The Depths We Sink To (Chapter Eighteen)

Now... We deal with Stride... er... Hero. 


Sigh.

Chapter 18


It would be so easy...

He sat back in his chair, staring at the glass top of his desk. The help had come back early this morning and everything shined. No wine glasses strewn about. No half-eaten entrees and sheets dragged from beds that smelled like her. It was as if it had never happened. Honestly, he should be thinking along those lines. Never happened. That was a break. This was reality.

But it would be so easy to...

A shrill ring cut the silence and he reached for his cell. "What?"

"Sir?" Gina, sounding miffed. "It's now Monday morning and I thought you might not object to me keeping you abreast of what's going on with your holdings. But if you prefer to have your weekend extended..."

"No," he sighed, though he hated being kept abreast and he hated his holdings and he hated reality. But here it was. Monday morning. Now he got why countless hoards of working drones hated Monday. After the first weekend off in his working life, whether from work or other pursuits, he now had endless things to do and endless people to answer to. "Go on," he said, standing, moving about the room as she went on about the new warehouse space downtown and the board's reluctance on West Coast Media outlets, and The Daily Planet.

"...Sullivan and Lane as particular interests so I could have him go ahead and..."

"What?" Her endless droning finally hit something in him as he stopped in front of a weathered box on his shelf. "Go back."

"The board thinks it's imprudent to invest in the production costs of a gossip show when most content is viewed online through..."

"Not that far. What about The Daily Planet?"

"I had our IT man work over the weekend, making sure the desktop PCs of all employees were easily accessible remotely. But you'd mentioned a few you wanted constantly surveilled. I believe it was Olsen, Lane, and Sullivan. It won't take much to make sure you have access to everything, even deleted histories if need be. Should I..."

"I can't talk about this now," he cut in. He really couldn't. He couldn't think of her as some problem to be monitored. "I'm busy. I'll call you back."

"But Mr. Luthor..."

He hung up and pocketed his phone, his eyes on the box, but his mind on Chloe.

He brought the box to his desk, knowing what he'd find. A bunch of toys painted by some boy he wouldn't even recognize now... and not just because of the hair. He opened it, staring at a toy soldier with a V on his shield. Something had been jolted in him when he'd seemingly risen from the dead. He remembered painting this. He'd known nothing of it at the time. He'd just known he'd seen the insignia on his father's correspondence. It seemed important. At the time, he'd thought him emblazoning his soldiers with it would somehow make him seem important. Worthy. As if somehow, echoing the things his father seemed to hold dearer than even him would make his father see him with new eyes, be a better father, a better man.

He picked the soldier up, wanting to laugh at that boy. No matter how many fucked up ways his father tested him through the years, it was a fruitless battle. He would never be worthy, not enough to be let into his father's secret world. And his father could say, belatedly, that he loved him till he was blue in the face. It didn't change that the "better man" that Lionel Luthor seemed to be wasn't here with him. According to his tails, he was spending more and more time with Clark Kent.

And he was sick of being jealous and angry. He was sick of constantly chasing after something he might never get. 

He'd never got what he wanted. He never would. So wasn't this pointless? 

He stared at the stained glass window's reflection on his desk, then turned to the window. The same V stared back at him there. And something tickled his mind and yet...

Why did everything always seem so close, but so far away? If he could just stop...

It would be so easy to just stop chasing. To settle for what he could have. Would a simple life be so bad? Maybe somewhere else. With someone else...

He vaguely registered a knock. "Lex?"

He turned his chair back. Kara Kent. He'd nearly forgot. He smiled slightly. "I take it the fresh farm air isn't as invigorating as it's cracked up to be."

"I spend every day wandering around that place," she said moving forward, a folder in her hands, "trying to find something that will jog my memory."

"Well..." He stood. "Did anything stand out? Anything out of the ordinary?"

"Actually, yeah. Everything. I don't feel connected to it at all. But thanks for finding what you did." She dropped the folder on his desk. "I know it matches with the girl formerly known as Kara Kent, but... but... the girl in that folder isn't me." 

He stared at her. No. It wasn't her. Because he'd seen her. His eyes moved over her white blouse. He'd seen her in white before, a savior floating before him. That was her. The real her. It had to be and he almost hated that it was. Because every time he thought he could get away...

"How well do you know Clark? Do you trust him?"

Clark. Another thing he could never get away from. "I wish I could say yes," he answered honestly. He moved to his sideboard. He needed a damned drink. Considering it was Monday fucking morning, he uncapped a mineral water instead.

"I'm starting to wonder if he's hiding something from me," he heard her say behind him. "Doesn't it seem weird that I don't have any medical or dental records? Who doesn't get sick?"

Me, for one. I can even rise from the dead, apparently. No. That wasn't the thing about Clark. He still couldn't put his finger on the thing about Clark, after all these years. He turned. "Clark can be evasive," he said, thinking that summed it up well enough.

"Why would he lie to me?" She moved forward. "I mean, what in my past could be so horrible he wouldn't want me to know about it?"

"Kara..." He took her by the shoulders. He was right. There was something here. "I promise you... I will do everything in my power to help you get your memory back." All of it. Even those things you hid from me before this. Just like him. "Now, I don't suppose Clark has mentioned anything about your missing bracelet?"

"No." The confusion in her eyes was genuine. So was the trust. He wasn't chasing fruitlessly. He was so close.

"Then I guess I should tell you." He moved back to his desk and picked up the folder she'd so obviously skimmed. "The design on your bracelet is a symbol -- a symbol that matches others that have appeared around Smallville. These were first seen as paintings in the Kawatchee caves. But they've appeared much more recently -- burned into the Kent barn." Always symbols and insignias, tiny little clues, just enough to keep him going, keep him chasing... "Whatever Clark's hiding from you," he went on. Hiding from you, hiding from me, and what the hell does my father have to do with all of it? "I think it has something to do with these symbols. That bracelet could be the clue to uncovering your true identity."

And he'd have it. His eyes widened as it came to him. Who'd had him airlifted to Smallville last Thursday? Who'd saved him whether he asked for it or not? He'd had the bracelet when he'd been shot. When he got his personal effects back, it hadn't been among them. But who walked into the room with his timely explanations and not so timely declarations of "love."

"Damn it," he whispered, nearly stumbling to the sideboard for that drink he'd denied himself earlier.

"Lex?" He heard behind him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said. "Or I will be." Once I get it back. I have to get it back. That Bastard...

"Are you sure? Because..." She gave a a nervous sort of laugh. "I don't know much, but... Isn't alcohol first thing in the morning not a... a good thing?"

He stopped in mid-pour. "You're right," he said, not that she was, but he didn't want to frighten her. He pushed the scotch away and turned with a smile. "I think I'm just a little out of sorts. Didn't have breakfast yet." He tilted his head. "Care to join me? My staff can whip almost anything you like. And I really think we should discuss treatment options further."

"I don't know, I... I was kind of hoping to give it time, see if anything comes back naturally." She shrugged. "Anyway, I had breakfast. Lana made pancakes."

"Lana..." How sweet. He could see her now, so innocently flipping pancakes in a halo of sunlight. "I'd be careful there," he said truthfully. "Clark's not the only one in that house who's... less than honest."

She glanced down, brow furrowed. 

Yes. Think about it. He moved to the desk while he still had her. He pulled one picture from the folder. "This," he said, pulling out a symbol consisting of two wavy lines, dotted on the top and bottom. "This symbol was once tattooed on Lana Lang's back. It was mysteriously gone by the time I... married her." He smirked as she glanced up, eyes wide. "Yes. It ended in divorce. Well... of a sort. Faking your own death is a kind of divorce, I'd say."

"Lana..."

"The worst part was being put in jail for murdering my wife, who eventually turned up very much alive."

"Would she really..."

"Look it up if you need to." He spread his hands. "I have nothing to hide. Not like others." He placed the picture back. "Why don't you hold onto this?" He handed the folder back to her. "Now that you know what to look for, it might be easier to find."

She took the folder back. "The symbols..."

"Yes. They might be the key." That and the bracelet. But he'd work on that himself.

She moved to the door, still staring down at the folder. She suddenly turned back. "Thank you, Lex."

He tilted his head. "For what?"

"For being honest with me." She gave him a shaky smile. "Lately, I feel... I feel like you're the only one."

He smiled as well. "I think it's best to always trust your feelings." She reminded him of someone. So open and artless, but with something beneath. That someone had save him, too, and in much the same way. This time, it would be different. He wouldn't ignore what he felt this time. This wouldn't be a retread of his friendship with Clark. She trusted him. And she was right to. Whether she was a savior or a warning, he'd make sure she was under his control. It would be for the best.

And he was being honest. From what he knew from her, she was getting the same treatment from Clark that he had. Evasions and blackouts and outright lies.

It would be different this time.

*****************************

She wasn't sure if there was time, but she stopped anyway. The coffee cart in front of The Planet had something a little stronger than what Mr. Coffee had to offer and she needed it. She hadn't got home until after two, stumbling in and right to the shower to get out of her wrinkled dress, and she hadn't gone to bed until after four, answering Lois' barrage of questions, most directed while she constantly pulled the shower curtain open. 

"Yes... Just to Cape May... Sure it was cold, but it's very pretty... Yes. Great Lobster... You know, I did. But my luggage is still in the trunk. Whenever I get to it, I'll give you your... What? Don't be ridiculous." That had been in response to Lois assertion that she'd had sex, something Lois claimed to have a sixth sense about.

"Well, I didn't," she'd said, pulling her robe tighter.

"You're walking like you did... and a lot."

"I'm just tired. I did lots of walking while there."

"With who?"

"With no one."

"Hey, I'm not judging. It's not like I haven't had the odd fling or tw... twenty. As for you, I mean, after a year with Mr. Excitement..."

"Could you not ironically nickname Jimmy? It's... rude." She was sick of everyone putting down poor Jimmy. He didn't deserve it. Maybe he wasn't Mr. Excitement, but...

"Whatever." Lois had rolled her eyes. "I'm just glad you got some, even if you won't spill." She'd leaned forward. "Now tell me about the lobster."

Going from exactly two experiences with lobster, she felt she'd acquitted herself well. Now she to see if any store in Metropolis carried salt water taffy so she could "get it from her bags."

And she hated it. She hated lying. It was one thing to cover up most of what she did with Clark. That was for the best. But this was covering up... Well, getting laid wasn't a crime. Even getting laid by the enemy was still within the law. At most, this was selfish and foolish. And didn't she deserve to do something that was selfish and foolish once in a while? She frowned as she took her coffee, tossing a five at the man. "Keep the change."

This wasn't once in a while anymore. In the last few months, she'd seen him three times a week at least. Counting this weekend, she'd seen him enough to fill two weeks and yet if he came to her Wednesday, she might still... 

She stopped short as she saw the man himself, closing the door of a black car in a black suit with a purple shirt and a deeper purple tie that made his eyes nearly violet. She swallowed hard. Screw Wednesday. If he came to her right now... 

He turned and spotted her. His eyes widened.

Then he was. Coming right for her. In public. Her mouth opened as he took her by the elbow. 

"Sullivan."

"Mr. Luthor." Her voice dropped. "What are you..."

"There's something I need to speak to you about."

"Can it wait?" she asked tightly.

"This won't take long."

"What's wrong with you?" she hissed as he moved them past the coffee cart and towards the parking garage. "This doesn't look..."

"If anyone's looking, they probably think I'm about to give my employee a sound tongue lashing." He smirked and walked faster. "And they wouldn't be wrong," he said in a lower voice that made her step falter.

"It's almost nine. I'm not about to be late with all..."

"You are in the company of your employer," he said. "So you aren't late at all."

"That's exactly the problem," she said lowly as he moved into the garage, looking up and around. "What are you..."

"Not here," he muttered, but it seemed to be to himself.

"Lex we talked about this last night. We need to be more careful so this doesn't interfere with..."

"Here we go," he said, moving toward a corner.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"No," he said, pulling her to an empty space behind a delivery van. He pressed her to the wall. 

"Lex..."

"Relax. The cameras can't see us here." He leaned in. "I'll have to work on that eventually, but..."

She turned her head away. "I don't care about the cameras. I have three days of work piled up and..." Her voice trailed off as he nibbled just behind her ear. There was a thunk and a dull splatter. 

She never should have told him about that. That was the good and bad thing about the weekend. He'd learned exactly what made her mind nearly shut off. She barely had the presence of mind to use her own knowledge, but she did, running her nails over the back of his scalp until he stiffened against her. "Will you focus?" she breathed.

He lifted his head.

"I told you we're not taking advantage of the fact that you're in charge to have quickies during business hours," she said firmly. No matter how tempting it is. "That aside, I have a truckload of correspondence and police blotters to..."

"It was only a weekend," he said, looking down. "I like that blouse on you. Not a fan of hot pink, but it's very thin. I can almost see..."

"It wasn't just a weekend. I had a sick day Friday and things have really..."

"You were sick Friday?" He squinted at her. "You looked fine to me."

"No," she said quickly. I was damned near dead. "It was just a... a personal day."

"A personal day for what?"

"Well... It was technically a sick day, but it was more... I was upset and had a hard time focusing and I thought it best to... to..."

His eyes seemed to soften. "What were you upset about?"

"Just some things that..."

"Things like me?"

Her mouth opened, but she couldn't get a thing to come out of it.

"Was that about me?"

You have no idea how about you that was. "Listen, this is a tough enough job with the reduced staff and... Mmmmph!" He was kissing her. But not in the leisurely, calculated way she'd become so used to. This was hard and messy and she was finding it hard to breathe. She tore away. "What's gotten into you?" she gasped.

"Meet me at lunch," he said, leaning hard against her.

"I'm not even sure I'll have time for lunch with..."

"Labor laws require a lunch after at least six hours of work, so you have no choice."

The world had gone tospy-turvy. Lex Luthor was bandying about laws. "Well, I have a choice about meeting you so..."

"Just say you will." He slid his hand between them, pressing against her clit even through her slacks. "Just say you'll be there. No matter what."

She closed her eyes and rocked into his hand. She'd thought her clitoris would be out of commission for days. But one touch from him... "I'll be there," she whispered.

"No matter what?" He rubbed against her harder.

She moaned and dropped her head to his shoulder. "Yes."

"Good. Archives. One o'clock. I'll make sure it's clear." She felt his other hand on her face, lifting it to his. "For what it's worth, I want to be sorry," he said against her mouth. "I'm not. But I want to be." He brushed his lips over hers and... 

Nothing. She opened her eyes. He was gone, taking his lips and hands with him.

She straightened her jacket and pushed away from the wall. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

There was a cold, wet feeling around her feet. She looked down to see her bag, covered in coffee along with her her shoes.

"Bastard," she muttered. "You owe me a triple shot." And an explanation. What the hell had gotten into him today?

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