Lana didn't move after she had unbuckled her seat belt. The sun had set and shadows were beginning to grow, and the house was completely dark. She didn't want to go back in there.
"You okay?"
She turned to Lex with a start. She had almost forgotten his presence; she had grown so used to being alone. "Oh. I'm fine. I'll just, uh--" She trailed off, reaching for the door handle.
She was half out of the car before Lex spoke again, quietly. "Could I come in for a while? There was something I wanted to discuss with you."
"Sure, Lex." Please. "Though that's just about the hoariest come on in the book."
He paused for a second, looking askance at her over the hood of the car, before slamming the door. "Come on. I'll make you a coffee. You should take notes."
"Oh, really, I wasn't that bad at it." She wasn't sure whether they were actually talking about coffee, though, and if they were, she hadn't tried it, and Lex had. "Was I?" He flickered at her, but didn't reply verbally.
Blinking in the sudden glare of light, she led the way into the sitting room, told Lex to make himself at home, and made for the kitchen. She had to hunt for the percolator; she hadn't used it in months. Finally locating it in the bottom drawer of a seldom-used cabinet, she turned around, and walked straight into Lex.
"Oh! I'm sorry."
"My fault." He took the machine from her and set to work.
"What--"
"I'm looking after you, remember? Sit down."
She sank into the nearest chair, and slumped over, elbows on her knees. Lex didn't speak again, and she made no move to break the silence. They weren't quite close enough for it to be comfortable, but it wasn't uncomfortable, either. And it was relaxing watching Lex potter about, with his economical, precise, movements, like he knew exactly what he was doing, and didn't want to be bothered while he was doing it.
Lana was half asleep by the time he was finished, and had to drag herself back to the couch. It gave beneath her weight, taking shape around her body, and the coffee was good, better than some she had paid for.
"Clark was a little territorial back there, hmm?"
She placed the cup on its mat carefully; Nell had kept the delicate wooden table buffed so that you could see indistinct reflections in it, and Lana upheld the tradition. She settled back, hoping to stay for a while.
"Without reason. I think he's--"
"He's in love with you." Evidently, Lex was unaware of the concept of avoiding awkward subjects.
"He's not." He wasn't. Almost didn't count. "He just has a surprisingly adhesive crush."
"Tiresomely? Or do you enjoy it?" Verging on rude, but she fished for an answer anyway. "It must be flattering. All that attention, that devotion. And Clark's very attractive."
"I, it's--it has done wonders for my ego, I admit. But it's not something I'd be interested in pursuing."
"How's Whitney?"
"He's fine."
"He still visits you when he gets leave."
"He does."
"Is he still your boyfriend?"
She hesitated. "Yes."
"Is that why you're not interested in Clark?"
"No!" She breathed in. This was getting annoying. "Clark is like a brother to me, Lex." Clark and Lex were friends--now there was something surprisingly long-lasting, if you liked--and maybe if she was bitchy about him, Lex would drop it. "In the sense that, I don't find him sexually attractive in the slightest." Untrue, but it got the point across.
Lex's eyebrows twitched upward, the faint line framing a suddenly intense gaze. "Are you gay?"
Lana's lips thinned, and she reached to use her cup as a shield, careful not to take her frustrations out on it. "I hate that question. 'You don't want to have sex with me. The only possible explanation is that you're gay!'"
"This isn't about sex. Or me. So, why only maybe for Whitney?"
"I didn't say maybe." Lex didn't dignify this with a response, and his attitude made it clear that he expected a real reply. "I don't know. I suppose just because he's been away for so long. It seems like he's not-- necessary, anymore."
"You know he went away for you."
"He told himself that, yes."
"Clark says he wants to marry you. Thinks that's why you won't look at him twice."
She was tired, and annoyed, and she knew it was showing, but she couldn't help it. "Whitney hasn't proposed. Thankfully."
"For him, certainly, if he only rates a maybe. So, leaving the sexual favours aspect aside, have you taken Clark up on the rest of his offer?"
That drew a reluctant smile, only because Lex was almost endearing, making gentle fun of a friend. "No."
"Why not?"
"Why should I? And don't even try telling me you like Clark's parents; everybody knows you don't."
Time for Lex to struggle. He deserved to. "There has been a great deal of conflict between us. There's bad blood there that makes it impossible for us to get along. That's not so for you."
"I just don't want to go, okay."
"No reason why you should." He continued before she could formulate a response. "One of the waitresses told me that a group from the Talon is going into Metropolis tomorrow night. Not that I'm advocating underage drinking, but are you joining them?"
"No."
"Were you invited?"
"Yes. I don't drink."
"Right. What are you reading?"
"Nothing, Lex. Why are you interrogating me?"
"I'm trying to figure out what's wrong with you. I mean, obviously I know the general cause, but I need details to figure out how you can get past it."
"What?"
"You heard me, Lana."
"Explain more." She set the cup back down; she might have heard it crack.
"Look, you've been avoiding everyone--you've been avoiding everything that you possibly can, for months now. It's not normal; it's not healthy. Grief is one thing, but this is different. And as I said, I can't help you if I don't know exactly what's wrong with you."
"There's nothing wrong with me!" He was saying everything she had been trying so hard to avoid hearing. Lana folded her arms and stared off into the distance, but she was distracted, and couldn't keep up the huffy act for more than a few seconds. "And even if there was, why would you want to help me?"
"Well, you know that Nell and I were--friends, of a sort. And I've grown to respect you. I don't like to see potential go to waste."
"What, are you scoping me as a potential future employee of LuthorCorp?"
"Depends what you do in college." She glared, and he gave up on lightening the mood. "There are no conditions attached, Lana. I just want to help you. I feel I owe it to your aunt, and I'd probably want to even if I didn't."
"Why?"
"We've been through that, Lana. Stop trying to dodge the issue."
"I don't need your help. I have plenty of friends, I have more than enough money to get me through college, and my grades are fine and, and, what do you want from me, Lex?"
"I'm not going to give you specifics, because I think if I did, you'd fix up the surface, and the problems would still be festering underneath." He sounded like he'd given this a lot of thought. Damn. "And this isn't about money. Although the fact that you have it does make things easier, admittedly."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, people will be slightly less likely to think I'm taking advantage of you. The point is, you're barely functioning, Lana. And it's just getting worse. Something has to change, and preferably before school starts up again."
"What has to change, Lex? What do I have to do to get you to leave me alone?"
"I would prefer it if you didn't want me to leave you alone. But that's tangential. Look, you have to know that things aren't all right. And secluding yourself isn't helping. Nobody expects you to be fine, but you're not working through this. You're not getting better; you're getting worse."
She sighed, covering her eyes with her hand and dropping back. Even her bones were tired. "I don't want to talk about this, Lex." He didn't answer, and when she looked up, he was studying her. "I really don't."
"You don't have to." He took a sip of coffee and winced. She remembered that the dregs of Nell's favoured brand were bitter, and left a nasty aftertaste. She remembered the last time they had sat at the kitchen table over their cups, talking about schoolwork, and Whitney, and never Clark; Nell hadn't liked him. She could still see the movement of Nell's lips. It had been something of a routine, and Lana had always had the coffee, even though she never drank more than half of it. "Do you miss--no, that's stupid. What I mean is, how lonely are you?"
"How lonely am I?" And that was just as stupid a question, so stupid a question that she could feel startled, hysterical, laughter bubbling up. She couldn't remember the last time she had laughed, but she didn't think she wanted to hear what this one would sound like. It took a minute for her to swallow it down, and when she answered, her voice was quiet, and shaking. "I'm lonely, Lex."
And when Lex spoke, it was the first time that she had ever heard him sound unsure. "I'm sorry." She didn't think that he was talking about Nell. "I wish--"
She realised that she was hugging the cushion to her stomach, and resolutely let it go. "I do too." She didn't meet his eyes, though she could still feel them on her face.
And she couldn't help thinking that it would be nice, nice not to be alone for once, listening to creaks and pretending they were feet, imagining that memories weren't all that had been left to her.
There was no way that she could ask Lex to stay, but she hovered on the verge of doing it anyway.
He was looking at her strangely now--with a certain new reserve--and she wondered what he was thinking. If it was anything like what she was. If it was, she--couldn't be responsible for her actions, she decided. Nobody would expect her to be, not now. Hope hurt, but she almost hoped anyway, and-- "I should go."
"You should." It took something out of her to say that, and she wasn't sure what it was. The dull pain in her chest was so familiar that it was almost reassuring. Almost didn't count.
"You know, Clark's probably watching your porch right now. We wouldn't want him to get the wrong idea."
And she was sick of Clark, but she couldn't say that either. "No, we wouldn't."
Lex hesitated at the door, looking at her face like he was trying to divine all her secrets just through gaze, and maybe he could. And when he finally said, "I'll see you tomorrow," she knew he meant it.
She lingered in the doorway, watching him drive away, but it made her feel vaguely panicky, so she closed the door before he turned the corner.
She rinsed and dried the cups before getting ready for bed. She always used the downstairs bathroom as much as possible, because she had once liked the mirror there. It covered the medicine cabinet above the sink, and it was too small, showing just her bust, but it was bordered by bare bulbs. She didn't want to brush her teeth, but she made herself do it. Her face in the glass was blank.
She wandered through the kitchen, made sure nothing was out of place, and tried not to see a second shadow. When she walked back through the sitting room, there was no sign that anyone had been there.
She still slept in her own room. She hadn't changed it; it still had pale pink flowery wallpaper, and ruffles on the bed, and pictures of ballerinas on the walls, just like when she was ten. She began to change into her pyjamas.
The window was open; the road that ran by the house was always silent as death. It was dark, and there were no streetlights here, so she didn't worry about the window, even if she had thought that Clark would look. The net curtains stirred in the breeze, making her heart leap. The house was silent.
She sat on the edge of the bed, and saw a figure out of the corner of her eye. Her head whipped around and her breath caught in her throat, her pulse pounding in her ears. It was just her reflection in the window. She got up and pulled the curtains.
She was relieved to get into bed, finally, and she was exhausted. She pulled the sheet up to her hips and watched the rhythmic sway of the light curtains. It made her think of dancing.
She was so still that it hurt, limbs going stiff, but she couldn't move, paralysed. She couldn't make a sound, but she could hear them, wood creaking as it settled, she told herself, a dozen other things that terrified her. At night, her ghosts took form, became real, and she couldn't handle it. She had grown accustomed to seeing spectres in every corner, but at night, she was afraid.
A face shifted behind her eyes, a thousand expressions, and moods, and smiles. It hurt, and the summer was too hot; she felt like she was sweating, burning up.
She swallowed on the second try, and forced her aching shoulders to relax. She stared at the ceiling, and sleep refused her.
Sometime during the endless night, she realised that she needed to leave this place.