Author: papergirl

Rating: PG-13. Will increase as things get hot and heavy. This chapter's relatively tame.

Feedback: I don't know why I'm writing this thing, I guess I just wanted to try something new. I want feedback on whether or not there should be more!

Spoilers: Eh

Disclaimer: Don't own anything . . . except for this really cool seaweed moisturizer from The Body Shop

Archiving: Just ask, please!

Summary: Reflections on the past

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Honey stepped out of the shower. She picked up the huge cotton towel awaiting her. Quickly she dried off, humming.

"And it's hard for me to take a stand, when I will take him any way I can . . ." she sang softly.

As she walked into the bedroom she had claimed, Honey took a moment to appreciate the décor. It was Tudor style, with a very tall four-poster bed, so tall in fact, it required a small set of stairs that rolled out from underneath. It was nice, if not somewhat formal.

She even had a vanity. Honey put on a robe, and sat before it, blow-drying her hair. When she finished, she walked to the closet, where some very efficient employees had already unpacked her four suitcases. Honey brushed over several jeans, wondering when she had last worn a pair. She decided it had been too long, and pulled a very worn out pair from the closet. This was quickly followed by a white screen print tee, which read in gray letters, "Oh, FCUK." She had a thing for French Connection United Kingdom.

After dressing, Honey sat down on a chair in the corner of the room. She needed a moment to think about her situation. Here she was, in Alex's house. Loving him, wanting him. She wondered if his father would say something to Lex to put a damper on the relationship.

God, she hated Lionel. He was absolutely vile. He had attempted to seduce her a number of times since she turned fifteen. That's when he found out she was sleeping with Lex. And each time, she had rebuffed him. In the year she and Lex started at Metropolis U, it had happened so often she started using "no" as a salutation.

Honey sighed, remembering her and Lex's joint 18th birthday party. (They had been born two days apart). Lionel got rip-roaring drunk, and pulled Honey into an empty room. The old bastard had fondled her breasts eagerly, kissing her neck and smelling like scotch. She slapped him, but he persisted. At the point where she was about to scream, Alex had come looking for her. It was the only time he had ever struck his father. He hit Lionel squarely across the jaw, and took Honey from the room.

They had spent hours up on the roof of the Metropolis penthouse. While the party raged below, Honey sat wrapped in Lex's arms, looking down at the city. Remembering, Honey felt a wave of warmth come over her. He had said the sweetest things to her. Had told her how much she meant to him and how much he trusted and needed her. He did not mention Lionel, and Honey knew that he was ashamed. At one point she twisted around to kiss him, and saw that his cheeks were wet. They both cried that night.

Honey wondered what had happened to drive them apart. Then there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," she stood, preparing for battle.

*~#~*

Lex walked to the room his housekeeper had said Honey was staying in. He decided not to think, instead, knocking on the door and waiting for whatever would happen to happen.

"Come in."

He entered, and saw her standing in the middle of the room. God, she was beautiful. Even in that rather obscene shirt, she was just as elegant as ever. Her jeans hugged her body, and Lex couldn't help but admire. He spoke.

"Lionel's gone."

Honey nodded.

"Are you, uh, hungry?" Lex mentally slapped himself, remembering that she had just eaten dinner.

"Are you?"

"Haven't eaten all day," he was starving.

Honey stepped toward him. "If you're going to eat, then I will, too."

"Honey, you don't have to . . ." Lex had forgotten that she was like this. If he wanted anything, anything at all, she would always try to accommodate him. "I mean, you don't have to eat to please me."

"You would for me, Alexander."

"Yeah, but—" Lex smiled inwardly, knowing she was right.

"So let's go!" She walked out of the room and trotted down the stairs as if she owned the place.

When they reached the dining room, Honey disappeared into the kitchen, and returned with a tray of sushi. "Your chef just made these."

Lex sat, watching her as she gracefully moved toward him, bending backwards to set the tray before him. "Where'd you learn that one?"

"The Playboy Bunny Handbook."

He wasn't surprised. She pulled up a chair, picked up a pair of ivory chopsticks, and reached out for the tekka maki. Very slowly, she picked up a thin slice of ginger, and after dipping it in the soy sauce, painted the roll. Lex surveyed her. The tip of her tongue protruded from the left corner of her mouth, just like when she was a little girl. Lex found himself wondering whether she had really changed.

She picked the sushi up carefully with her chopsticks and held it out to him. He took it, looking straight at her while chewing slowly.

"Honey—"

"Shh." She smiled mysteriously, then continued to feed him.

When he was finished, she got up and settled herself on his lap. "Alex, I've missed you so." Honey rested her head on his shoulder, and Lex felt strangely calmed by the familiar position.

Lex said nothing, feeling the warmth from her body permeate his bones, relaxing him. He rested his head back, glad his father had sprung for such comfortable dining chairs. One hand rested on her hip, the other tangled in her hands. It felt so right . . . like nothing had in ages. The only thing that came close was when Clark was over, just hanging out. But Clark couldn't give him warmth, couldn't give him this kind of forgiving love . . . she had forgiven him. For what he didn't know.

He reflected on what had broken them apart. One day Honey came to him, and he brushed her off, wrapped up in his latest conquest. The next, she had been so angry she was shaking. He tried to calm her down, but she wouldn't talk to him. For three years, he pretended not to care why, but he wanted to know. Wanted to know why . . .

"Why did you leave?"

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