The combination of too little sleep, too much working out, no sex, and a nagging fear at the back of your mind, Lex decided, made for a lousy disposition. He'd been happier with only his trauma's to keep him company.
Masturbation didn't cut it; it wasn't so much the physical release he needed as the need to sink into someone and lose himself there.
Chloe was out of the question. He'd hurt her enough, and even imagining 'fessing up to her that he got hard at the smell of coffee (coffee: trigger association with Chloe. Entering a cafeteria had never been such a turn-on before) made him wince. Talking about sex with her lying there all pierced and broken would be too hypocritical for words, so he didn't, and avoided hugging her too warmly for fear of showing her how badly he wanted her.
At times, he missed being single. So maybe he'd been a slut, but it sure would have been nice to draw his little black leather booklet and select one of the many available women from its tightly scribbled pages.
He didn't, though. He took the booklet out of its drawer once, but did not even open it. Those times were over. It wouldn't be fair to Chloe, and it would be a weakness to give in to a simple thing as lust. He'd managed to keep his hands off of Valerie at the hospital, and he resolved to keep them to himself—literally—for as long as he needed.
His dreams had now become a thing of Daliesque horror. Smiling, knife-wielding torturers, cut-up and bleeding dead business associates, spunky teenagers and blonde lawyers populated his nightmares, the whole of it spiced up with a healthy dose of terror, a pinch of helplessness and a spoonful of unbridled, unresolved eroticism.
Lovely.
Really, he was surprised he didn't end up looking like Christian Bale in 'The Machinist'. The thing was, he still looked pretty damn good. Sure, he had dark circles under his eyes, and his face had become narrower (without, unfortunately, giving him the jutting cheekbones and razor-sharp jaw line so admired in the romantic drivel Chloe was reading.), but he had by no means gained the looks of a zombie. Apparently he'd spent too many years pretending he was fine for the truth to shatter his mask and show the wreckage beneath. He guessed he should be thankful for that.
So he hadn't lost his slick, smooth appearance—had, in fact, only become more slick and smooth since he'd returned from China. What he had lost, he noticed after an evening out with his old study pals John Hartlow and Felix Brockx, was his ability to drink without feeling the effects.
He met them after seeing Chloe after work, already dead beat but looking forward to an evening in which he could be annoyed by John's bad sense of humor and Felix' child-rearing stories instead of his own capacity for creating night terrors. According to old customs, they occupied a booth at the Unicorn and ordered every kind of a certain drink on the liquor list. The previous time John had ordered cocktails. This time Felix ordered seventeen types of whiskey.
Lex was completely out after five.
He woke up after four hours of dreamless sleep when John shook him by the shoulder—or at least, passed from unconsciousness into some muddled form of awareness.
"W-what?" When he sat up, his cheek left the leather seat of the bench it had been stuck to with the sound of a piece of duct tape pulled loose from the wall.
John was grinning. His soft, moist face was flushed; beard growth shadowed his jaws, chin and upper lip. In the dim light of the back of the bar, where Lex found himself, to his surprise, his eyes seemed black with the dilation of his pupils. When he spoke alcohol fumes issued from his mouth like smoke from a dragon's snout.
"Wakey, wakey, Lex. Time to go home."
He rubbed his eyes. Music was pounding like a heartbeat, but he had slept through it soundly, and now he was groggy with both whiskey and sleep. "What time is it?" His throat was hoarse with cigarette smoke.
"Almost six."
"Six!…Why didn't you wake me up? Hell, when did I fall asleep?" He scrabbled upright. "Where's Felix?"
John thumbed over his shoulder. "Back there, in our booth." He grinned again. "We both figured, when you keeled over…well, you know, that you probably needed the rest."
"Keeled over?" Lex repeated, aghast. Luthors did not keel over, not after a few whiskeys. They were better trained than that.
"Yup. You look better now. Tough week?"
"Uh, yeah…"
"Or the effects of your stunts in China?"
A feeling of dread settled over Lex. "What do you mean?"
"Well, what you told us about that…Fu Yeng guy, with his scalpels…" He mimicked a few slashes into the air—mimicked, with rather frightening accuracy, the mirrored characters of Fu Yang's name— "and how he put sheep meat into your wounds and all that. I mean, wow, Lex," he shook his head, "that's heavy stuff."
"I told you that?" Lex murmured weakly.
John lipped a Camel out of an almost empty packet. "Mmm." He lit the cigarette with a flick of a zippo, then took it from between his lips, turned it around and poked the filter against Lex's mouth. Lex accepted it like a pill and took a healthy drag. Most clubs were smoke-free these days. The Unicorn laughed at smoking fees. Their customers enjoyed combining as many vices as they could, and gladly paid to do so. At times like these, Lex was awfully glad they did. He watched as John lit another cigarette for himself.
He could not remember discussing his holiday stories with the Dynamic Duo. He couldn't even imagine WANTING to. Hell, he'd gone out with them to forget about that whole mess.
"All I remember is Felix talking about his daughter." Some people bragged about their sexual conquest when drunk. Felix bragged about the number of words his toddler could say.
John snickered. "Yeah, I think you really shocked him when you started talking about being slashed to ribbons by a maniac right after he'd told us he bought a rabbit for his kid, and how sweet she was with it." His mouth widened so far even his back teeth showed, but then the grin weakened, softened, and even though his eyes were almost swimming in alcohol they regarded Lex with genuine concern. "Last thing you said before you put your head on your arms and dropped off was how you didn't sleep anymore. Contradictio in termine; irresistible for a lawyer. So we let you sleep. Guess you needed it. But let me ask you, buddy; how are you? Really? How're you holding up? Because if this is a one-time get-drunk-and-sleep-it-off thing, I'm cool with it, but if you need help…well, I just want you to know you're welcome to come and crash at my place anytime you want. Since your girl's sick, right? If it's company you need, or…What I mean, if you don't want to be alone, mi casa es su casa. After all," the grin was back, if a little wobbly with alcohol-induced sentiment, "I'm only able to afford it because I work at your company."
And this, Lex thought, was why he still hung out with John Hartlow, no matter how much of an insufferable yup he was. The man was like a brownie: all slick icing over tough cookie on the outside, but soft and slushy on the inside.
"Thanks," he said, smiling, and raised his cigarette in a thank-you gesture. "Appreciate it."
"I have the entire Lord of the Rings collection," John said eagerly. "Special edition."
Lex repressed a shiver. "Does that one include all the missing sex scenes?"
"No sex scenes in Lord of the Rings, man. That'd be heresy. I also have all the old Star Trek movies. And one that DOES have all the missing sex scenes. But if you don't mind I'd rather not watch that with another man."
Lex barked out a laugh at the mental image of him and John lying on a couch watching a bad Captain Kirk clone go at it with some random alien beauty. "The feeling's mutual. Still, thanks for the invitation. I'm not sure I'll take you up on it, but if I need to, I'll let you know." He rubbed his face again—his smooth, cool face, devoid of stubble and razor burns. His eyes were gritty, but despite the alcohol he was quite awake. Alert, and rather ashamed.
"Sorry for falling asleep on you guys."
John snorted. "More booze for us. Don't worry about it. 'sides, I'm sure Felix was happy you didn't spoil his memories of his daughter and her rabbit with your horror stories of torture and pain." He exhaled half of his cigarette through his nose, regarding Lex with half-lidded eyes. Finally he looked away, and when he spoke again it wasn't to voice the questions Lex was fearing. "Club's closing, though. Are you as drunk as me or can you drive home?"
"I'm afraid I'm completely sober."
"Need company changing that condition? I can go on drinking for a while. If I stop, I'll have about half an hour before I crash, though."
Lex smiled. The best people to go out with for drinks were those who knew their limitations up the final minute. "I think I'm ok. I'll leave you to your hangover. I thought you said you had a girlfriend."
"Yeah. Chrissie. She's in Copenhagen at the moment, though. So there's nowhere I have to go and no one to miss me at the moment." He considered. "Unless she's going to call me, of course. Which she might. She probably will, at some ungodly hour like ten, or eleven."
"I'll be ok," Lex assured him. "Do you want me to drop you off at your place?"
"Do you know where I live?"
Lex didn't. He really hoped John did, in the state he was in. The other man stared blearily at the smoke circling up from his cigarette, finally shook his head and crushed the stub in an ash tray. "Nah. I'll walk. The cool air will do me good. And if it doesn't, at least I won't puke in your car. Felix might like a ride, though. His wife won't let him drive when he's going out with us. Or with me, rather."
"She sounds like a sensible woman."
"Sure…" John drawled, but he didn't say sensible equaled boring, like he might have a few months ago. His girlfriend probably was a sensible girl, too. Maybe she was rubbing off on him.
We're getting old, Lex thought, old, responsible and boring, and it occurred to him that he always thought that when he hung out with these guys. He took a final drag from his cigarette, snubbed it, and got to his feet. "Let's go then. Pick up Felix. Are you sure you'd rather walk?"
John said he was sure. Together, they made their way back to where Felix sat bobbing his head to the music, eyes closed and hands folded around his last quarter inch of Glenmorangie. He started awake when John lovingly stroked his hair and called him his little father-figure. Felix asked Lex if he were ok. Lex said he was. As they split up at the door, Lex and Felix heading for Lex's car one street away, and John back to his apartment on foot, John wrapped his arms around Lex's ribcage in a bear hug and reminded him that his casa was Lex's casa, if he needed it. Felix immediately offered Lex the same hospitality.
Even though he knew he wouldn't take either of them up on it, Lex still smiled all the way back to his penthouse, pleasantly surprised at both of them, and especially John. Whenever people he had never considered as more than acquaintances showed him signs of selfless friendship, part of him stood amazed.
Apparently he did know how to choose his friends, after all.
*
Those four blissful hours of sleep at the bar had given him a boost no amount of running could have offered. He didn't sleep when he came home, but apart from the last remnant of the alcohol buzz he wasn't feeling tired at all. After a long, hot shower, a cup of coffee and two glasses of orange juice he decided that today was a good day to have breakfast with Chloe. It was early, and it might be Saturday, but she could sleep late every day—thus he soothed his instantly cringing conscience—and he hadn't had a meal with her in ages.
For her consideration he did all his shopping on food, dragging out buying rolls and croissants, fruit, cream, whole butter and the like until the clock struck seven-thirty, and drove slowly to her place instead of behaving like a speed maniac as he usually did.
He rang before he let himself in, and found her sleepy-eyed but awake, holding out her arms to him when he poked his head around the door.
"Lex!"
"I come bearing breakfast," he said, slipping inside and holding out the basket with goods like an offering."
"You do? How sweet of you! And how…early." She grinned, rubbed her eyes, then seemed to realize something. "I'm not even washed yet. Nor brushed." She leaned back when he tried to kiss her.
"No sense brushing your teeth before breakfast." Damn. He'd forgotten about feminine hygiene, and how rabid they were about maintaining it. "Do you want me to carry you to the bathroom? Or shall I come back later, when…"
"Lex. Don't be an idiot." She shot him a stern glance and pushed her duvet away. "You're going to stay right here and start up your lovely coffee machine. I can walk—well, I can move. A little." Pulling her bandaged leg along with her hands as if it were a dead thing, she moved to the edge of her bed. "I am not going to spoil this glorious idea of yours with my helplessness." She eased her bad leg to the ground and reached for her crutches.
"Can I help you with anything?"
She hissed as she pushed herself up, face drawn with pain, but once she was standing she smiled sunnily, and shook her head. "Nope. Yeah, coffee. And oooooh! Is that fresh cream? I have a beater somewhere over there in that closet. I'll be back in ten minutes."
On crutches she could move agilely enough.
Lex busied himself setting out breakfast while Chloe splashed, hummed, cursed and clattered around in the bathroom. Once, after a particularly violent crash, she called "I'm ok, I'm ok!" through the door, which Lex had just been ready to open and sweep in through to pick her dead body off the floor.
It took her fifteen minutes instead of ten, but he was willing to forgive her when she hobbled out again, dressed, hair wet and smelling of Fa.
"Tadaaa!"
"You're alive!"
She pulled a face. "Yeah, that was my hair dryer."
"That explains the wet hair."
"Yes." She moved back to the bed and deftly pulled herself up. "It's dead. Which is good, because it was a nasty old thing that stank of burnt hair and overheated metal. I'll ask Lois to get me another one, with styling options. So!" she clapped her hands and stared up at him expectantly, eyes sparkling. "What did you get me?"
"Uh…" he pressed the button of the coffee machine. "I didn't want it to get cold," he said defensively as she mock-glared at him. "I have…let's see…wait." He pulled out the extractable table top over her lap, and began putting things on it. "I have croissants and rolls. And custard cakes. And cream, jam, and salt butter. That low-life vegetable guy didn't have any strawberries…"
"In winter. For shame!"
"In what way is it being winter related to the availability of strawberries?" Lex wondered. He handed Chloe a plate.
"I don't know. The fact that the ground is frozen and covered in snow?"
"I don't see any snow. Besides, it's winter here, but it's summer in another part of the world, so if there are no strawberries here, they still grow somewhere else. Breakfast just isn't complete without strawberries. So technically, this breakfast is incomplete, for which I apologize profoundly."
"I guess we'll just have to make do," Chloe said regretfully.
"I got us some fruit salad instead."
Chloe grinned. Widely. "Come here," she said, spreading her arms. Lex gave her a careful hug, kissed her, then pulled away before he could give in to his desire to rip her clothes off and accidentally tear her stitches. "It's lovely. Thanks, this was a great idea."
"I thought you'd gone out with some friends last night," she continued, when they were eating a minute later.
"I did."
"It didn't get late?"
"Mm."
"What? Didn't you have fun?"
"Oh, no, it was great. You should meet John and Felix once." He grinned. "You'd like them. Or maybe not like them, not John, in any case, he's…not exactly your kind of guy, I think. But they're nice guys all the same. Maybe I should organize something, get everyone together and introduce you."
Chloe smiled with her mouth full. She swallowed and asked, "Introduce me as what?"
"Uh, as my girlfriend? Not as…not to introduce you as anything! Just to meet people I like! And dislike, as those are often more interesting."
"Does that mean you actually dislike most of your friends?"
"I don't dislike my friends. I dislike some of my associates, especially when they pretend they are my friends."
Chloe smiled. "Then why don't you bar them from socializing events?"
"Because, like I said," he peeled the crispy crust from a croissant, ending up with the soft dough inside, "people I don't like are much more interesting to observe than those I do like."
"You've lost me," Chloe confessed.
"Well, when I don't like people, changes are they don't like me either, right?"
"I guess…"
"So that means they hang out with me despite the fact that they loathe me, or are envious of me, or simply cannot stand me. It happens, I know it's unbelievable, but it does happen. And I find it the height of fun to try and ferret out exactly what it is they hate most about me, and use that against them, and see how long they keep hanging around."
"That's mean!"
"No, it isn't," Lex said smugly. "I call that kind of psychology 'Hunting Treasure Hunters'. The only reason they associate with me is because they think they can use me to get something, be it a position, wealth, or renown. I don't like being used. On the other hand, if they can beat me at my own game, they deserve to profit from what I have to offer. Everyone's happy!"
Chloe shook her head. "You're weird. So it might happen that you reward a completely insufferable leech simply because he's had the stamina to swallow your insults?"
Lex thought back on several highly competent but revolting individuals working in various LuthorCorp branches. "Yes. Yes, that might happen, yes."
"And this John person? And…what's his name, Felix? Are they that kind of unlikable non-friends too?"
"No." He smiled in remembrance. "John and Felix are my drinking buddies. They profit from me, but I'm perfectly fine with that. They're…uncomplicated."
Chloe took a sip of coffee. "Sounds like you're having one-night stands with them."
"I don't have one-night stands with men," Lex shot back. "Not with Felix anyway. He's married and he's got a kid. And John's…kind of slimy. Even if he were a woman I doubt I'd want to touch him with a ten-foot pole. No thanks. I'll stick to women—and to you, in particular."
"Oh wow, was this a declaration of love?"
"I don't do declarations of love," Lex shrugged. "But I can get that monkey if you need one."
Chloe sighed. "Foiled again."
"Aww." He leaned over, careful not to touch her leg, and kissed her nose. "I do confess to liking you very much, little reporter girl."
Chloe blinked. "Is that an Elvis impersonation?"
To which Lex choked on his roll with jam, because his imagination immediately presented him with the picture of a bald Elvis—and also because Luthors never, ever, did Elvis impersonations.
*
That weekend gave Lex the idea that things were finally beginning to look up. He and Chloe spent a few hours talking, joking and sniping like they used to do; they watched two movies (one Saturday afternoon, after which he went home so she could do her own things and he could check his mail; one Sunday evening during dinner), and all that time China was far away from his thoughts. He even managed to sleep for six hours in the night from Saturday on Sunday, and even if he did wake up covered in sweat, he was still happy with the result.
Lana came to visit on Sunday after dinner, and because things with Lana were always a little awkward Lex beat a controlled but nevertheless hasty retreat.
That evening he got an email from Crystal Shanyuang, asking how he was doing and whether he knew anything about the Shueng business.
Mr. McCarthy keeps me updated, she wrote, but nothing seems to happen. As far as I've understood it Mayor Fengfei has been accused of manslaughter and fraud, but I have no clue whether he'll be prosecuted or not. Do you have any more news?
No, Lex thought, closing his email application. I don't.
On Monday morning he woke at four, panting with fear, unable to distinguish whether the moisture on his chest and belly was perspiration or blood.
*
Lex spent the morning and most of the afternoon of that Monday in his office, participating in a streamed-media meeting with five different CEOs across the world. He had a quick business lunch with the man who received regular reports from Dr. Potter, the man responsible for Lex's short period of hair-growth, and, more important, the man who was responsible for the death of a 7-year-old girl. Potter was now a doctor in Africa. According to his correspondent, he was doing rather well. Despite some kind of ugly rash he seemed to have picked up from the locals.
Whenever he thought of Doctor Potter, no longer an important scientist at LuthorCare but a simple doctor at a filthy clinic in Africa, a small vindictive smile broadened Lex's mouth. True justice always made him happy, especially if he were the one to deal it.
After that short break it was back to the meeting, and when he finally stumbled out of his office, eyes prickling after watching his screen for so long, and head numb with attempting to unravel five different accents of English, he almost thought he might be able to go straight to bed after dinner, and sleep through sheer exhaustion.
As he entered the hallway, Fu Yang turned around, scalpel in hand, and faced him with a polite smile.
No.
Not Fu Yang.
As soon as his heart had climbed down his throat again, and resumed a rhythm approaching its usual beat, he remembered. Fu Yang was gone, dead, lost, whatever; this man was Seiichi Tsuzuki, part of the delegation from Naga Enterprises Japan. Lionel had sent him a memo regarding their visit; he must have concluded his meeting with Tsuzuki only minutes ago. He was not holding a razorblade but a silver pen, and his features, while Asian, were not at all like Fu Yang's hated face.
"Tsuzuki-san," he managed, forcing himself to keep on breathing, pasting a responding smile on his face.
Tsuzuki bowed. "Mister Luthor," he said, his pronunciation of both the R and the L very precise and correct. "How fortunate to meet you. I had understood you were otherwise engaged."
Lex's heartbeat slowed a little more. The business dance, with its intricate patterns of lies, half-truths, promises and etiquette soothed him like a lullaby. "I was," he lied smoothly. "I only just arrived from Massachusetts. My meeting there ended early because one of my hosts had a personal emergency…How are you, Tsuzuki-san?" He easily fell into step with the man. Tsuzuki made no move to introduce his colleagues, who followed him like gray shadows in measured suits, so Lex did no more than nod at them before turning his attention back to Tsuzuki and listened to his views on Metropolis.
He cared little about how Tsuzuki fared, truth be told. While he conversed with the man on autopilot, and greeted his father when Lionel joined them a moment later, his head was reeling. This really was becoming a problem. His legs were still shaky with the shock he'd received when projecting Fu Yang's figure over this man's. The weekend had gone so well he'd thought he was over it, but now his peace of mind was shot to hell once more.
He almost started when Lionel addressed him. "We're going for a drink, Lex, to celebrate our cooperation." It somewhat belatedly occurred to Lex that he hadn't asked if said cooperation had been established. Apparently it had. He faked another smile, already knowing what would follow. "Since you are here, would you care to join us? I've booked a table at Swans at eight."
"I'd be delighted," Lex droned. There was no other reply. He couldn't be less delighted in his life. Tsuzuki did, in fact, resemble Fu Yang a little, if only in height, stature and coloring. Whenever he looked at him after focusing on something else, a little jolt passed through Lex's heart, like a short burst of electricity. His subconscious was entirely too eager imagining it was him, and spurred his body to adrenalin-pumping panic with each glance.
Rhinos could die of adrenalin rush, Lex knew. He felt his heart give three, four hard throbs before settling again as he sat down across Tsuzuki in the LuthorCorp lounge, and wondered if it could kill him as well.
*
That evening, with the drinking and the business dinner at Swans, was one of the most exhausting, frustrating events in Lex's life.
Sitting at a table with a man his imagination insisted was Fu Yang, was unpleasant. Seeing the man cut steak with a knife made him even less comfortable. When one of Tsuzuki's associates turned to be unable to distinguish the L from the R his misery was complete.
Whenever he thought he'd become accustomed to the company, and his insane imagination had conceded to reality, some detail would fling him right back into his delusion, and even while his panic never lasted longer than a fraction of a second, it was enough to wring him dry like a sponge.
Like a sponge, he lost water in quantities. That entire dinner was eaten with an awareness of damp armpits, sweaty spine and clammy palms. His tongue, on the other hand, was hardly able to gather enough moisture to talk. He drank a lot of wine, and water, and coffee and more wine, but no matter how much he drank, his body refused to relax.
When he finally dragged himself home, excusing himself to the slightly inebriated Japanese and his steel-eyed father, he was shivering in his moist shirt. Not all of the shivering was caused by cold, however. He couldn't recall ever being so furious with himself before.
What the hell is wrong with me! This is crazy! He's not even fucking CHINESE! He flung his jacket and shirt into the bathroom, and almost hung himself with his tie before he remembered he should take that off before the shirt. The man glaring back at him in the mirror was flushed with anger and embarrassment, nose and cheeks shining with perspiration. He had to restrain himself from smashing his fist into that image.
The torso beneath the flushed face was well-toned if spare, pale, with only a few faded bullet scars on his chest, shoulder and arm. Not even a hint of knife wounds. If he looked very, very hard, he might detect the silvery remnants of the signature on his belly, but those could only be seen from a few inches distance.
"So why are you being such a cowardly BITCH about this, huh?" he asked aloud. The need to hit something was so strong he had to clench his fingers into his palms. "Isn't it enough that that son of a whore maimed you? Are you so anxious to have it repeated that you keep imagining he's here to do it AGAIN?"
His fist was at the same level as his eyes when he snatched back control, hissing in a breath through clenched teeth.
It would not do to bang up his interior. He kind of liked this mirror, and he liked a splinter-free bathroom. Additionally, he was sure his father interrogated his cleaning staff. If he found out he'd gone back to smashing his furniture and glassware he'd have another Saxon assigned to him so fast Lex would wish he was still in China. No, he shouldn't beat up his bathroom. Not when there was a perfectly fine gym down in the cellar.
Lex shrugged into a T-shirt and sweat pants, put on sneakers and jogged all the way down, far too pent up to wait for the elevator. The gym was closed; he had to open it with his smartcard. No one was inside; the rich and worthless had other things to do late at night. In the gloom, the metal on the running, crunching, lifting and stretching equipment shone unidentifiable and torture rack-like.
Another jolt of adrenaline made Lex's heart quake, and he slapped at the light buttons to banish the darkness. The white, bright light was hardly an improvement. The gym seemed very large and ominous, filled only with tools.
Deal with it, Lex thought, and slammed the door closed behind him. He wasted no time with running but walked straight up to the punching bag in the corner. A note attended him on the fact that donning gloves was recommended for using the punching bag and the boxing ball, and that tape could be found in the closet to the left of the showers. Lex ignored the plaque. If he ever had the chance to face Fu Yang he wouldn't need gloves or tape either.
He went in a straight line from door to bag, that hung large and square from the ceiling, and when he swung his right arm for the first hit his face split in a wide grin.
And god! it hurt, but it felt SO GOOD finally lashing out at something, to let GO, that he threw himself into it with full abandon. If he closed his eyes he could easily imagine he wasn't pummeling a bag filled with sawdust but a body, with organs, and blood, and bones—bones that so easily separated when cut with a scalpel, blood that sprayed and pooled, organs that flattened under the blow of a fist, and a body that fell, and broke, and bled out…
He pounded away until his arms began to hurt, and then he pounded away for another five minutes, until his wrists, his knuckles, and his elbows started to ache under the strain. He bit through it, kept hitting at the bag, until finally the pain turned to agony, his flesh split, and he slammed his bloody fists into Fu Yang, yelling at the top of his lungs...and then collapsed on the ground, sobbing.
Maybe it was purifying, crying. Maybe it was a sign of acceptance, of closure. But when it didn't stop after ten minutes, and when he noticed that even beating his own arms to a pulp hadn't done anything to burn out the rage that had been consuming him, he forced himself to stop. Of course, that didn't work. He never cried, and now he had started, something inside of him decided it was long overdue and quite necessary to clean his ducts. Crying pissed him off. If it had a reason, he didn't mind shedding a tear or two; a decorative, controlled display of pain or sadness, but this kind of helpless, torrential, snot-producing outbursts frightened and dismayed him.
He had thought he'd be done with them after his last breakdown in December. After all, he'd been shot five times, and sick, and pretty much fucked-up overall. This time, there was no reason for tears. He hadn't been hurt, at least not badly, he'd beaten his addiction, he was safe, Chloe was safe. If Fu Yang hadn't died in the halls of the temple, at least Lex had had his revenge on him, so why the HELL was he sitting here like some fairy-tale princess abandoned on the night of the ball?
It took him another ten minutes before he finally stopped boiling over, but he felt like a pot left on the fire to simmer; just a jar and he'd start spilling again.
He removed himself from the gym, grateful no one else had decided a late-night exercise was in order, snuck up the stairs and was so moved by the sight of his own apartment he almost burst into tears again.
This was ridiculous. How was he supposed to function if he leaked like a broken drainage pipe?
Downing two glasses of Lagavulin didn't really help, since the alcohol only made his eyes tear worse, but at least it unclenched his guts and enabled him to swallow the lump in his throat.
She was right, he realized with chagrin. I do need help. He checked his watch; it was ten seventeen. Late, but not too late, especially if she was still at the LC building. Since he still didn't know her number by heart--perhaps had consciously made an effort NOT to
remember it, he selected her name from his contact list and dialed.
She picked up just before the voicemail kicked in. "Lex?"
"Hey." Tears rose in his throat and he brutally forced them down with another swallow of whiskey. "Are you…" he cleared his throat. "Are you at the hospital? Are you busy?"
"I'm on my way home, and I'm stuck behind an overturned truck." Annoyance made her sound sarcastic. "Don't you think it's amazing that I spent my entire life trying to heal people and feel nothing but murderous rage when some idiot falls asleep behind the wheel and forces me to wait in a jam while the fire brigade saw his mangled body out of the twisted remains of his car?"
"I feel your pain," Lex said with a trembling kind of grin he was immensely glad he couldn't see.
"So. Why'd you call?"
"I…" and then his voice just dried up and he couldn't get anything out anymore. His eyes grew hot again, and he blinked furiously.
"Lex? Are you alright?"
"I…" Well THIS sucked. He clawed his fingers into his thigh, and squeaked as his split knuckles burst open again. "I…cry," he finally spat out, and almost tossed his phone into the hearth with embarrassment.
"You're crying?" No pity or sympathy, just professional interest.
"Well, not now, it's finally stopped, but…" His voice quivered like a twelve-year-old's. He pressed his lips firmly together to keep from wailing I don't know what to dooooo!
Luthors did not wail. They always knew what to do. They most certainly did not call their psychoanalyst friends and literally cried for help.
"But you're not the crying type and it upsets you," Valerie stated calmly.
Lex drank more whiskey. Right on, sister.
"Lex, I want to help you, I really do. But you need to talk to me. You have to give me SOMETHING."
"I told you everything I…"
"You gave me a list, and then you shut down on me," she corrected. "I remember. If I'd started ticking that list you'd have bolted in addition to shutting down."
Lex wiped his nose. He poured himself another drink. His fingers hurt like a son of a bitch; he hoped he hadn't broken any.
"Lex?"
"I'm here. I'm trying to think of where to begin." What he was really thinking about was a way to hang up on her again since this was very clearly a bad idea, but she said the one word that made him choke on his whiskey and hold on to the phone for dear life.
"Rape."
"What?" he choked out, and started coughing. She waited until the fit had passed.
"Rape. One of the topics on your list was rape."
Holy fuck, did I really mention that? No, I couldn't have. I'd never have said anything about that. But he had, and worse, Valerie had remembered it. Oh yes, she was one hell of a good counselor.
Valerie's steady, cool voice spoke on. "I was there when your hair started growing back, and I saw you when you'd been shot and were laying sick in hospital. Chloe told me about her betrayal of you, and since the two of you are still together I'd assumed you had forgiven each other. I have no idea what happened to you in China, but your panic attack suggested it included scalpels, needles, and you being helpless. The only thing that stands out, then, is the one thing you mentioned with one word alone, and then skipped over, and that is 'rape'." She was silent for a breath or two.
Lex breathed along with her. Finally he said, softly, "That is not what bothers me anymore."
"Not anymore?"
"No."
"Were you the receiving party or the administering party?"
Lex let his head drop back in his neck, snorting. He rubbed his eyes. Oh yeah, they were wet again. Better keep them closed so he wouldn't spill. "Both, actually. Well, on separate occasions." Because being me sucks, both to me and to other people.
"I…see."
"I don't think you do, really," Lex said pleasantly. "But, like I said, it's no longer an issue. It's all forgiven and forgotten."
"Rape is not something you get over easily," Valerie argued with surprising vehemence.
Hell no, I got that. He smirked, downed another inch of Lagavulin. "You'd be amazed how therapeutic a good torture session is when suffering from sexual traumas," he quipped.
Unfortunately, she wouldn't let it go that easily. "The one who raped you, was it a man or a woman?"
He snorted. As if he'd ever let a woman rape him. Rape. He decided he didn't like that word. He didn't like what it implied about him. "A man."
"Did it start out assented?"
Despite himself he chuckled again. He didn't think either of them, neither Clark nor he, had really assented to anything that had happened that morning.
"Not really."
"So it was an assault."
"In the most basic meaning of the word, yes."
"Did you press charges?"
"No." She waited. He sighed, bored with the subject and sure she wouldn't let it go without some kind of explanation. "Because...It was an accident. Or incident. Because he hadn't been planning it to be violent, and because it was, in some way, flattering and justified." She sputtered at that, but he went on, "Because he is one of the few people I call friend, and because what he did didn't change that. Not much, anyway. And because no one would believe me, least of all me, myself. And because he just saved my life again. So no, I didn't press charges, and neither will I consider doing so in the future."
"Do you have any idea how much you sound like a sufferer of Stockholm syndrome right now?" Valerie asked. "Does he hold any power over you? Apart, of course, from the blatant power he exhibited over you when he raped you?"
He really wished she would stop using that word. "There's no need to be sarcastic," Lex drawled. He opened his eyes and was happy to find the world steady and unblurred. "If there was any form of power shift resulting from this incident, the shift was toward me, not him." More expectant silence. Lex frowned in annoyance. He poured himself another drink. "Trust me, what he did to me hurt him more than it did me. Look, I don't want to discuss this. It was a mistake mentioning it to you, and unfair of you to have such an excellent memory and keep nagging about it."
"Oh, pardon me," Valerie said. "Forgive me for focusing on your lesser traumas. Shall we talk about the rape you apparently performed yourself?"
"Wow, you make it sound like stand up comedy."
"Well, I wouldn't know. Was it?"
"No, it wasn't, it was in bed, thank you very much, and she quite forgave me."
"A woman."
"I wouldn't rape men."
"I'm sure the woman in question is glad to know that."
"She..." He fell silent. She doesn't know anything about that. She should never know. "She knows how to take care of herself. I doubt she even sees it the way I do," he added, considering. "She's weird that way. And circumstances were…mitigating. At least, that's what she keeps saying." He shook himself. "Like I said, all is forgiven."
"Yet you haven't forgiven yourself."
"Yes, I have."
"No, you haven't, or you wouldn't have mentioned it to me."
"I didn't."
"Lex..."
"Oh good, we're back to the point where people say my name and expect me to be repentant."
"I am trying to HELP you," she snapped.
"You're not helping me, you're embarrassing me," he retorted. "I'm telling you, all is resolved with everyone content with the situation."
"Does Chloe know?" the infernal woman wondered. "About either of..."
"She should," Lex said curtly, cutting her off. "She being the one that forgave me. Could we please talk about something else?"
"Sure," Valerie purred back. "What would you like to talk about? Your MRI-triggered panic attack?"
"No," Lex said. He was no longer on the brink of tears. As a matter of fact the emotion overruling all others at the moment was irritation.
"Ah, no, you already danced around that subject with your poor psychiatrist. If he couldn't help you because you wouldn't talk to him, how could I?" Irritation, he noted, now dominated her tone of voice as well. "Really, Lex, if you won't talk to me about what bothers you, I can't help you."
"Maybe you won't need to," Lex discovered. He was feeling much better. Tired, and fidgety, and suddenly aware of being alone, but better nevertheless. "I'm actually doing pretty good again. Thanks."
Valerie sighed, but there was a snort of laughter at the end of the exhalation. "You're good. Well that's a relief."
"Yes, it is. Right, so I guess I'll..."
"You still need help. You're fucked up so badly your mind doesn't know with which trauma to deal first."
"Thank you so much for this vote of confidence."
"I mean it," she said sharply. "You're mercurial as hell and this gives you the impression you've passed your crisis, but all you've done is repressed it again."
"I've relived my experience as a sexual victim, thanks to you?" Lex countered. "Surely that counts for something?"
Valerie exhaled so loudly it sounded like a storm. "You're a bastard, you know that, do you?"
Lex shrugged. Wasn't it sweet when people were determined to be worried about him? It made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Or maybe that was the whiskey. Without noticing he'd drunk four glasses in the past half hour. "Are you still stuck behind your truck?"
"Something seems to be moving way up ahead. Far up ahead. Perhaps I should come by. I'm not that far away."
Lex swallowed. All of a sudden his throat felt dry. "I don't think that would be wise," he said, and grimaced at the husky sound he produced. He took a hasty swallow; he didn't want her to think he was crying again.
"Why not? I'm much better at reading you when I can see your face. And I think..."
"Because I'd probably end up sleeping with you, and that would be a bad idea."
She was silent for a moment. "I'd still be there to agree or disagree to sleeping with you, you know." Her tone was warm again, and rather amused.
"I'm not so sure about that," Lex said honestly. "I can be incredibly persuasive."
"I could now make a highly unethical joke about the previous subject of our conversation, but I think I'll keep my mouth shut instead," Valerie said. The smile hadn't left her voice. "What are you going to do now, then? To sleep? Or are you having nightmares?"
"How's your traffic jam doing?"
"It's acting like any kind of jam: it moves like gloop and spreads all over the place—but yes, we're moving. At least, the car five cars in front of me is moving. How so?"
"Nothing." All of a sudden, he found himself unwilling to be alone. Inviting her over, however, would not lead to anything he wouldn't regret later, he was sure of that. He liked Valerie, sure, he loved her to bits, but not enough to risk cheating on the person he had rendered bed-bound and helpless, and he knew himself well enough to know that he would probably either make a complete fool of himself to, or end up in bed with Valerie. Neither of the two options was something he was looking forward to.
"I think I'll call Chloe." He hadn't meant it to come out like that. As a matter of fact he'd been planning to say something entirely different, like 'I'll go hang out with a friend of mine', or 'One of my pals invited me over if I ever felt like it'.
Valerie reacted with obvious approval to his doormat plans. "I think that's a very good idea. Maybe you can stay over, sleep with her, if only…"
"Val, she's wrapped up in BANDAGES from ankle to waist! I can't expect her to BED me."
"I said 'sleep with her', not 'reinvent the Kama Sutra'," Valerie chuckled. In the background, an engine purred to life. "Have you been avoiding her all this time?"
"I haven't been avoi…"
"Sexually, I mean. I know, I know, you don't want to talk about THAT with me, but still. Have you?"
Lex studied his swollen knuckles. They had started to turn blue, but the cuts were closing. "She's hurt," he said softly. "I don't want to hurt her any worse. And I most certainly don't want her to think she's letting me down if she can't sleep with me. She would, that's the way she is."
"It seems to me that you're not giving her the chance to tell you whether she can or cannot sleep with you," Valerie said. "If you're keeping a distance, like you say you do…"
"I'm not keeping a distance, I'm just…" Horny. Well, wasn't that a nice transition? From bawling desperation to stuttering concupiscence. "So you think I should go and see her?"
"Yes."
"And see how far I'll get before she passes out?"
"You might ask her if she feels up to it, first," she suggested. "But yeah, at least ask. And then go for it. She's not a China doll; she'll tell you what is ok with her and what isn't."
"Hmm," Lex ummed, but really, he'd already made up his mind. At least he knew what he was going to do with the remainder of this evening.
"Just do it, will you," Valerie said. "I'll call you in a few days to see how you're doing. And you can always call me. You know that."
"I know," he said quietly. "Thank you."
"No problem. Oh goody, it seems I'll be able to get home this night after all. I've reached Mason and Forbes. I'm going to hang up now, unless there's something else…?"
"No," Lex smiled. "No, I think you've done enough for me this evening. Have a good trip home. Is there any kind of wine you're fond of?"
"Darling, Champagne is always delightful."
Lex blinked in surprise. Not even the pretense of refusing a gift. "Brut?" he asked.
"I prefer Demi-Sec."
"Have a good one, then."
"Thanks Lex. Good night."
Lex ended the conversation, smiled, and immediately dialed Chloe's number.
"Hey!" she said upon answering. "What's up, Lex?"
You don't even know how applicable this question is. "Are you home?" he asked, and he laughed as he HEARD her tongue flick out against the receiver.
"No, I'm just going out to join my jogging group. Of course I'm home, where else should I be?"
"Anyone with you?"
"No. Lois left an hour ago. Why, did you want to come over?"
"If it isn't too late…"
She snorted. "Lex, sweetie, I spend 20 hours a day in this bed. Trust me, I'm happy to see you in the middle of the night."
"Which, incidentally, is about what time it is."
"It's barely eleven." Her tone changed, became less flippant, more sincere, more longing. "I'd love you to come by. I always love to see you, and you know it."
The warm and fuzzy whiskey-feeling spread through Lex's stomach and throbbed in his damaged fingers. It also throbbed in other parts of his body. "I know," he said hoarsely. He got up, noticed his sweaty shirt, and smirked to himself. "I'll be there in half an hour."
"Good." She laughed. "I'll be here, in bed, waiting for you."
And while it made him grimace with guilt, that was exactly what Lex wanted to hear.
TBC