. "Good, you've contributed your share. We still have the entire Rue du Faubourg Saint Honoré to go, and it's already getting dark."
"There's another shopping street?"
"Oh yes," said Lex.
Chloe laughed. "You're going to need a second plane, Lex!"
Parisians ate late. Lex and Chloe had dinner in the Quartier Latin, a mass of small bistros and cute eateries advertised by pushy people that could have made a great career as salesmen. Chloe was somewhat surprised at Lex's choice; she'd expected some huge fancy restaurant, but she thought this was much nicer, and much more French than yet another posh place where the waiters made her feel like a schmuck.
When they sauntered back to the hotel on Rue Mont San Michel (a very small, high class inn run by a husband and wife that seemed to know Lex quite well), the sounds and sights and smells of Paris foreign, glittery and exciting around her, happiness created a warm light in her full stomach; she squeezed Lex's arm with her own and kissed him in the middle of the street. It was Paris, nobody cared anyway. Nobody even SAW. In Metropolis, Lex Luthor kissing Chloe Sullivan would make heads turn at least, and cameras flash if the place was public enough. Here he was just a bald guy in an expensive coat kissing a small blonde woman. Their anonymity added to her contentment; it was so lovely being able to neck Lex when she felt like it.
"Happy?" Lex asked, smiling.
"Absolutely!"
"Mission accomplished, then."
"Oh yes! And you know what's best?"
"No?"
"There's seven hours of shopping loot waiting for me on my bed to try on and wear for your pleasure!"
Lex blinked. "Ah…yes…" he said faintly.
That night she initiated a one and a half hour-lasting fashion show, trying out all her new acquisitions and seeing how they fitted outside the shop. Poor Lex fell asleep after the sixth combination ('Oh look, I hadn't even noticed but this top looks great on this skirt as well! And I can wear these shoes with those pants too! Don't you think? Lex? Lex?'), but woke up again when she straddled him in her underwear and the great ostrich hat.
"Something somehow seems out of place," he muttered drowsily. He lifted a feather from where it drooped over her eyebrow and then smoothed it back into place again. "This really is the most godawfully ugly hat I've ever seen. Although in combination with lingerie I must say it holds a certain appeal."
"I knew you'd like it."
"I don't, it's hideous." He snapped open the fastening of her bra. "But you can keep your hat on."
"Why do I even bother shopping for clothes if all you want to do is take them off again?" Chloe lamented in mock-despair.
"I let you keep your hat on, don't I?" said Lex, and tossed her bra towards the lamp—and pouted when it wouldn't get stuck.
In the morning Lex let Chloe sleep late, because during the night (at ten past one, as a matter of fact, and in mid-sentence) jetlag crept up to her and knocked her into a coma, but at nine he woke her up, dragged her into the shower and soaped her up while she continued to sleep draped against his chest. He had hoped the water would wake her up. He was, unfortunately, mistaken.
So incredibly sexy, he laughed to himself while he shifted her weight from his left to his right arm and aimed the shower nozzle at her lower back, taking a shower together with an unconscious woman. "Hey Chloe. Chloe. Are you with me yet?"
"Muhhhh," Chloe moaned. Her eyelids flickered, but the fingers stroking his chest were more seeking support than intentionally caressing.
He pulled her somnambulant body through the rites of drying, combing and dressing, chuckling softly when she curled up on the bed and went back to sleep while he was pondering how to get her boots on. Still firmly off-line. Luckily the human body was programmed to execute several tasks more or less automatically, and to his delight she responded just perfectly to certain commands and phrases:
"Put on your boots. Come on, wake up. Open your eyes. Very good! You want to see Paris, right, not the inside of your eyelids. Are you hungry? You'll feel better when you've eaten something and had your coffee. Hey, is that a response? Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Yes, just follow me. Down the hall, no, that's someone else's room. Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur, elle n'est reveiller plus. Chloe, open your eyes, you keep bumping into people. Alright, sit down. On TOP of the seat, thank you. Open your eyes. No, keep them open. Coffee."
Only when the Maitre d', at Lex's request, waved a coffee pot under her nose like an alternative version of smelling salts she slowly started to regain consciousness.
"Shall I get you a straw?" Lex asked with a grin, observing her hang over her cup, inhaling the reviving fumes. She raised bleary eyes and grunted. He wondered if she'd start to spout prophesies, like some kind of Greek priestess after a healthy dose of holy smoke. Having had his required six hours of sleep and more, Lex was more or less over his own jetlag, and the zombie in front of him made him feel particularly alert and energetic.
He was in a very good mood, this morning, and had been for the entire week. The cure was in its final testing phase and this very morning Michael and Emmy should have gotten their first injection.
He had booked a two-way ticket for Doctor Potter, who had sent him a mail three days ago—he wouldn't take his wife and kids to Africa for five years. That was fine with Lex; he'd made sure they wouldn't have to leave the comfy house they were living in. If the good doctor changed his mind somewhere in the next few lonely months, he'd happily arrange a reunion. He was profoundly satisfied that Potter had come to the conclusion (be it on his own or with the 'help' of his brother and family) that it was better to accept the punishment for his cowardice than expose his niece, and while that hadn't changed his sentence, it had softened Lex's attitude towards him. If Potter did well in Africa, Lex was more than prepared to laud him when he came back.
His wounds had healed to pink scars, although his shoulder remained a little stiff, and he had started working out again, so his four-and-a-bit pack was once more filling out into a six-pack, and he was almost back on weight.
Business was prosperous and interesting, all his projects were going well, and none of his illegal ventures were anywhere near approaching daylight. He hadn't seen a lawsuit in months, and even if he would, hell, his lawyers would deal with them. The new year was only five days old, but so far those days had been a hell of a lot more promising than the past year.
Felix Brockx and John Hartlow, the guys he'd met at the LuthorCorp New Year party, kept trying to draw him out to go clubbing for old time's sake, but so far he had fobbed them off with stories about overflowing schedules. He knew he shouldn't dive into a relationship the way he did, but there was very little he could do about it. When he did allow himself to fall in love, he went all the way, and it always took him a couple of week to be able to surface again and notice that there was more to life than work and the person he was currently involved with.
Chloe never forced him to say 'I love you' and rarely told him herself; she'd noticed it made him uncomfortable and simply showed instead of told. Another reason to love her. Damn. One more reason and I'll be forced to learn how to play the guitar and bring serenades beneath her window, Lex thought sardonically. And wouldn't that look odd, since she lives in a flat. Thank god she had quite a few imperfections or he'd have been her bloody slave; as it was, he thought he managed not to come across too besotted. Doting lovebird behavior, he thought, was SO uncool.
He was still waiting for her to find her 'on' switch. So far, she had hardly progressed further than boot up, and it was almost ten now. Alright, according to her internal clock it was barely 3 a.m., but when in Rome, or in this case, Paris…He almost cheered when she finally picked up her cup and started drinking her coffee.
"Test…test…test…" he whispered, and she shot him a look that told him very clearly that he was definitely not coming across too besotted.
"You're such a moron."
"Ah, it talks!"
"Urgh."
"Or at least produces sound."
"Leeeeeex…have some mercy on my poor jetlagged soul."
"Hey, you slept most of the way. I didn't sleep at all and you won't find me devolving into a lower life form."
"That's because you're not human," she grumbled and, to his disgust, dipped a croissant into her coffee. "You're a freak."
"You say it as if it's something offensive," Lex smirked. He cringed as she took a bite of the soggy croissant.
Chloe groaned. "It isn't. You're the sweetest freak I've ever met. But please, please give me a moment to wake up. I'm almost there."
Lex poured her more coffee.
Since the second day started somewhat late, they raced through Paris at a hundred miles an hour speed in order to be able to see as much as humanly possible. So it was up and down the Eiffel tower with exactly ten minutes to enjoy the view and take pictures, then to the Arc de Triomphe, then the Champs Elysees and then to the Louvre after a quick lunch in a grand café.
Although she was impressed with the huge amount of art in the Louvre, the one painting Chloe came to see was, of course, the Mona Lisa, and just as naturally she was disappointed upon seeing it.
"It's so small!" she complained, when the admiring crowd had finally parted enough to let her have a glimpse of the glass-encased painting. Somehow, she had expected to feel a compelling mystery the moment her eyes met Mona Lisa's, but all she really noticed was the cracks in the paint and the fact that Mona didn't seem to have any bosom and that the white of her eyes was rather yellow.
Saying this aloud made Lex laugh quietly but lengthily. "Maybe she was a heavy drinker," he suggested.
"Hmm." She studied the tag on the wall. "So this is Lisa del Giocondo. Why'd they call her Mona, then?"
"Mona's short for ma donna," Lex explained. "In Italian, ma donna means my lady. This became madonna, and its contraction mona. So Mona isn't her first name but a polite form of address, similar to Ma'am, Madam, or my lady."
Chloe raised an eyebrow in awe. "How do you know these things?"
"I read lots of travel guides," he said with a smile.
As let down as she was by Mona, Chloe was daunted by the Venus of Milo, who was far larger than she had imagined. Despite the missing arms of the seven foot goddess she could feel the power of the sculpture—at least until Lex remarked that she had a great ass.
"Just look at those globes," he murmured appreciatively.
Chloe growled. "You are so ruining my ancient art experience."
"If you are allowed to trail your hands so sensually over that bloke's pectorals, I am allowed to comment on Aphrodite's ass."
"He was very lovely. Reminded me of you, actually," she added slyly.
Lex raised one eyebrow, sensing, correctly, that there was a snake beneath the complimentary grass. "I remind you of Mercury. How flattering. Remind me never to wrap my towel around my hips like that again."
"Oh, come on, he's gorgeous. Really," Chloe said, grinning, "all you need is a helmet with wings and nobody would know the difference."
"Hmm," said Lex. He looked back at the Venus' backside, then turned Chloe around and stared at hers. "Now I know why I like Venus so much…"
"Hey! Hers is way bigger than mine."
"Well, she is roughly twenty inch taller than you…"
"Let's go to another room," Chloe said, pouting. "It's a woman's privilege to drool over nudes. When men start to do so, it's indecent."
Lex laughed. He put his arm around her shoulder. "I like your backside even better than Venus'," he said soothingly. "Don't worry, I'm not going to pull a Pygmalion on you."
"Who's Pygmalion?"
"He was a guy who did fall in love with a statue of Aphrodite's. At least, that's one of the interpretations. Another is that he made the statue himself, creating it to be more beautiful than any living woman, and then fell in love with it. I think the latter has something unpleasantly Frankensteinian."
"Maybe all the girls in his city were dreadful."
"Could be," said Lex. "Then again, the Greeks had a penchant for odd fetishes. Statues. Mirror images. Animals, you name it. They were probably very fond of windows too…Ow!" he added, when Chloe thumped his arm.
That evening they did dine in a horrendously expensive restaurant, and dinner lasted roughly three hours. Chloe didn't mind; she was exhausted after cruising through the entire Louvre and seeing the majority of Paris. It was good to be able to let her feet dangle for a while, and stuff herself with outstanding French cuisine.
At ten thirty they hurried back to the airport, and half an hour later the trip to Paris was officially over and they were on the way back.
Chloe had intended to stay up this time, but she lasted for all of two hours before nodding off in her chair.
When she woke up, hours later, it was because of a muted 'pop!'. The lights were dimmed, and outside it was dark as well. Far, far below, a sea reflected the moon on seemingly motionless waves. Lex was standing next to the mini bar, a bottle of champagne in one hand, a glass in the other. As she stared at him through half-opened eyes, he filled the glass, put the bottle back and sat down in a chair near the window and pressed his nose against the glass.
"Cheers," he whispered, lifting the flute towards the night sky outside. The toast did not sound particularly cheerful, yet bitterly triumphant.
"Lex?" Chloe asked. "Are you ok?"
His face was little more than a pale oval in the low light, but the shadowy line of his mouth curled vaguely upwards. "Did I wake you up? I'm sorry. Go back to sleep, we still have hours to go."
Chloe sat up straight. "Why are you drinking champagne?"
"Why? Want a glass too?"
"I'd rather have a coke."
He chuckled, opened the fridge door, handed her a can.
"Is there a particular reason why you are toasting to the sky?"
"No."
"Lex."
"I just happen to like champagne."
"Did you crash somewhere around here?"
"Yes. Well, no. But this is the last thing I saw before I crashed: a dark sky and an ocean below."
"And that warrants champagne because…"
"Because I like champagne," Lex said evasively.
Chloe sighed.
"I survived to like champagne, and that warrants the limitless consummation of champagne," Lex elucidated, without telling her a single thing.
"Lex, has it ever occurred to you that you might need help?"
"Because I like champagne?" Lex asked. "That seems a bit melodramatic, don't you think?" He smiled. Back off, that smile said, in the friendliest, gentlest way possible. Back off or I'll make you.
Answering his smile, Chloe backed off. Guerrilla mode had been inactive for a very long time and she had no intention of activated it.
"Why don't you go and lie on the bed," Lex suggested. "You'll be more comfortable."
"Join me?"
He hesitated just long enough for her to notice. Then he nodded. "Sure."
But when she curled herself around him and closed her eyes, his own remained open, and when he shook her awake seven hours later because they were going to land and she needed to put on her seatbelt, there were shadows under his eyes, and she knew he hadn't slept for even half an hour. Despite the fact that his companion was her, in the plane. She had the uncomfortable feeling that it would take a lot more than a few years of distant friendship and a few weeks of blooming romance to enable Lex to sleep in planes again.
Chloe took one hour to shower and dress and drink coffee before she went to work. Before he left after dropping her off at her place, Lex handed her one soft, flat package, about the size of an A4, but much thicker.
"One final memory to Paris," he smiled.
Chloe gave him a big hug. "As if I need any more memories! It was lovely, Lex. Truly, magnificently lovely. Thank you very much. I loved it."
"Just wait until the jetlag catches up with you," Lex promised. He himself looked ready to fall over any time.
"At least I got to sleep on the plane again," Chloe said.
"I've got a nice long meeting in twenty minutes," Lex shrugged. "I'll just paint pupils on my eyelids and zonk out. Nobody will notice." He grinned. "Nobody ever does."
"Do I smell habit here?"
"Damn right. Well, I'd better go." He gave her a quick peck on the lips, which she lengthened by simply sticking out her tongue. He chuckled and obediently opened his mouth as well. "I'll see you tomorrow, I guess? You'll probably need to sleep up. I know I do, and I have to work late to make up for all those hours lost to culture."
"Absolutely," Chloe said. She waved him goodbye, regarded with relish the mass of packages and bags of clothes on her table, then shook herself and jumped under the shower. She made coffee while she dried her hair, munched a few crackers while she dressed and brushed her teeth while she selected which pair of shoes to wear.
Just before leaving, she opened the package Lex had given her, and burst out laughing as she unfolded a large, hideously pink T-shirt with the words 'I did Paris and all I got was this lousy T-shirt' printed on the front. Of course it came with one of Lex's jumbled notes as well.
I guess I could have given you a shirt with 'I did Lex Luthor and all I got was this lousy T-shirt', but I guess you'd never wear it, and that would be a shame. Hope you enjoyed it. I did.
L.
"Of course I did, you dummy," she murmured, and stroked the raised letters on the fabric. "You shouldn't even need to ask."
She folded the shirt and put it on the table, and then she drove as quickly as she could to reach the Daily Planet before noon, smiling all the time.
Then she saw her desk.
And the drawer.
And the smile slipped away from her face.
TBC