Okay, barfing was bad, but at least barfing was doing something, and after he barfed he felt a little better for a little while. Nausea was a grinding, building thing, and it reminded him of kryptonite even when there was no kryptonite anywhere around.
This was so unfair. Clark wished he could just sleep for a thousand years, and when he woke up everything would be better. He wished he'd decided to fly into the sun eight days ago, before he'd lost the ability to fly. He wished he'd never made up with Lex, so Lex wouldn't be so doggone hurt by whatever it was that was happening to him.
Watching Lex's heart break was the worst thing ever.
But Lex was trying awful hard to be brave, and Clark couldn't do anything less.
"Whatcha looking up?" he whispered, swallowing saliva. Drooling –- that was another gross symptom they'd have to remember to tell the doctor about. He double-checked that the little plastic barf dish was right there by his head.
Lex looked up from his laptop screen and smiled at him. God, that sweet, doomed smile. Poor Lex. He hadn't been more than one room away from Clark in the whole week since Clark had finally admitted he was really sick. He hadn't slept; he'd barely eaten. He spent hours on the laptop, looking things up, and he stayed glued to Clark as if attached by a tether. Clark remembered every story Lex had ever told him about his mom, about Pam, about Julian. He remembered the spectacular meltdown the year Lionel finally died, even though he and Lex were no longer speaking by then. He wouldn't put Lex through that again. Therefore, he had to not die. Ideally, he had to get better. Simple, really.
Clark leaned over and hurled.
Lex held his hair back (the laser vision had been the first Gift to quit working, and so Clark hadn't been able to cut his hair in over a month) and cleaned him up. How could he be so patient and nice about it? He was Lex Luthor, for pete's sake! Clark knew the answer, though –- he loved him.
Settled again, and feeling a tiny bit better, Clark repeated his question. "What are you looking up all this time, anyway?"
"Well, I was researching doctors for a while. House is the best diagnostician in the country, head and shoulders above anybody else."
"But you already found him. We're here. Why don't you put the laptop down and get some rest?"
Lex smiled at him again. He looked so tired. "C'mon, Lex," Clark wheedled, carefully shoving over to make a little room. "I promise not to throw up on you."
Lex set the laptop down on his chair, and helped Clark move over. He got the pillows distributed, and the rinsed-out little barf tray arranged, and climbed up next to Clark. He felt good. He smelled good.
"I'm glad you're here," Clark sighed.
Lex petted his hair. "Me, too."
Clark's brain might not be in top form (some said it never was) but it was still a reporter's brain. "What are you looking up?" he persisted.
He could feel Lex freeze, just momentarily. Maybe he should have always done all his interviews cuddled up with the subjects. He smiled at the thought of explaining that theory to Lois.
"After you get better, I want you to still have a life," Lex said, very quiet and serious-sounding.
"Huh?"
"They'd never be able to help you if I didn't let them figure out you're -– what you are, but--"
"Lex!"
"I didn't tellthem, but they're diagnosticians; if they're any good at all they'll figure it out. I'm reasonably certain that House figured it out before he left the room."
Clark felt a whole different kind of sick.
"Don't worry; it'll be okay."
"How can you be sure?"
"I'm sure. I've been researching House's staff ever since I decided he was the one we needed. There are all sorts of things –- I got House to send one of his doctors, Eric Foreman, on vacation. He was the only one I didn't think I could –- well, I could, but it'd take threatening his parents, and I didn't think you'd be too pleased." Lex swallowed nervously. Clark hadn't seen him do that in almost twenty years.
Clark closed his eyes. Why did the world have to be like it was? Stupid secrets. Stupid double life. Stupid humans. Stupid –- him. "I'm sorry you have to make choices like that," he sighed.
"No, I think it's good for me." Lex slipped an arm around Clark's shoulders, and Clark leaned on him. He could feel Lex breathing. "Allison Cameron has a reputation for rigid ethical standards, the kind of reputation that I think I understand. I'll talk to her." Lex chuckled against Clark's hair; it felt so good. Lex hadn't laughed once, not even ruefully, all week. "From what I've read, you could probably just give her the puppy eyes, and she'd do whatever you want."
Clark smiled. "Puppy eyes?"
"You know exactly what I mean. Robert Chase'll be easy –- a couple of threats, a little bribery, badda bing badda boom."
"Badda bing badda boom?" Clark laughed a little. It made his stomach hurt.
"Yeah. Perfectly straightforward. House himself is even easier –- he hardly ever bothers to publish anymore. I think he just likes to know things, more than he likes telling anybody. The threat we have over him is that we'll just pack up and leave, and he'll have missed his chance to really examine an alien."
"That's why you picked him." Clark was afraid he sounded a little bitter. The nausea was starting to rise again; his respite was over.
"I picked him because he's the best." Lex seemed to know instinctively that Clark had stopped feeling well enough to be jostled, even gently. He gave him one last squeeze and carefully slid out of the bed. "He's going to figure out what's wrong, and you're going to get better." Clark could recognize when Lex didn't believe what he was saying.
"Yeah. I know. I'll be fine." Clark smiled reassuringly at Lex and hoped he was a better liar than he used to be.