Part 8
He let her hand fall slowly back down on the sheets covering her. Lex met the nurse's eyes and silently asked her to look after Chloe, who had been in a catatonic state since she woke from the sedative a few hours ago. Today, Lex was not going to the office for the first time in two years. After the clandestine transfer to the penthouse, he remained with Chloe and did not leave her bedside until she woke, unresponsive. Only after the nurse advised him that she would come back after she had calmed down assured him enough to move into the other room and answer his calls.
Lex had never thought of the office he had installed in the penthouse as a relaxation place. He had been working since he was in his teens, and he had always separated the idea of work and calm. But after the panic that seized him upon seeing Chloe's eyes open but unseeing, Lex looked forward to the numbers and figures and various problems of the corporation's factories and labs to drown him. This pressure at least, he knew. This pressure, at least, he could deal with.
The sun climbed high into the sky and Lex never noticed the passing of the hours. He forced himself to work, to think of the millions of dollars rolling and the thousands of people depending on him for their jobs. But even while carefully reading through contracts from different parts of the globe, the woman lying in the room beside his was foremost in his mind. He never noticed when the sun started creeping down. Chloe must be resting comfortably now, or the nurse would have informed him. He had expressly gave her instructions to call him should any change occur-be it good or bad.
Still, he could not push the niggling concern in his mind. He shook his head and retrieved some of the files on the Smallville factory. Gabe had been doing well, even after Chloe's loss. His attention, which had before been split between his daughter and the factory, had been poured into improving the management of the plant. In the past two years, Smallville had increased its productivity by one hundred and forty percent, and was still steadily increasing every quarter. From being on the verge of closure a few years ago, Smallville was now the most exemplary of the LuthorCorp branches.
He settled back on his chair and glanced at the door connecting the office to where the nurse was sitting with her. And then Lex picked up the phone and dialed the familiar number.
"Mr. Sullivan," Lex greeted on the phone. It was always formal between them when they called within office hours. "I received last quarter's reports. I must commend you."
The older man's voice was humble when he answered, "Just doing my job, Mr. Luthor."
Lex nodded. Although Gabe could not hear him, Lex was aware that the man knew him enough by now to know even his silent reactions. All these years of correspondence through phones, emails and faxes brought the two closer than any man and his father-in-law could ever be. Shared grief gave Lex and Gabe the relationship, however grudging, of father and son.
"Gabe," he began, "I really do apologize for not coming."
"It would have been special if you'd been here," Gabe Sullivan admitted. "But I can't expect you to have the same opinion in this as I do. I know how you feel, at least. That has to be enough for now."
"I-I'll go," Lex promised. "But I won't visit just to mark a day, Gabe." The name slipped off his tongue smoothly, and the older man knew that his superior hadn't caught it, hadn't realized. Lex was too far inside his own brain to monitor his words now. "And I won't do it while Smallville is watching."
"You don't have to tell me all this, Lex."
There was a pause. Not long. But for both men, it seemed centuries before one spoke. "Of course I do. You won't understand me if I don't speak up."
Lex knew the other man was smiling now. "Why do I picture my daughter harping that lesson at you?"
"What I wouldn't give to hear her nag again." It was an admission that hung in the air between them. Lex desperately wanted to snatch the syllables back, lock them deep inside where it would stay hidden, safe from exploitation by others. No one, not even Gabe Sullivan, had a right to hear that.
It was soon apparent that Gabe had predicted exactly what Lex would say and do. He said, "I'll disconnect the call now before you say things you will ultimately regret." Lex wondered how the man could be so perceptive. But then again, he had seen it so many times before in Chloe. He now knew where she got the trait from. Lex placed his finger on the off button. Before he pressed on it though, Gabe continued. "You haven't checked your email, have you, Lex?"
"No. I've been. busy for a while." He couldn't tell the man that emotionally he was in turmoil because he was able to bring Chloe back, but now she was staring off into space, her system in shock because of truths he hastily uttered in his exhilaration of watching her move again. Did he really think that she needed the truth now? He never lied to Chloe. Knee jerk reaction to her frantic questions perhaps. He was still the one in the wrong.
"Then download your mail, Lex," Gabe said warmly, using the first name of the man who could have been his son, had fate not intervened. "You'll see. You didn't need to call me to explain yourself."
In response to this, Lex merely turned off the phone and placed it down. He clicked on the mouse to do as Gabe Sullivan requested. As he waited, he closed his eyes and swallowed, still recovering from the tremor that coursed through him at the way that Gabe said his name to make it sound so much like 'son.' He smirked to assure himself that he was not affected, that he merely found it funny. He must be desperately to think like this. There were no two words farther from each other than Lex and son. Even his own father thought so.
He browsed through the long list of unread mail until he found the one from his plant manager. It was dated the night of the dinner. He must have sent it right after they got off the phone.
He clicked on the email and read the carefully chosen words, recognizing them immediately. "Scheler," Lex murmured. Gabe had typed in one sentence, rather than wax poetic about history and psychology the way he usually did in his letters. But in that one quote Gabe Sullivan was able to extend his understanding of Lex's absence, and tell him that he accepted his decision.
The single line read, 'Pain is a private experience.'
He let her hand fall slowly back down on the sheets covering her. Lex met the nurse's eyes and silently asked her to look after Chloe, who had been in a catatonic state since she woke from the sedative a few hours ago. Today, Lex was not going to the office for the first time in two years. After the clandestine transfer to the penthouse, he remained with Chloe and did not leave her bedside until she woke, unresponsive. Only after the nurse advised him that she would come back after she had calmed down assured him enough to move into the other room and answer his calls.
Lex had never thought of the office he had installed in the penthouse as a relaxation place. He had been working since he was in his teens, and he had always separated the idea of work and calm. But after the panic that seized him upon seeing Chloe's eyes open but unseeing, Lex looked forward to the numbers and figures and various problems of the corporation's factories and labs to drown him. This pressure at least, he knew. This pressure, at least, he could deal with.
The sun climbed high into the sky and Lex never noticed the passing of the hours. He forced himself to work, to think of the millions of dollars rolling and the thousands of people depending on him for their jobs. But even while carefully reading through contracts from different parts of the globe, the woman lying in the room beside his was foremost in his mind. He never noticed when the sun started creeping down. Chloe must be resting comfortably now, or the nurse would have informed him. He had expressly gave her instructions to call him should any change occur-be it good or bad.
Still, he could not push the niggling concern in his mind. He shook his head and retrieved some of the files on the Smallville factory. Gabe had been doing well, even after Chloe's loss. His attention, which had before been split between his daughter and the factory, had been poured into improving the management of the plant. In the past two years, Smallville had increased its productivity by one hundred and forty percent, and was still steadily increasing every quarter. From being on the verge of closure a few years ago, Smallville was now the most exemplary of the LuthorCorp branches.
He settled back on his chair and glanced at the door connecting the office to where the nurse was sitting with her. And then Lex picked up the phone and dialed the familiar number.
"Mr. Sullivan," Lex greeted on the phone. It was always formal between them when they called within office hours. "I received last quarter's reports. I must commend you."
The older man's voice was humble when he answered, "Just doing my job, Mr. Luthor."
Lex nodded. Although Gabe could not hear him, Lex was aware that the man knew him enough by now to know even his silent reactions. All these years of correspondence through phones, emails and faxes brought the two closer than any man and his father-in-law could ever be. Shared grief gave Lex and Gabe the relationship, however grudging, of father and son.
"Gabe," he began, "I really do apologize for not coming."
"It would have been special if you'd been here," Gabe Sullivan admitted. "But I can't expect you to have the same opinion in this as I do. I know how you feel, at least. That has to be enough for now."
"I-I'll go," Lex promised. "But I won't visit just to mark a day, Gabe." The name slipped off his tongue smoothly, and the older man knew that his superior hadn't caught it, hadn't realized. Lex was too far inside his own brain to monitor his words now. "And I won't do it while Smallville is watching."
"You don't have to tell me all this, Lex."
There was a pause. Not long. But for both men, it seemed centuries before one spoke. "Of course I do. You won't understand me if I don't speak up."
Lex knew the other man was smiling now. "Why do I picture my daughter harping that lesson at you?"
"What I wouldn't give to hear her nag again." It was an admission that hung in the air between them. Lex desperately wanted to snatch the syllables back, lock them deep inside where it would stay hidden, safe from exploitation by others. No one, not even Gabe Sullivan, had a right to hear that.
It was soon apparent that Gabe had predicted exactly what Lex would say and do. He said, "I'll disconnect the call now before you say things you will ultimately regret." Lex wondered how the man could be so perceptive. But then again, he had seen it so many times before in Chloe. He now knew where she got the trait from. Lex placed his finger on the off button. Before he pressed on it though, Gabe continued. "You haven't checked your email, have you, Lex?"
"No. I've been. busy for a while." He couldn't tell the man that emotionally he was in turmoil because he was able to bring Chloe back, but now she was staring off into space, her system in shock because of truths he hastily uttered in his exhilaration of watching her move again. Did he really think that she needed the truth now? He never lied to Chloe. Knee jerk reaction to her frantic questions perhaps. He was still the one in the wrong.
"Then download your mail, Lex," Gabe said warmly, using the first name of the man who could have been his son, had fate not intervened. "You'll see. You didn't need to call me to explain yourself."
In response to this, Lex merely turned off the phone and placed it down. He clicked on the mouse to do as Gabe Sullivan requested. As he waited, he closed his eyes and swallowed, still recovering from the tremor that coursed through him at the way that Gabe said his name to make it sound so much like 'son.' He smirked to assure himself that he was not affected, that he merely found it funny. He must be desperately to think like this. There were no two words farther from each other than Lex and son. Even his own father thought so.
He browsed through the long list of unread mail until he found the one from his plant manager. It was dated the night of the dinner. He must have sent it right after they got off the phone.
He clicked on the email and read the carefully chosen words, recognizing them immediately. "Scheler," Lex murmured. Gabe had typed in one sentence, rather than wax poetic about history and psychology the way he usually did in his letters. But in that one quote Gabe Sullivan was able to extend his understanding of Lex's absence, and tell him that he accepted his decision.
The single line read, 'Pain is a private experience.'