The morning was a brutal reality. His housekeeper came in and shrieked when she found him splayed awkwardly on the floor of his office, and with that rude awakening, he officially began his hangover. His head felt like a thousand needles tied together in the shape of a skull. Thanking God that it was Saturday, he took the coldest shower he had ever dared to take. After that he felt hysterically awake, but his migraine was in no way relieved. His housekeeper gave him Advil and threw away the empty bourbon bottle with a side-glance at him. He changed into something loose and, wanting to stick his head in the lake, tried to eat without throwing up. It didn't work. After what seemed like an hour the Advil took effect and he was able to swallow a piece of toast. Then the mansion began to suffocate him as it always eventually did, and although the only thing he wanted to do was to lie on his bed until his head stopped hurting, he went outside to walk.
The air was cool and did wonders for his headache. Fall leaves were spinning lazily in the air as if suspended by strings, and the breeze was racing around the treetops. The same sleepy energy permeated everything, and Lex began to feel calmer and definitely more relaxed. He refused to look back at the mansion. It depressed him to see the huge, hulking chunk of Scotland crouching in the middle of this rural wonderland. Strange, how only last night he had thought of it as an undeveloped, economically retarded village. His opinion on Smallville fluctuated every day, but his ultimate impression remained the same: a gold mine waited to be cut and melted into pure blocks of money. The town had screaming potential that no one else had seen to its full extent, not even his father.
As he passed out of the mansion's grounds, he began to hum. He hadn't hummed in so long… The song was an old one: "You're just too good to be true… can't take my eyes off of you…" The vibration in his throat was unfamiliar but pleasing, like a cat's purring. "You'd be like heaven to touch…" The words played in his head as he hummed the tune. He began to smile just a little. "I want to hold you so much…" For a few minutes he almost forgot about his headache. The further he got from the mansion, the better he felt. Soon he was sauntering more than walking and his humming was louder than before. In a moment he was outright singing.
"I love you, baby…" he sang quietly.
"And if it's quite alright…" another voice joined.
Shocked, he stopped singing and walking, looking around for the gatecrasher.
"I'm sorry," said Lana Lang tentatively. "I didn't mean to intrude."
Lex covered his embarrassment by smiling with a hint of sarcasm. "You're not intruding," he said. "What are you doing out here?"
She shrugged. "I jog through here some mornings." He suddenly noticed that she was in running clothes. "What are you doing here?"
"I live here," Lex said, half-smiling.
She touched her forehead. "Right," she said. "Of course." They stood there awkwardly for a moment.
"Well, I'm walking back," he said. "So I'll see you?"
"Can I join you?" asked Lana. "It takes me closer to my house."
He looked at her quizzically. "How can it?" he said. "The Luthor mansion is on the edge of town."
She grinned half-hopefully. "It's closer if you have a car!"
He couldn't help grinning as well, though her slight change in volume hurt his head. "Tired of exercising?"
"Yeah, I've had enough for today."
"Well, then, you're welcome to join me."
They walked back to the grounds in relative silence. Lex would have talked, but his headache was starting to return. He needed more Advil. There was something keeping Lana from talking too, but he was too focused on his own head to figure out what it was. When they got to the house, he asked if she wouldn't mind waiting for a moment. She didn't. He climbed the broad stairs and tracked down his housekeeper, who was so irritated that he had interrupted her considerable work that she gave him the whole bottle of Advil to take with him. He took some pills and stuffed the bottle in his pocket. Trotting down the stairs to join Lana, he found her inspecting a grand painting on the wall.
"Impressive," she said when she saw him. "Who is it?"
He studied it for a moment. "I'm not sure, to tell the truth. Some famous relative from Scotland that invented economy or something similar, I'm sure."
Lana laughed. "He looks like you. Doesn't he?"
He cocked his head. "Yeah, but his hairstyle's a bit different from mine." The man in the painting had a full head of red hair.
Lana shook her head, smiling. "Always so dry," she said. "Who comes up with your lines?"
He tapped his bald head. "I do."
She laughed again. He liked the sound. "Ready to go?" he said. She nodded.
