A/N: This chapter takes place in the hiatus between 1x8, Jitters, and 1x9, Rogue.

Chapter 5 - Christmas cookies

Clark and Martha stood out in the freezing cold outside of the mansion, waiting for the security guard to check in with Lex to make sure they were clear to enter. Clark had unconditional clearance, but the guard hadn't been sure about Martha, since she had never visited the mansion.

Clark made a face, looking up at the top of the gate. "Mom, are you sure he even celebrates Christmas?"

Martha switched her grip on the tin of cookies from one hand to the other so that she could tuck the one that had been exposed to the air into her pocket to thaw it out. There were probably better ways to spend the afternoon on Christmas Eve than waiting out in the freezing cold for someone who, admittedly, might not celebrate Christmas after all.

But it had been three weeks since the hostage situation at the LuthorCorp plant, and Martha hadn't checked in on Lex since then. She'd worried about him, but didn't want to smother or embarrass him by calling to ask about the concussion later that week. Clark had visited him, but she couldn't quite trust a fourteen-year-old's observations about whether Lex was doing alright. Bringing him cookies on Christmas Eve felt like a good excuse to see if he was feeling any better.

"No, I'm not sure," she said. "But even if he doesn't, I doubt he'll be offended by our visit."

The security guard came back and opened the front gate, gesturing for them to come inside. "Mr. Luthor sends his apologies," he said.

"Oh, there's no need for that." Martha smiled brightly. "Clark and I were perfectly happy to wait."

Clark sighed, and she shot him a look.

Lex sat at the desk in his study, looking over some data from his analysts. Proving his father wrong about his ability to manage the plant had turned out to be far more impossibly exhausting than he had thought. At first it had just been an issue of pride, but there was a lot more at stake now. 2500 families relied on the jobs his plant provided.

His security guard entered the room. "Mr. Luthor, Clark is here to see you, along with a Martha Kent. They're at the front gate."

Lex closed his laptop. "Let them in. Send my apologies, and consider Mrs. Kent to be cleared to enter."

"Yes, sir." The guard left the study.

Lex stood from the desk and walked around to the front, tucking his hands into his pockets. He'd visited with Clark once or twice since Clark's grounding had ended, shooting hoops outside the barn or pool inside his study, but he hadn't seen Mrs. Kent since the night he'd slept at their house.

Despite having had to wake up every two hours throughout that night, and sleeping on the cheapest mattress and sheets he'd had in his life, it had probably been the best night's sleep he'd had in years. Not that he would ever admit that to her, of course. Even in his own mind, it was easier to blame the depth of his sleep on the head injury than to admit how much comfort he'd taken in their care.

He had never realized how weak and vulnerable he really was until that night, and even now, the deep humiliation filled his veins with adrenaline every time he thought about how pathetic he must have seemed to them. Those last words she'd said to him—that he was a good man, and a good role model to Clark—had put him on an emotional high that lasted for days afterwards. The thought that his feelings could be so easily swayed by something so small was mortifying, not to mention potentially devastating. His father was always warning him against that kind of sentimentality; it could destroy a person.

His heart pounded slow and hard against his chest. He didn't want to face her again, not when she had seen him like that. At the same time, no matter how many times he tried to settle himself down, his throat felt choked up with euphoria at the thought that she and Clark had come to see him on Christmas Eve.

"Still working?" Clark was a couple of steps ahead of his mom. Both entered into the study with wide grins, wearing knitted red and green sweaters.

"Still work to be done," Lex stepped forward to meet them. It felt like something out of a movie, but Lex didn't care. He couldn't keep the smile off his face.

He clapped Clark's hand in a handshake, and Mrs. Kent embraced him: that warm, gentle, firm hold that brought him back to being in his own mother's arms, softening his insides. His conscious mind lamented how short it was, leaving him embarrassed enough that it was hard to meet her gaze, so he focused on Clark instead.

"Sorry I haven't been in touch much lately, this is a busy time for the plant."

"I imagine most of your employees are away on vacation by now," Mrs. Kent said.

"They are. But year-end analytics have me tied down."

"Sounds boring," Clark said.

Mrs. Kent raised her eyebrows at him. "Clark—"

"No, it is boring." Lex half smiled. "But it's a necessary evil."

"Well, we won't keep you long. We were just here to bring you some Christmas cookies and wish you a good one. We weren't sure if you celebrated Christmas, though."

"Oh, I do."

Clark's eyes wandered around the study, and Lex was suddenly aware of the lack of decorations. He didn't even have a tree. Come to think of it, he wasn't doing anything for Christmas. He wouldn't be attending any parties or gatherings. Tomorrow, he might sleep in if he could afford the time away from work, but he'd probably spend the evening avoiding his father, like he'd done every year around this time. It wasn't much of a celebration.

"Well . . . no, I guess I don't, not really."

"I know you and your father aren't on the best terms, but maybe you could meet up with your friends?"

Lex didn't want to tell her that he didn't have anyone besides Clark, not real friends anyway, but he could see from the look on her face that his expression betrayed the truth. He quickly said, "I'm sure they're busy with their families. It's okay, I haven't done Christmas in a long time."

"Would you like to?" Mrs. Kent asked. "There's plenty of room at our table if you'd like to come over tomorrow night."

Lex's heart leapt. He remembered that first Christmas after his mother died, when his father didn't bother with having the servants pull out the decorations, or with getting a tree. Lex couldn't bring himself to ask about it then; grief for Julian and his mother were too fresh to think about celebrating.

But then the next year was the same. No decorations, no tree. No lights. No music. No parties. Lex could have done without the parties, anyway, but he missed having a Christmas tree. He'd made the mistake of asking his father about it a few days before Christmas, and ended up spending the rest of his week in his room to hide the bruise on his face from his father's vicious backhand.

There had been no talk of Christmas since then. Mrs. Kent was offering him a chance to have it back: a family dinner with a family that actually cared about each other. Two of the three of them even cared about him.

Glancing over to see the grimace on Clark's face, though, he knew he couldn't accept her invitation. He could almost see Clark's thoughts written in his expression: what would Mr. Kent say about it? It was one thing to have Lex over for dinner when he was injured from having saved Clark's life; it was quite another to allow a Luthor into the Kent house for Christmas.

"I appreciate the invite, Mrs. Kent, but I can't. I'll be stuck in meetings tomorrow evening."

Her brow furrowed, and she nodded.

He could have kicked himself. Meetings on Christmas. Could he have possibly chosen a less believable excuse?

Mrs. Kent sighed, and she turned to Clark. "We should get going, Clark. Can you run out and start warming up the car? I'll catch up with you in a minute."

He did, and Lex swallowed hard against the dryness in his throat, wanting to look anywhere but at Mrs. Kent's disappointed eyes but finding himself unable to tear his gaze away.

"I understand if you don't want to celebrate Christmas, or if it's hard to think about celebrating it with someone else's family, or if you have somewhere to be," she said softly. "I just wish you wouldn't lie to me."

She couldn't have spoken more cutting words. Buried deep within his computer files was the information Roger Nixon had sent him from his investigations on the Kent family. He hadn't technically lied to any of them, but going behind their backs was obviously deceptive, and the omission was clearly less than honest.

He knew he should call Roger Nixon and call off the investigation. But something inside him wouldn't let him. He was certain he'd hit Clark on that bridge, which meant really, they were the ones who were being dishonest with him . . .

Lex chided himself. How could he be thinking this way about the Kents? They'd been kind to him, taken care of him when he was injured and visited him on Christmas Eve, and this was what he was doing. Lying, manipulating, deceiving, and then pushing it off on them.

Yet he couldn't stop himself.

He didn't deserve them. Any of them. He could still be friends with Clark—Clark was just a kid, and he helped Lex hold himself to a higher moral standard on most things—but Mr. Kent would always be able to see through him, to the person he really was.

To his horror, his eyes began to sting. He blinked rapidly and looked down at his desk.

Mrs. Kent set down the tin on his desk and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'll prepare a little extra for dinner tomorrow just in case. You call me if you change your mind," she said.

Lex nodded. "I will." And it wasn't a lie: he would, if he did change his mind.

But his mind was made up.