The Depths We Sink To (Chapter Twenty-One)

Chapter 21

Lex hardly knew how he got here.

His new driver... what's-his-face... He always had new drivers and new guards. Who could keep track? At any rate, what's-his-face was herding Mark into the car, who was muttering to himself and holding his head. He suspected Mark would go the way of every other employee soon. He'd nearly exhaust every private agency. He'd have to resort to "Help wanted" soon. It was a good thing he owned a paper now. 

What's-his-face tried to herd him in, too, but he just walked off. He hailed a cab as what's-his-face yelled after him... something about the hospital.

He waved him off and climbed in the taxi. He didn't need some idiotic ER doctor asking him how many fingers he was holding up. 

"Smallville," he breathed.

"What?" A sort of oily man turned back to him. "You gotta be nuts if you think I'm driving all the way... Hey. What's wrong with your head?"

Lex pulled out his wallet with a growl. He tossed what bills he had over the seat. "Smallville," he repeated.

It must have been enough because the man smiled, eyes wide. "Yes, Sir," he said, turning back.

Lex's head was spinning as the car jerked into traffic.

"So... What happened to you, anyway? Guess you ain't been mugged since..."

"Don't talk," Lex grunted. 

"Uh... No, Sir. No talking. But you really should get to a hospital or somethin. You look like you took a bad..."

Lex didn't even bother berating the man for talking. He was too busy drifting off.

He came to on Main Street, in front of The Talon. He could have sworn he meant to go home. "My house," he mumbled.

"You said The Talon. I put it in my GPS and everything. Hey, if you wanna go home, no skin offa my back. Just tell me where. But there's a med center not too far from here and..."

Lex opened the door and stumbled out. Oily Guy was just as bad as his driver. He didn't need a hospital. He managed his weekly concussions just fine on his own. Besides, he had business here. He stared blearily up at ghe marquee claiming there was karaoke on Tuesday. 

He kind of hoped it wasn't Tuesday.

It must not be as no one was warbling off-key as he moved through the door. He didn't move very steadily, nearly knocking into a pony-tailed thing with a tray.

"Mr. Luthor?" Her eyes widened as he tried to right himself. "You okay?"

"Trying to figure that out," he mumbled, pushing past her to the stairs. He didn't know if he was okay. All he knew was that he'd just spent the better part of an hour torturing someone he hardly knew. And why? He didn't know why anymore. 

He didn't know how he got here. It wasn't like she had all the answers.

He knocked, then leaned against the door as she yelled about knocking. He stared at his fist, wanting to argue that he had. Why was he here, again? Maybe he wanted to argue. No one argued with him. Gina got cold when she disagreed, but did as he said. Clark prattled on at him about darkness and accused. Lana... she never said much. Just framed him for murder and went about her merry way. But Chloe... she argued.

Maybe that was why he was here.

She pulled the door open and he realized why he was here. 

He couldn't think of anyone else to go to. 

He finally gave in to gravity and fell into her.

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

Chloe buckled under the weight as Lex Luthor didn't seem inclined to right himself.

"Lex!" She grasped him around the waist and tried to pull him up, but she was a little too short to do anything but stagger backward. His head sort of lifted and she'd think that was progress if it wasn't bleeding. She kicked the door shut and propped him against it. "What happened to you?"

"Went upside-down," Lex muttered, his eyes closing. "Think I landed."

"Landed on your head," she muttered. "At least it was something hard." Clark had probably zoomed through, grabbing Pete without thinking about the concussions he left in his wake. She'd have to talk to him about that. Boys. Always so careless. "Come on, Lex." She grasped his waist again. "Can you walk?"

"No," he mumbled blearily, but he moved forward as she pulled him back.

"Come on. Sit down a... Oomph!"

She's meant to gently maneuver him to the couch, not end up on it herself with him sprawled over her. 

"Mmmm. Missed this," he breathed against her breast. "Been so long."

"Been less than a day," she grunted, pushing him off her and back against the couch, reminding herself that she was angry with him. Very, very angry. He'd used her freak status to blackmail Pete. He didn't know that she knew that, but she knew. But still... seeing him so beaten... Sure, he deserved it, but...

She extricated herself and stood. "I'll get some... stuff," she finished quickly. She moved to the bathroom, wondering what "stuff" she was supposed to get. She knew what she'd do. It was clear Lex needed medical attantion and she wasn't about to waste time at a hospital when she could... 

Yes. She could. And she would. But she wasn't about to make it obvious.

She pulled open her medicine cabinet, quickly grabbing a bottle of peroxide and some aspirin, snatching a roll of toilet paper as she moved back into the living room. "Mind me asking something?"

"Huh?" He was leaning back on her couch, eyes closed, and giving it some nice new blood stains. She'd have a hell of a time explaining that to Lois. She had enough of a job explaining her own various bloodstains. She might go with the classic "sudden nosebleed," though Lois might end up trying to make her go to the doctor again. Didn't matter now. He was hurt -- even if it was his own damned fault.

"You have all the money and power most men could ever want," she said, twisting open the peroxide. It was her salve of choice for minor scrapes and bruises. It didn't have the sting of alcohol. A girl picked these things up over years beside Clark Kent. "You could buy your own island and live happily, sipping colorful drinks with tiny umbrellas. But here you are, probably half-delirious with a concussion only a week after escaping death by a shot to the head."

"Doesn't sound like a question," he muttered, hissing as she dabbed at his head.

"Just sit still. It doesn't hurt." She watched the peroxide foam and sat back on the coffee table. "Whatever it is you've been up to, it's obviously hazardous to your health. Do you ever think of just stopping?"

He met her eyes sort of blearily. "Do you?"

She held his stare. This was getting too close. Acknowledging that she had anything to stop was like basically admitting aloud that they stood on opposite sides of a divide. She suspected he knew it as well as she did. But she wasn't ready to just say it. "I'll get you some water." She stood and moved to the kitchen. 

Her stopping wasn't even a question. She was fighting against... him, actually. Against evil. He was doing evil and he didn't even get it. And how could she clue him in? Clark's secret aside, if he didn't realize that kidnapping private citizens who just happened to have been unlucky enough to stand in the path of a meteor was wrong, then what could she say to change that? Why even try?

She stared at him from the kitchen doorway, thinking of the man who kept her hidden from Lionel's assassins, of the man who calmed her through the trial, of the man who pressed himself against her and called her his biggest secret. The Lex that destroyed her dream and used her mother and Pete for his own ends might be tough to reason with. But that other Lex... there was a part of her that felt that guy was worth trying for.

She moved back to the couch and nudged him up. "Take some aspirin," she said, holding them out, then handing him the glass. "It'll make you feel better."

He gave her a withering look. "Aspirin? You don't have anything stronger?"

She shrugged. "Fresh out of twenty-year-old scotch."

He chuckled, then winced and took the aspirin, then the glass.

She watched as he swallowed. "Feeling better?" she asked, taking the glass back, knowing it wouldn't be true. But she had to give him something before she did it. Maybe he could chalk it up to the aspirin later.

"Not feeling. Nothing," he breathed, closing his eyes and leaning back. "I should be. I should be feeling guilty, I bet. Didn't need to do it. But I don't feel... anything. I can reason and I can plan and I can watch what I do like I'm not even there. And I should feel. I almost... want to." He opened his eyes and sat up. "Why can't I feel?"

She stared down at him, wondering if he was ready to hear it from her now, how wrong he had it all. She wouldn't expose Clark, but maybe he could understand the rest of it now. That maybe there were dangerous meteor freaks and superhumans. But there were also heroic ones and ones that just wanted to live their lives in peace. "Lex..."

"I feel you." He buried his face against her stomach. "You're about the only thing that makes me feel... anything," he breathed into her.

"I do think of it," he said, gripping her hips.

"Think of what?" She stared down at the top of his head as he leaned against her. Her hands flailed a moment, not knowing where to put themselves. 

"Of stopping. But I only think of it with you."

Then she did know where to put her hands. She cradled his head and closed her eyes, feeling the lump that was forming over his temple. He may be delirious, but there had to be some truth to it. "With me?" she asked, wanting to keep him talking. It was just to keep him distracted, really. So he wouldn't know. It wasn't that she wanted hear this... maybe even longed to. Not at all. That would be foolish.

He shifted to look up at her and she lost her grasp on the lump. "I wouldn't want to sip those fruity drinks alone."


She lost more than her grasp. She lost her footing, sitting hard on the coffee table in front of him. She didn't want to get lost in some fantasy that their weekend could go on forever. There was too much at stake, here. "Lex..." She placed her hand on his cheek. She'd accused him and he'd avoided her words. She'd argued and he'd shot her down with blanket statements about the dangers of the meteor-powered. But she'd never tried this. "Have you ever thought of stopping, not just for you, but for them?" She rubbed at the slight scrape on his cheek. "They're not all bad, Lex. Some of them just want to live and it's hard enough doing that with powers without worrying about being locked up."

He squinted at her. "Why are we talking about this? We don't talk about this."

"No. We've never tried." She smiled sadly. "We yell and argue, but we never really talked about it."

"Because when we try, we yell and argue." He winced as he tried to shake his head. "That's why we keep it seperate when we..." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Here I go, using the present tense. If this is over..." He opened his eyes and looked down. Her hand was on his chest, lightly rubbing. She hadn't realized it. But it didn't seem like a reason to stop. It really did feel like it had been so long. One whole day. They'd gone longer, but that was before it was... "Is it over?" he breathed, as if reading her mind.

"Maybe it doesn't have to be separate. Not all of it," she said, avoiding his question. "Maybe we could understand each other."

His eyes softened. "I want to understand you. Sometimes I think I do, like I can read everything in your face." He leaned in. "So expressive. So unable to lie that I think you might be everything you say you are. You're so fucking good. And the things I do... It's like I shouldn't even touch you. But I can't help..."

She leaned away as his lips nearly met hers. "No, I mean. I want us find some common..." She grasped either side of his head. This was no good. They couldn't have a real talk with him still concussed and saying these lovely, crazy, delirious things. "Lex, just hold still. Let me..."

"No. Let me." He gripped her shoulders and pulled her in.

He was kissing her. That wasn't what she wanted... except for how it was. This would be distracting for her, and for him as well. Maybe that was for the best.

She pushed him backward, returning his kiss, keeping her hands on his head, trying to concentrate, but he was pulling her into his lap, then kneading her thighs, then her hips, slipping his tongue inside as his hands skated to her breasts.

She pulled away, gasping. "Lex, you need to give a minute. I can't..."

"You can," he breathed, nuzzling between her breasts. "You have to. You're the only on who can." He breathed deep. "I can't do this anymore. I don't want to be this. But I'm losing. Can't lose. Help me."

She didn't know exactly what he was talking about, except that it wasn't what she was talking about. Good thing because he couldn't know what she was talking about. 

But she'd help him. In every way. "I will," she said softly, pulling his head back up, catching his lips. She pressed herself against him hard as her hands gripped his head. 

His hands were roaming over her again. She concentrated on him, not what he was doing to her. She would take his pain, every bit of it.

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

It was so warm.

That came clearest through the haze as it dissipated. That and some vague knowledge of where he was and who he was with. This wasn't where he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be home, examining his newest treasure, the bracelet that had all the anwers. Failing that, he was supposed to have at least stiff one and the satisfaction that his newest facility had the newest freak. 

It all came back to him and he realized he had none of those things. Pete Ross had somehow got away, upending him and what had been his best guard for two whole weeks. 

Still, he didn't feel like complaining. She was gripping him, writhing over him and it was so fucking warm...

He squeezed her hips harder, feeling the warmth through his clothes and hers. If he felt like complaining about anything, it would be that there were clothes at all. But he wouldn't. At this point, he'd take what he could get. He found himself ripping her blouse.

She gave a strangled moan as her hands dropped from his head, rested against his neck, then slid to his chest, nearly scorching heat everywhere she touched. It felt like his body was thrumming. Every nerve ending was straining toward her. He remembered taking a pretty hard knock to the head, but... Had it always been this good?

He hissed as one hand moved over his shoulder. That wasn't so good. It was still tender. He vaguely remembered landing on that, along with his head. He'd been a bit too groggy to feel it before.

"Careful," he grunted.

"Does it hurt?" she whispered.

"No, I'm fine." He wasn't going to stop for a mild dislocation. He'd never felt so... alive.

He gripped her waist and nearly stood before clumsily dropping her on the couch.

"It does hurt," she said, reaching toward him. "Lex..."

"I don't care," he said, falling over her. He ignored the pain and nearly ripped at her pants, hooks and eyes flew as she gripped his shoulder hard. He would have winced away, but he needed to get her pants off and.., It didn't hurt so much as he jerked them down. Maybe it was the fact that she was bare before him... or nearly. He pulled her bra up to her neck, bending to her as she still gripped his shoulder. He vaguely wondered if she was trying to punish him in some way when he realized...

It didn't hurt. Nothing hurt. Far from it. He wasn't even inside her and he was ready to explode with... he didn't know what. 

He stood and tore at his own clothes, so nearly strangling him, as he stared down at her. She was... crying?

"Chloe?"

She turned her head into the cushions and sobbed.

"What..."

"I'm okay," she gasped. "I'm okay. It just... hurts."

He froze above her, thinking of what he'd done tonight. She must know. She had to know. "I'm sorry." Not for what he did, but that it hurt her. "Don't want to hurt you."

She swallowed hard, then lay back, breathing heavily. "You didn't," she said shakily. 

He bent to her. "Of course I did. But I didn't want to hurt you. Never you." He touched her hair. It was matted to her head, her eyes wild.

"It was my choice," she said weakly.

He squinted at her. "What?"

Her eyes suddenly widened on his.

"I don't underst..."

"I'm fine, Lex. I just..." She quickly sat up, then grimaced, holding her head.

"Chloe? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she breathed, then gripped her shoulder. 

He ran his hand over it, wondering if he'd jerked at her clothes too hard. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she sobbed out.

"Chloe, what the hell..."

She gripped his neck and pulled him down to her. He tasted her tears as her mouth opened under his. He nearly pulled away, but she gripped the front of his trousers. "Lex, just... make it better," she said into his mouth. "Help me feel something else. Please..."

His mind was clear now. He wanted to stop and ask her what the hell was wrong? What had she gotten into? Had she been hurt somehow tonight? It was one thing when he was, but her...

"Fuck!" She slipped her hand inside and, literally, had him by the balls. He couldn't do more than collapse over her as her legs opened to him.

She pulled at his cock and he slipped inside her, settling into a thrusting motion before he could even think. This girl... No. This woman. Anyone who could make him forget a pertinent line of questioning was no mere girl.

"Yes," she gasped. "It's better. Lex..."

"Chloe," he began, trying to slow down, still wanting to figure this out. "Better?" Better than what, exactly? 

"Best," she groaned, throwing her head back and straining against him. "No one better... Jesus!"

And he was done figuring it out. He reared up and took her by the hips, nearly slamming into her as her groans turned to harsh breaths and her body arched upward. She gripped his chest and he could swear it nearly burned where she touched. His blood roared in his ears as he felt... life. He didn't know what else to call it. It coursed through him. This strange sort of presence, as if all he ever was, was now, and could ever be was flowing through him at this moment. Every sensation intensified.

The way her thighs brushed his hips as he moved inside her.

The way she smelled, sort of musky, but in that slightly sweet feminine way.

The way she so nearly gasped his name, only to swallow it in whimpers.

And when she closed around him... He damned near blacked out then. 

No. He did. He came to, finding his body collapsed over hers, hips still jerking even though the rest of him was still, spent.

He panted against her neck, wondering again if it had always been this good. He'd never felt so alive, so... He lifted his head, staring as she gasped harshly, her eyes closed. "Chloe?"

"I'm okay," she said weakly. "I think it went away. For just a second."

"I don't get it. What went away?"

"I can't... Just... Don't talk... so tired."

He didn't get that either. He felt like he could run a fucking marathon right this second. That or have her again. He knew which he preferred. Her bra was still around her neck. "Get this off you," he grunted, reaching his arms under her to the hooks.

"Lex. I'm too tired. I can't..."

"You don't have to. Just lift your arms a little."

She did, weakly, and he slid her bra down them and away.

He crouched beside the couch, staring at her. No wonder she was worn out. Tonight, he'd hurt her. He'd done something she should consider reprehensible and she still took him in. That mind of hers couldn't let something like that sit easily. 

He'd make it better, just as she'd asked. He'd let Pete go. Hell, he might let all... most of them go. 

Hell, maybe even all of them. It didn't matter anymore. Why did he have to control the freaks of the world, anyway? It wasn't like any of it made him happy. In fact, nearly every project he'd had had landed him bleeding on the floor, in jail, or presumed dead. So why didn't he stop?

"I just might, Chloe." He stroked her cheek. 

She shifted and her eyes cracked open. "Hmmm?"

"Maybe it's time to stop."

She lifted her head slightly off the couch.

"No. Don't get up." He stood and took off what was left of his clothes as she stared up at him.

"Would you really stop?" she asked softly.

He didn't answer, just slid in beside her, keeping her nestled between him and the back of the couch, as he pulled the afghan over the both of them.

"Would you leave your company, Metropolis, Smallville..." Her hands curled against his chest. "Would you leave everything?"

He took one hand in his, raised it to his lips, not even caring anymore that he was showing her everything. "I would if you would."

She blinked at him and he wondered if he wasn't showing enough.

"If you were with me." he clarified, whispering it against her fingers.

She gripped his hand, then suddenly lurched forward. He had a vague fear she would slap him when her lips met his.

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