Title: "Like a Melody"

Summary: "A pretty girl is like a melody/That haunts you day and night." A new addition to the Kent family is sickly, stubborn, and challenging. Lex Luthor does not like to be challenged.

Author Notes: PLEASE READ THE AUTHOR NOTES AT THE BEGINNING OF EACH CHAPTER! Much love to my reviewers--yes, Lex'll be in the story eventually but I've got to establish my OC before the good stuff happens! For clarification on when this all takes place: Lionel is blind, the Talon is under Lana's management, and Lex has married (and divorced) Desiree. So this little fic takes off after Episode "Heat."

Thank heaven for Alainn--if it weren't for her love of all things Smallville, I would not have written this!

THIS IS AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE FANFICTION

Chapter Two

"Comfort's in heaven, and we are on the earth,
Where nothing lives but crosses, cares, and grief."
--Richard the Second, II.2

At eighteen, Kate Marshall felt that she was a reasonably mature individual. She had always been a good student, and barring any overt attacks of procrastination, had turned everything in on time. Community service was one of her top priorities and politics were an area of moderate interest to her. She made sure the dishes were washed, the laundry was cleaned, and the dirty towels were kept off the floor. Yes, Kate Marshall was reasonably mature.

That did not stop her from stomping her foot and yelling at her father.

"I cannot believe that you called her!" Kate slammed a pot onto the countertop with a resounding clang. With a hand still fishing for the lid in the abyss of the cabinets, Kate managed to glare at her father. "We hardly even know the Kents. What were you thinking? That you were just going to drop me on their doorstep?"

"Don't get so upset," Sam dismissed his daughter's outburst with a wave of his hand. He leaned against the kitchen doorframe tiredly. "I'm not going to abandon you. I just feel that you need some looking after—"

"Dad, I'm eighteen, not eight. I don't need a nanny to clean up after me," Kate muttered angrily as her fingers finally grazed the lid. Setting it on the counter, she picked up the pot and took it over the sink for water. "And besides, there are people in Metropolis that I could live with. Did you ever think to ask Chris?"

Sam blanched. "Chris is a nice boy, but he's…"

"Gay?"

"I was going to say confused."

"I dunno, Dad, I think the eyeliner and mascara is pretty solid evidence for a homosexual lifestyle," Kate grinned cheekily before her scowl resurfaced, "Chris has his own apartment—fairly close to the hospital," she shot her father a look, "and let's not forget he is financially stable. No worries about being booted out."

Sam ran his fingers through his thinning hair, looking anywhere but at Kate. "You are not a charity case. I won't have you living off of your friends—"

"—but you are willing to have me mooch off family—"

"—furthermore," Sam spoke over his daughter, "the Kents lead a very stable, very normal life out in Smallville—"

"Wait a minute." Kate held up her hand to stop him. "Smallville? You're sending me to Smallville?" She closed her eyes, using her other hand to pinch the bridge of her nose as she tried to calm herself down. "The Meteor Capital of the World. I'm doomed to live out the rest of my days in some hokey tourist trap."

Sam ignored his daughter's theatrics. "Could be worse. Smallville used to be the Creamed Corn Capital of the World."

"Brilliant, Dad, just brilliant."

Kate stubbornly set her chin, a tactic that effectively ended the conversation, as Sam knew from experience. From his vantage point, the kitchen seemed almost too large for Kate. It was all clean lines and neutral tones while she was all awkward angles and pasty white. There was a definite slulmp to her shoulders as she twiddled with the stove burners and, to Sam's eye, a certain lethargy to her movements. If Sam had any poetic aspirations, he would have likened Kate to a flower withering in the city.

Sam Marshall did not like poetry.

"Shove over," Sam said gruffily, elbowing his way in beside the stove. Kate just shrugged indifferently and set herself to the task of making salads. Judging from the amount of food she had set out, Kate clearly intended to eat tonight. Kate always had a love for cooking—especially the part where you got to eat your creations—so it had been a cruel blow when she had to fight nausea and loss of appetite.

"I can tell when people are staring at me," Kate said, her back to her father. Just another wonderful side effect of cancer. "Anything troubling you? Other than my impending exile, of course."

"Hardly exile. You're going to live in some idyllic little country town while I'm gone. What's wrong with that?" Sam asked.

"Because I'm living with strangers. Because I'm leaving my friends. Because I'm constantly reminded of my disease-ridden state," Kate bitterly spat. "Would you like me to think of any more reasons?"

At that moment, Sam would've given anything to have his wife back. Anne had always been the comforter, the one to dry Kate's tears. But Anne had been gone for a very long time.

Abandoning the pot, Sam wrapped his arm around his daughter's shoulders. "I just…I want you to be happy, to be safe. I want someone to take as good of care of you as I would. Someone to nag you about eating, to worry about you when you feel ill, to feel panicked when you have a fainting spell."

Kate nodded, sniffling a bit. "And you think that someone is the Kents?"

Sam hugged her tight. "I know that it's the Kents."

They stood there for a moment, before Kate lightly tapped her father.

"Dad, the pot's boiling over."

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