Chapter 46

Pink.

Pretty, pretty, pink.  Little pretty pink plus signs on pretty little white sticks.  In the morning.

It was a beautiful day.

Jessica smiled, giving herself a huge, beauty-pageant smile in the mirror, hand cupping her belly and griping the stick in her other hand.  Her grin plastered across her face, she turned, hair still wrapped in a towel around her head, terry-cloth bathrobe wrapped around her body.  She trouped out the bathroom and down the hall of the huge penthouse, headed straight for Lionel's office.

He was in there, as usual for a Saturday morning.  Face scowling as he looked over something on his computer.  He glanced up, frowning at her, his hair still its wild mane.  Probably didn't like the fact that she wasn't dressed yet- he didn't like her coming in here in anything less than make-up and full clothes- he had other businessmen in here sometimes.  For meetings.

Jessica smiled, and laid the stick on his desk in front of him.

"Ninety-seven and a half percent accuracy.  I'll have to go to the doctors to check- but I'd thought you'd like to know."  She gave him her biggest smile, waiting.  He looked down, eyes narrowed.  And then his eyebrows lifted and he grinned back.

"Jessie, my dear, you are a treasure."  He was smiling at her, eyes warm.  He hadn't been this nice since the baby had been born and Jessica loved it.

"Thank you, my dear."  She grinned again, and reached to pick up the little piece of plastic.  "And I'm going to finish getting dressed and go shopping.  Shall we have lunch together?"

Lionel gave her a toothy smile.  "Sounds good.  I'll call you.  I was expecting a conference call from my European… staff, but… I don't know how long that will last."

Jessica dimpled, and turned to go.  "I'll be waiting."

Walking down the hallway again, she mumbled, "Two and a half months… well, maybe you'll leave me alone now."   

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The group marched down the executive hallway of Smallville's Plant No. III headed for the large conference room.  Lex was leading the group forward, the brown haired man on his right clearly dancing attendance on his every word.  The lawyers, both men and women wearing expensive Armani suits and totting briefcases stuffed with legal documents, surrounded him. 

"So, what's the current status of the lawsuit?"  Lex asked the lead man walking beside him.

Sam Weatherford cleared his throat and began to speak.  His father, Robert Weatherford and CEO of the firm, had given him the Luthor account as a test- if you could keep a Luthor happy, you could keep any client happy.  "Well sir, the two groups in Smallville have officially split- one group is willing to work with you, the other has filed their lawsuit.  Fortunately, none of the families that lost any of their children is with the second group- the lawsuit is made up of people with injuries only.  Of course, some of them are rather severe…"

Lex sighed, "I suppose I should be happy about this."

"It could be worse.  Owning this local plant really made a big difference- none of the families that are employed here even looked at signing onto the lawsuit- especially once they realized you would assist them.  Brain Ranelle's family especially- the quadriplegic- that would have been expensive."

Lex winced, "I thought you said I had nothing to worry about."

"You don't- but a quadriplegic would make a juror think twice about your guilt, or lack of it.  The United States legal system isn't exactly perfect, and a sob story wouldn't help.  Of course, our biggest problem is still the fact that we know that Grevenich and Jones is the legal council behind the class-action suite, and…"

"As the legal council under retainer by Lionel Luthor, they have a conflict of interest."  Lex growled, "but since Lionel Luthor is no longer considered a suspect, that conflict of interest is no longer an issue.  Legally.  I won't go into the morality of the issue…"

The group was almost rolling their eyes in unison.  Sam Weatherford couldn't stop his disgusted grunt- it seemed that almost every day he was surprised at how far down LuthorCorp was willing to go.

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Brain Ranelle lay in his hospital bed staring at the ceiling.  White tiles filled his vision, with only a square of white plastic from the light fixture breaking the monotony.  The physical therapist would be here soon, and Brain wanted to scream in frustration.  They kept pampering him, trying to make him feel better about the fact that he probably would never walk again.  And no one from school had bothered to stop by in the last week.  Some friends he had here in Smallville.  Man, he wanted his computer.

"Hello, Brain, ready to begin?"  The lean and athletic young man that was in charge of developing his physical therapy swept into the room.  Brain heard the sounds of him messing with a clipboard, Brain couldn't see, couldn't move his head.

"Sure."  Brain grumbled.  "Hey, do you think we could work on getting me online?  I've got a lot of friends who play Everquest with me, and I'd really like to talk with them."

The man looked slightly confused.  "The nurse can help you call them on the phone…"

Brain rolled his eyes disgustedly.  "Online.  You know- IM?  Instant messages?  I don't have phone numbers, just userids.  Screen names."

"Ah."  The man nodded.

"Look," Brain ground out.  "Doc says I'm not going to walk again.  But I was never into sports.  I was the president of the math club and the chess club for crying out loud.  I… I just want to get back online, okay?  I've got more friends online than at school, and… well, I've been thinking.  I was going to be a programmer.  I can still do that.  Doc said I'd probably get some use of my arms back, that I'll be able to move my head."

The white-coated therapist broadly smiled, before turning to his clipboard.  "Yes, that is a goal we can focus on."

Brain weakly smiled back.  "Yeah.  I just want to surf again, you know?  It's boring sitting here."  The green-stoned necklace almost pulsed at his neck.  Brain continued on, mumbling to himself, "that's all I want, to talk to my computer again…"

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Author's Notes:

I really want to finish this story.  I really do.  Can I hire anyone to be designated butt-kicker out there?