"Maybe you should quit." I prickle at Lex's words but keep my eyes trained on my desk, staring too intently at the screen of my computer. I read through an email entitled "Urgent!" Only to find out halfway through reading it's an obvious scam which should have gone to my spam. But I read thoroughly to avoid eye contact with my boss. He slams down the phone in his hand after one final threatening remark and looks to me. I feel his eyes in the way my scalp prickles.

"Sorry. That got pretty ugly there."

I nod, clicking to my next captivating read; downsizing production in a plant in Austin. I check a flag at the top of the page as a reminder to go through the email more thoroughly to present notes to Lex by the end of the day.

"You seem fascinated by your work there."

I nod again. The email goes into the pros and cons of downsizing and the diminishing market for the LutherCorp cosmetics, offering options in either combining with a preexisting brand or shutting down the production of cosmetics altogether. The email particularly pushes for acquiring another cosmetics line in part due to brand recognition, as LuthorCorp is primarily unassociated with the beauty industry-

"Sarah, stop." I let my mind freeze when he says my name, each cog resetting so when I look at him I no longer know what I was reading before. He falters, searching my eyes for something and failing to recognize it in me. "Will you take this to Lana? I forgot to give it to her the other day."

"And what, may I ask, is it?"

"It's an exemption from her rent for this month. I figured it's kind of my fault she got caught up in all that." I hesitate, but reach for the envelope.

"I would think you'd want to deliver this yourself."

"Ms. Vanderhaul, I like you. Don't make me fire you." I bow my head reverentially, snatching the envelope from his hand and stuffing it into my purse. He stalls near my desk, playing with the Mister Potato Head at the edge of it. Camille thought it would be a funny present when I left school. She liked to think that as I grew and changed, so would my Mr. Potato Head. He pulls off the foot, catching the body in his hand and pulling off the lips in another swift motion. He switches the two, looking at me expectantly. He balances Mister Potato Head precariously on the edge of the desk and focuses his stare again on me.

"Poor Mister Potato Head." Lex says, still looking at me. "Always putting his foot in his mouth." I can't help but laugh. Mostly because the thought that Lex would make such a fool out of himself made me warm and bubbly inside. He smiles, as if giddy off of making me laugh.

I drive to Lana's and it's not until I'm on her stoop that I realize my cheeks are aching from a smile which never truly disappeared after talking to Lex. I attempt to temper my lips when I ring on the doorbell. There's shuffling and a loud bang. I wince as images of a crumpled body flashes across my mind. Someone swears softly. Lana opens the door with flour coating her arms and her lips contorted into a half grimace.

"Oh, hey." She says, nodding for me to come in. "What can I help you with, Sarah?" She leads me into the kitchen which smells like burnt toenails.

"Jesus Fucking Christ."

"Oh, yeah, sorry about all this…mess." She gestures sheepishly to the clutter of blackened muffins and scorched cinnamon. "I've been trying to keep busy by trying out new recipes for the cafe." She looks up through her lashes, a trick I also thought held enormous power when I was in high school. The 'who wouldn't help out poor wittle me?' look. The abandoned puppy look, if you will. "You want to help me?" I scoff, picking past her to try and find a broom to sweep up the flour splayed across the floor.

"Could you put away the face? Just tell me where the broom is."

"What face?" When I turn, her face shows no trace of mocking or deceit. She simply stares at me, wide eyes now wider in confusion. I laugh a little.

"So you don't even know you're doing it." Her brows knit together and I simply move to pick up the bag on the ground without spilling more flour. She scuttles around me, producing a broom and a dust pan.

"I never got the chance to ask you the other day," she prompts, turning on the faucet and washing off her forearms, "how are you doing after everything?"

I train my eyes toward the ground and try to ignore the way my windpipe is closing up when I think of that night. "Fine. As fine as I can be." She nods, wiping down her arms and turning towards me with a sympathetic smile. "How are you doing?"

"Well, you know. Everything's a bit different now. Every dark corner seems a little more dangerous. Everyone around me is just that more terrifying. But, I can't say that I'm surprised it happened with everything that's been going on." I pause mid sweep and turn to her.

"What do you mean 'with everything that's been going on'?"

"Sarah, don't tell me you moved here without knowing." I look down at the floor, embarrassed that I'm not quite sure what she means. "Crime has gone up drastically recently. I don't know exactly what it is, but something weird has been going on. And none of the crimes are exactly…normal. I don't know how to describe it, but things don't always add up when it comes to Smallville." She seems to grapple with something until she turns to me fully, leaning against the counter and looking to me cautiously. "Things aren't right here. I mean, you saw with your own eyes what happened with that…guy. You can't always explain what's going on by anything rational."

"You would think the things that guy could do would make national headlines." She shrugs and turns back to the sink.

"Nothing ever does. I mean, who would believe it? Anyways, it's not all bad. Ever since these…things… started happening, The Blur started to show up."

"The Blur?"

She blushes, pouring Dawn into a bundt pan with its edges blackened in burnt batter. "Yeah, The Blur. He started showing up along with these people. And he's saving us, I guess. Well, he saved me." She absentmindedly digs her nail under a piece stuck to the side, digging it out.

"Do you know who this 'Blur' is? Does anyone know?" She shakes her head no and puts the pan aside.

"Sometimes I think I do. But, in short, no. I don't know." And then something occurs to me, something itching at the back of my brain. An idea which doesn't stem from anything substantial, but flourishes into full blooming thought nonetheless.

I think about Lex. About his involvement in the weirdness with Dr. Hendrickson. Because maybe he's been working a lot with this kind of weirdness. And if one could assume that he was investigating the weird occurrences, it could be assumed that there be some connection between Lex and The Blur.

What happens next is a notion shadowed in doubt, but one that latches on and holds me until I find a reason to leave Lana's. A notion that Lex is The Blur. But that would be crazy, wouldn't it? I try to put it out of my mind on the drive back, but when I think of what Lana said, it makes sense to me. She called The Blur the one who "saved" her. And when I think of the one who saved me that night, it's Lex.

I tenuously slip back into my desk, avoiding eye contact with Lex. He's hunched over his computer, elbow propped against the desk and his chan in his hand, index finger tracing his parted lips as he scrutinizes the screen in front of him through black rimmed glasses. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, giving him an air of approachability and I can't help but stare at him. He sighs, taking off his glasses and scrunching his nose between his thumb and forefinger. And suddenly I have the image of my arms wrapping around him as he leans back in his chair, his idle flingers tracing the length of my forearm. And that vision is so clear, so close to realization that I have to keep myself planted in my seat so I don't fling myself at my poor, unsuspecting boss.

But because I can't just snake my arms across his chest to feel the way his freshly pressed button up shirt creases at my touch, my mind wanders and entertains fantasies of him moving impossibly fast, of sweeping me up in some heroic stance. I think of the way he saved me only a little while ago, and I feel my cheeks start to flush.

And then he looks at me, exhaustion breaking through his meticulous mask. And he smiles faintly. And I can't breathe. Because I am having a minor panic attack.

Because I am crushing on my boss.