The Memoirs

Alexis was getting dressed for dinner. The swim in the pool had gone... fairly well, actually, seeing as how she and Clark had made out for the better part of the hour they'd spent floating around, and while she hadn't made any advances, neither had he, and they seemed to be at a very comfortable place where Clark offered Alexis all he could, and she knew now just how much of what he offered she could take, and where the safe line to stop was.

They'd parted with a long kiss, and Clark's promise that he'd come back and join her for dinner as soon as he took care of something at the Daily Planet. He figured Jimmy Olsen was going to be in for the reaming of his life.

So she got ready very carefully, sliding on silk stockings and a garter belt, red satin panties and a matching bra, all hidden under Lex's black slacks, one of her father's large white button-down shirts, and one of Clark's flannel shirts on over it. The heat was a little stifling, but the comfort of familiar flannel swathing around her felt too good to pass up, and the layers safely hid her generous cleavage, at least at a passing glance.

The telephone shrilled in the background, and she gave a little cry of shock as it cut into her thoughts. She sprinted to the bed and sat down on the edge, crossing her legs at the knee and tucking one hand between them as she put the phone between her shoulder and ear. "Lex Luthor, can I help you?"

Martie Knowles hadn't been expecting such a... high voice on Lex Luthor, but figured, what the hell. Though startled, he cleared his throat and spoke. "Hi, Mr. Luthor, this is Martin Knowles from People magazine. I'm calling on behalf of my editor in chief, Mrs. Donna, I believe she's called you before?"

Alexis' eyes widened, and she nodded. "Yes, yes, she has. We're actually scheduled to talk again later this week, I believe," she bullshitted, because she knew she'd completely forgotten to return the phone call after she got avalanched at LuthorCorp.

"Yes, that's one of the primary reasons I've called you. Our other projects were pulled up before time, and she would like to know when and if would be a good time for you to do the layout and interview. That is, if you're still interested."

Panic. Full-blown, flat-out, complete and total panic. "Of course we're still interested, Clark and I both are, but the timing is proving to be rather... inconvenient right now, what with my stepfather's current situation and all the accompanying circumstances." Her voice was a little squeaky when she started, but she cleared her throat and it dropped back down into her normal register.

"We completely understand. We wanted to do this article for this month, simply because next month is our Best Of edition of the year, and we won't be able to get you in again until October."

More panic. Crap. "Okay. I understand that; let me speak with Clark and my father tonight at dinner, and I will call you back, first thing tomorrow morning, and let you know how things look, and we can hammer out the details then?"

"Of course," he smiled. "Would you like the number?"

"Yes, yes, please." Alexis uncrossed her legs, and dug through the bedside table and came back with a pen and tablet of paper. "All right, go ahead."

"Five nine nine. Six forty five. Twenty three twenty eight, extension four-oh-three." Martie recited, making a note to himself as well.

"599-645-2328, extension 403," Alexis repeated, making sure she had everything scribbled down. "And you are Martie, correct?"

"Martie Knowles. Thank you again, Mr. Luthor."

"Knowles," Alexis repeated, adding that to the notation. "I look forward to talking to you tomorrow morning."

"Sure thing. Thanks again," Martie answered, and hung up.

"Bye bye now!" Alexis said to the dead line, and hung the phone up.

And quietly panicked a little bit more.

- = - = -

About a hundred and fifteen miles away, Clark wasn't fairing any better.

He was fuming. Sitting beside Lois's desk, glaring at Jimmy, who's desk was right across the room from hers, and he hadn't even blinked since he'd come in. He was going to have a few words with his editor in chief and his dear, wonderful little pal Jimmy. Strong words.

Perry White was chewing on his cigar, working on a last minute column layout and letting Clark stew outside. He hadn't worked in the news business since he was a fifteen year old copy-hauler just to have shit for brains. He knew damn good and well why the kid was here, and it would do him a world of good to stew in his own juices for a while.

Jimmy was about to wet himself. Again. And he hadn't been to the wetting stage since he was five years old and had a nighttime accident at his cousin's house. "Gee, Clark, I didn't--"

Clark held up a hand. Just... stopped him, right there. Held it up and glared. "Don't you even dare." He hissed, the first thing he'd even said since he got here.

Yeep! Jimmy snapped his mouth shut, and whimpered softly. "Kay!" he said quietly.

Clark growled to himself, totally ignoring Lois beside him, of who he was sure was smirking, and crossed his arms back across his chest. He knew Perry was keeping him out here, knew it, and he was going to kick his ass too before giving them a piece of his mind and quitting. Vultures. VULTURES.

Jimmy was just concentrating on not wetting. Not wetting. He was a twenty one year old man. He didn't lose control of his bladder because a teenager... a very big, very strong, very angry teenager who was twice your size... was sitting here growling at him. Nope. Wasn't. Gonna. Happen.

Finally, Perry was happy with the layout, and he sent the file down to the print room, and got up to open the door. "Kent! My office, now!"

Clark climbed to his feet, growling under his breath at Jimmy, and crooking his finger, motioned for the little bastard to follow him as he climbed the steps to Perry's office and walked in past him. He was vibrating energy, and he was pissed. As. HELL. "Mr. White," he said, altogether too nicely.

Perry just raised his brow as he motioned Jimmy to come on in, and he settled himself behind his desk, and lit up his cigar again. "Close the door, Olsen, and park it. Kent, you too." He concentrated on puffing the fragrant tobacco to life, and waited for Clark to start.

Clark thumped in the chair in front of the desk, teeth grinding for a moment as he struggled for his composure, before he said, very easily and calmly, which directly opposed his expression, "Why was Jimmy Olsen skulking in the bushes outside of my home, Mr. White?"

Perry waited until he got a nice column of smoke going out of his cigar, and then looked across the desk. "Because I told him to get his ass to Smallville and get me some new pictures to go with the article re-print in the Sunday edition," he said, puffing the smoke to the ceiling. "Didn't think he was dumb enough to do that, but I sent him on assignment, and he was doin' his job, Kent. What's it to you?"

"Because he took photographs of my father in law and his partner, swimming naked. Exactly three days after Dominic got out of the hospital." Barely. Controlled. Rage. "He could have come and knocked on the door. I would have been more than happy to ask Lionel, and Lionel would have been more than happy to offer any services we would have needed, considering that the article made LuthorCorp and Daily Planet stock go up."

"I did!! I did! Honest, Mr. White, I did! I knocked on the front door and everything and nobody answered! I walked around the house tryin' to find another door or another window or something and I saw people in the pool house so I just started takin' pictures!!!"

"But even you can't be stupid enough not to know Lionel has a restraining order!" Clark bellowed, losing all semblance of cool as he all but vibrated in the chair.

"I did! I thought it was just for the TV and stuff! I'm just a photographer, Clark, I didn't know!"

"ENOUGH!" Perry thundered. "Olsen, you're a dumbass. Kent, get over it. Your family? Is always gonna be in the news. Like it or not, the Luthors are gonna be where the news is. This is a NEWSpaper, and they're gonna be in it. And you're gonna stop gettin' your panties in a bunch about it."

Clark grit his teeth so hard that, if he'd been human, they would have cracked. "I don't like people hiding in the bushes taking pictures of my fathers in law!"

"Then tell 'em to answer the fucking door and return a few phone calls!" Perry thundered right back.

"They WOULD if Dominic weren't so sick!" Clark yelled back.

"That's the point of the story, kid. To show the world how sick he is, and that he ain't givin' up and neither is Lionel by God Luthor!" He took another puff off his cigar, so hard the end glowed. "Now, Yes, Olsen did a damn dumb thing, and they shoulda tossed his ass in the slammer overnight, but I'm really glad they didn't because I need him out on the beat! But you gotta relax, Kent. The Luthors ain't special just cause they're your family now, and they're not gettin' special treatment from this newspaper."

"I'm not asking that they do," Clarks voice was very quiet, very angry, very silky with what anyone who really knew him would have known was the point where running away was a good idea. "What I am asking is that its done the right way. Lionel doesn't mind, I asked him."

"You are," Perry said with a pointed thump on the desk. "You're askin' us to treat Lionel and the rest of your group like they're special, and trod around 'em with kid gloves and eggshells."

"Because they deserve it! Goddammit, Mr. White! If your wife just woke up from a three month coma, what would you do?!"

"I'm not like Lionel Luthor!" Perry yelled back. "I don't live in the goldfish bowl! That man does, and it's something he has to live with!"

Clark's teeth ground, and he stayed silent, turning his glare to his lap, lest he say something very rude and get thrown into jail.

"Olsen, get out," he said, waving his hand at the door. "And I want a formal apology to the Luthors on my desk by the end of the day, or you're not leavin' till you write it!" He glared back at Clark. "You, Kent, keep your ass planted in that chair."

Clark just nodded, tightly, glaring at his legs and breathing deeply, in and out, fighting for calming strength as he barely hard Jimmy, over the roaring of his blood, get up and leave.

Perry got up and slammed the door to his office, then came back and perched on the side of the desk. "How old are you, Kent?"

"Nineteen."

"Nineteen. By the time I was your age, I'd been haulin' copy around this building for almost five years," Perry reflected, and reached behind himself, offering Clark the box of cigars. "Smoke?"

"No, thank you." Oh, dear GOD. He knew that a whole lecture was coming, and he thought blandly that if he wanted a lecture he could have gone seen his mom and dad. They could give lectures like no one else. He wondered, vaguely, if he was about to get fired, but didn't give a damn shit.

"Suit yourself." Perry put the cigar box back on the desk, and glared at Clark. "Thought I knew everything, too."

Oh. Boy. His lungs expanded as if he was about to blow his top but he caught himself just in time, fingers digging welts into his thighs.

Perry kept studying Clark. "Couple years later? Found out I didn't." He leaned over behind himself and stubbed out the cigar, and looked back at Clark. "Found out that sometimes, job had to come before the family, and in other cases, family's gotta come before the job. What you gotta do, Kent? Figure out which case is which and what you're gonna do."

Clark was furious. This was the first time he'd come up against someone, in the real world, who treated him like a child because of his age. He'd been through more, and done more, then Perry ever would in his life, and it wasn't fair to still be treated like a child. He wasn't fucking stupid. but he kept silent, lest he say it out loud, and only nodded.

Perry wasn't stupid either. "I know you're getting pissed off at me, Clark. Thinking I'm standing here telling you everything when you already know it, that I've got no idea what I'm talking about. Doesn't so much creep into your eyes as wave a big neon sign as it runs across your face."

Clark ground his teeth and just nodded. "Yes, Mr. Perry. May I go now?"

"No, you can't." Perry walked back behind his desk.

Oh. Dear. God. "What else is it that you need?"

Perry just shrugged. "That's up to you, Kent."

Clark buried his ego, and his pride, for the second time that day, and ground out, "I'll try and separate work from home. Sir."

Perry waved that off. "That's not what I'm talkin' about, kid. You got talent. You got a shitload of it, in fact. And if you can take those balls that you walked into my office with and apply them to your work, then you're gonna make one hell of a fine reporter. That's the decision I'm askin' you make today, Kent. You walk out of my office now, then you pack up your stuff and everything and I hope you have a really nice life. But, if you stay in here and listen to what I got to say, then you can walk out of here on staff."

The part of Clark's mind that was ruthless and thirsting for knowledge wanted to see what Perry said. The other part of him that was unspeakably offended wanted to leave. And somehow, strangely, the ruthless part won out.

It was all this close proximity to the Luthors.

So he stayed where he was and didn't say anything, refusing to show his emotions as he looked at the man across the desk.

"Good move." Perry leaned back in his chair. "I want to keep printing what you write in the paper. You'll get your own column, and I want one article from you a month. You'll pick up your assignments from me--they won't be easy, but I expect them done by your deadline. Can you handle that?"

"You aren't going to make me skulk around my house, digging up dirt, right?" He asked, eyebrow arched and frown pulling his mouth down.

"Digging up dirt? No. But I will likely be handing you articles on your family--Lionel Luthor, to be precise, especially with the birth of his daughter comin' up."

"You like putting people between a rock and a hard place, don't you?"

"I don't make it easy on you, son," was Perry's reply.

"I'm seeing that." He frowned, deeper, and thought silently. Articles on Lionel he could handle--if Lionel was willing to talk to him. His own column in the paper, plus what he did at the Torch. That was huge. But he thought, frowning to himself as he did. "A column, and an article a month. That's it?"

"No, that's not it. If the situation calls for it, I'll be sending you out with Lois Lane."

Something inside of Clark squealed. Loudly. He schooled his features to showcase polite inquiry, though. "Hmm."

"Of course, if you think it's too much for you..." Perry let the insinuation trail off as he nodded towards the door.

Clark's eyes narrowed. "It's not too much for me."

"You sure about that, kid? You seem kinda... hesitant." Pushing buttons? Maybe. But Perry knew he could do it; his instinct hadn't led him wrong in the last forty years and he didn't think it would now.

"I usually am when I sign away my life for the foreseeable future," Clark said back, just as calmly.

"Not your life, Kent. Just your talent."

"Life, talent. Same thing," Clark answered, as he gnawed on his lip for a moment, thinking.

He thought of his sha'nauch.

"Alright. I'll do it."

Perry leaned forward. "No, Clark," he said quietly. "Talent and life are not the same thing. Life is what you live; talent is just what smoothes the way. Don't ever give up one for the other; balance them out."

Clark wanted to reach across the desk and hit him in the nose. Somehow, he refrained. But he wanted to, badly. "You sound like my dad." Hah! "I want the job."

"Your dad must be a bright fellow." Perry picked out another cigar, rolling it in his fingertips. "Job's yours if you want it; come back by next Monday and the new contract'll be ready to sign."

New contract. "What will be different about the contract then the one I have now?"

"It'll put you on the staff here, guarantee you a desk or cubby somewhere, soon as we can find you one, you'll get paid by the week instead of by the article, but you'll be working harder too, and it's for three years instead of one," Perry explained easily.

Clark wanted to do a cartwheel. Or four. "Really?" He couldn't help a little smile, and some of the anger he felt bled out.

"Yes, really." Perry almost rolled his eyes. "You're not in kindergarten anymore, kid. You're in the minors, and in a few years, you're gettin' called up for the show. You do right, you'll be ready."

"Mr. White, people usually don't give me things like this," Clark offered, even as he studied the desk between them, thinking it through. "I graduate next year, and Lex and I will be moving to the city by then. Will it be a problem from now until then, that I live in Smallville?"

"I'm not giving you anything, Kent. You're going to be working your buns off to earn it." He took a drink of lukewarm coffee and made a face at the cup. "It's not a problem as long as you've got email. You send the story, I set it, we print it."

Clark nodded. "Thank you, Mr. White."

"Don't thank me yet. Thank me when you haven't pulled out your hair because you're two minutes to a deadline." Perry pointed to the balding patch on the back of his head in example.

Clark smiled, anyway, and offered his hand. "I'm good at staying on task. I'll do good."

Perry got up then, and shook Clark's hand. "Good. Maybe you can keep Lois on task, and while you're at it? Teach her how to spell." Little sigh. "Now, get out of my office, I've got work to do."

He nodded, firmly, and shook Perry's hand hard before grabbing his satchel and ducking toward the door. "Okay," He said. "Thanks again."

He turned, opened the door, and if it were possible, he would have floated across the room.

And then felt his feet get a little lighter then they'd been, and remembered to walk, not fly, as he jumped down the steps, beaming as he passed Lois, landing a sneaky kiss on her hand before whisking down the steps and out of the Daily Planet, letting out a whoop.

As soon as Clark got out of the big tall ugly building and out into the open air, the cell phone in his pocket started to ring shrilly.

Clark beamed up at the sun, shining down on him, and he dug his phone out of his pocket and chirped, "Helloooo!"

"Hey, it's me, you're in a good mood, I can tell, please come home because I'm about to have a panic attack because People wants to take pictures and Clark? In case you haven't noticed, I'm not in a very photogenic place right now!" Alexis shrieked.

- = - = -

"Oh, I shoulda been a cowboy... shoulda learned to rope and ride... wearin' my six shooter, ridin' my pony on the cattle drive... stealin' a young girl's heart, just like Gene and Roy, singin' those campfire songs, oh I shoulda been a cowboy!" Shayla's hips were moving as she sang along to the radio.

Her mama had liked country music, and some of the songs that she'd had to listen to as a young girl had embedded deep in her head and creeped out every once in a while, when she was working.

Like now, for instance. She'd found this tape in one of her shoeboxes, figured it had been packed by mistake, and when she put it in Chloe's boom box, she'd been able to sing along with every song. It switched to another song by the same artist and, and Shay kept tapping her feet as she bopped around, folding up baby clothes, putting them all away in the proper drawers, tucking diapers under the changing table, and tapping around her best friend.

"I wanna talk about me, I wanna talk about I

Wanna talk about number 1 oh my, me, my,

What I think, what I like, what I know, what I want, what I see.

I like talkin’ about you, you, you, you usually, but occasionally

I wanna talk about me! (me, me, me,) I wanna talk about me-e-e. (me, me, me)"

Chloe, who was up to her eyeballs in baby clothes, bags of pampers and new toys, just rolled her eyes at her friend. "You know, Shay, just because we live in the country doesn't mean we all like country music."

Shayla stuck out her tongue. "Well, too bad. We'll change in a minute--I like this song!" She kept bopping her way across the room, between changing table and dresser, armfuls of clothes, diapers, and other things as she shook her behind to the music.

Chloe reached out, clicked the radio onto "cd", and suddenly... "And so you're back, from outer space! I just walked in to find you here, with that sad look upon your face! I should have changed that stupid lock, I should have made you leave your key, if I had known for just one second, you'd be back to bother me, oh, boy, go! Walk out the door! Just turn around now, cause you're not welcome anymore!" She sang, on top of her substantial, terrible lungs, grinning broadly at her bestest girl and wriggling her booty as she folded baby underwear. John was apparently enjoying it, because he was doing cartwheels in her belly, and she winced and rubbed her belly button.

Shayla just stopped flat in her tracks. And made a face at the CD player. "Oh my GOD. You go from Toby Keith to disco? That big bang you just heard? That's the universe exploding on itself."

"Toby who?" Chloe asked, still wriggling her bum and giggling like an idiot.

"Toby KEITH. The guy who's songs I was singing."

She sighed. "I forgot how tasteless you guys can get sometimes. You need culture." A snicker. "Did you get that huge-ass box of clothes that Lex bought for you sorted yet, or did we leave it downstairs?"

"I have culture! I lived in Metropolis for... well... a while!" Chloe replied indignantly, tossing her longish hair over her shoulder as she folded a little baby blanket. "Still downstairs… I couldn't lug it up by myself, and Whitney was half asleep when he came home last night, so I didn't want to bother him."

"Okay. I'll go down and get it when we finish what's here on the bed." She was humming to herself as she filled the third of six drawers in the dresser with little outfits, and then tossed a misplaced canister of talcum baby powder over to the changing table. "You know, I think that you've got enough diapers here for two babies."

Downstairs, Whitney came in the front door, tired but not as tired as he'd been last night, and pitched ass over teakettle as he stumbled over a rather large box of baby clothes. "GODDAMMIT!" he yelled, then snarled as he picked up the box and headed up the steps. "Chloe!!! I'm going to kill Lex goddamn Luthor for leaving this in the middle of the fucking living room!" he bellowed as he climbed up.

"You say that now," Chloe answered, sliding a grin up at her, and was startled out of a further response as her boyfriend banged and clattered up the steps. She sighed, rubbing her eyes absently, and motioned a hand up for Shayla to help hoist her up to her feet. She was just straightening her shirt when she saw Whitney come up the steps through the doorway. "Hi, sweety!" she chirped, all too cheerfully. "In here!"

Shayla held out her hand, tossing her weight back and pulling Chloe to her feet with a little grunt. "Yeah, just drag it on in here, Whit! We got almost everything else put up!!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm comin'!" Whitney yelled back, grumbling as he brought the box into the bedroom, and kissed his girlfriend over it. "Hey, baby. If there are suits or purple shirts in this box? They're getting sent right back, okay?" He heaved the box onto the floor, and then took another, deeper kiss.

"Honey, it's Lex. Jack's going to be like, Mini Lex. Of course there are suits and purple shirts. I think there's a baptism frock in there, too, that he helped me pick out." Chloe leaned over the box as well and kissed her fiancé, smiling at him broadly and happily, before licking his lower lip gently and motioning him to set the box down on the create Chloe and Shay were using as a table.

"Right here, big guy," Shayla chirped.

"They're going back," Whitney reiterated, and he hefted the box again, moving it to the makeshift table and set it down. "There. He dusted his hands off, and then, got his first good look at Shayla.

Blinked. Blinked again.

Then looked at his girlfriend. "Is it just me being really tired, or did she suddenly turn into a walking skeleton?" Whitney asked, stunned, as he hooked his thumb over his shoulder.

Chloe blinked, looked at Shayla, and looked back to her boyfriend. "What?"

Whitney pointed. "I can count her ribs. I can count how many little spine bone things she's got. Her hipbones could cut paper they're sticking out so sharply."

Shayla blushed. "You just haven't seen me in a while, Whit, that's all."

"The last time I saw you, kid? You weren't walking dead."

Now that Whitney mentioned it, perhaps what Chloe had noted was wrong with her friend wasn't as bad as it really was. Whitney hadn't seen Shay in some time, not since the party they'd thrown on Whitney's behalf for his graduation, and she frowned, deeply, as she looked at her dearest friend. "Now that you mention it.."

"Now that I mention it?" Whitney blinked. "You mean you haven't noticed she's gone from beanpole to like, skin and bones in the space of like, what, two months?"

Shayla was slinking back against the wall, tugging her shirt down as she did. "Whitney... come on. You're exaggerating. I've always been this skinny. You've just never noticed before. Usually I'm wearing jeans and stuff--this is the first summer you've seen me in shorts and shit."

"I've spent every day with her, Whitney," Chloe answered, frowning deeply at her friend. "I knew something was wrong, and that she was getting skinny, but I guess I haven't realized how much. Shay? What have you been doing, baby?" She asked, softly, and held her hand out to her. "Come on. Lets to downstairs and get a drink."

Whitney just shook his head. "Forget a drink. Make her a fucking sandwich."

Shayla kicked Whitney in the shin, then hopped up and down as she massaged aching toes. "Nothing's wrong, Chloe! I haven't been doing anything, I'm fine, and no, I don't need a sandwich!!"

"Yes, you do," Whitney muttered. "You need sandwiches, plural."

"I noticed it too, Shay, but I thought it was a diet or something. What's been up with you?" Her frown deepened.

She glared at Whitney, and then at Chloe. "Nothing's been up."

Whitney choked at that. "Yeah, now I know why Pete's not getting laid; he'd touch her and break her in half."

Chloe's frown deepened all the more, and her eyes filled with tears. "Shay, are you getting all anorexic on us?"

"No!" she shouted with a glare. "I'm eating! You saw me pack away those Twinkies the other day at the mansion, while we were watching Dumb and Dumberer!"

Oh, Chloe was crying now. She saw her friend was trying to back out of a corner, and she burst into tears, covering her face with both hands as she did. "Oh, God, Shay, you're throwing it up, aren't you?"

"No!" she squeaked, but before she could say anything else, Chloe started crying, and Shayla clapped a hand over her mouth and bolted out into the hallway, then down towards the bathroom.

Whitney wrapped his arms around Chloe's shoulders, and guided her over to the bed. "Come on. Sit down, and let me go and check on her, okay?"

The bed, a racing car little tykes bed Whitney had bought just the weak before, squeaked as she sat down on it, and she cried into her upturned hands, her hormones racing as she wailed. "Oh, God, I'm a terrible friend, my best friend is sick and I didn't even SEE it!"

Whitney hugged her. "Honey, no. In case you haven't noticed? You're pregnant. You've got a little more on your mind than wondering why your best friend is dropping weight when you're making sure that the life growing inside you is okay."

"Wh-whatre you doing here talking to me for?!" she demanded, on a sob. "Go and see if she's okay!"

"Okay." Whitney gave Chloe a little kiss on the forehead and pushed up to his feet. The bathroom door was closed, but he would have had to be deaf not to hear the horrible retching sounds from inside. "Shayla? I'm going to give you until the count of five to open the door, or I'm kicking it in, you hear me?"

"Go away!" she yelled weakly, in between rounds of vomiting. She hadn't had much for lunch before coming over, but she had pigged out on a half box of Little Debbie Nutter Butter bars, and they were all coming back up now.

Well, at least she'd heard him. "One." Pause. "Two." Pause. "Three." Pause. "Four." Pause. "Five." When the door didn't open, Whitney, instead of kicking it down, tried the doorknob, found it unlocked, and opened it.

The first thing he did was flick on the exhaust fan, and the second thing was to flush the toilet. The fan sucked the smell of sickness right out of the small bathroom, and flushing got rid of the rest of it as he lifted Shayla up like a feather, holding her up in front of the sink. "Wash your face, rinse out your mouth, and once I get my girlfriend calmed down, you're going to the hospital."

Shayla squeaked tiredly as Whitney hauled her up. "No, I'm fine, dammit, Whitney, leave me alone!"

He laughed as she tried to pull away from him. "Shay? Honey? You're not strong enough to get away from me on a good day. This ain't one of your better days. Clean up, or I'm throwing you over my shoulder anyway."

Shayla shot Whitney a withering glare, but did as he told her to, rinsing out her mouth and splashing water on her face, then drying off with a towel before petulantly throwing it back down again.

"Good. Here we go." Whitney did exactly as he'd threatened, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder as he carried her back to the bedroom. She couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds, because Whitney'd unloaded sacks and crates at the store that weighed more than her. "Chloe? Sweetie? You okay?"

Chloe was sniffling, using a burp cloth as a tissue, and she rubbed her eyes as she climbed to her feet tearfully. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I got carried away." A hard sniffle. "Sorry. Shay, honey, we've got to take you to the hospital… you're throwing up, I can't believe it, why didn't you tell me?"

"No, it's okay. You didn't get carried away." Whitney held his arm out. "Come on. You want to go with us?"

Shayla looked up from the undignified carry over Whitney's shoulder, and just glared, too tired from the vomiting to fight right at the moment. "I just had too much junk food for lunch, that's all. Chloe, I'm fine."

Chloe knew her friend was lying, down in the pit of her gut, and she took her lovers hand and hoisted herself up after a near totter. She swallowed, hard, her eyes red rimmed and itchy, and nodded as she grabbed her purse from where she'd set it on the babies changing table.

Taking charge Whitney could do, and he did it. "Are you going to come along quietly, or do I need to handcuff you to make sure you don't jump out of the truck?" he asked with a glare, and then looked at his girlfriend. "Do you have your cell phone?"

Shayla just sighed. "Fine. We'll go to the hospital, you'll find out there's nothing wrong with me, and you'll just look stupid."

Chloe opened her bag and went into it, searching for a moment as she sniffled...and produced it, pulling it out. "Call Lex and Lionel?"

"Call Lex and Clark," he stressed. "Let Lex decide whether or not to tell Mr. Luthor and Shayla's brother. Because they know better than we do what Mr. Senatori can handle right now and what he can't, and how best to break it to them."

"Check. Lex and pretext." She opened her phone as Whitney carted Shayla down the steps, and waddled right behind Whitney, bag over her shoulder as she dialed the number she knew by heart now and held it to her ear. She flipped the lights off in the kitchen and living room, and locked the house behind herself and her lover, phone in the crook of her shoulder.

Alexis' legs were crossed as she sat in the chair by her desk, top foot tapping a nervous beat as she waited for Clark to come home. The phone made her jump, shooting out of her chair and putting to her ear. "Lex Luthor, can I help you?"

"It's me, honey. Whitney and I are on our way to the hospital with Shay," Chloe said, first thing. "We think she's getting an eating disorder… look, can you meet us there?"

"What? Shayla? When? How? Yes, I'll meet you there. Clark's on the way back from Metropolis, but I'll see if I can't catch him in mid-trip. And did you call my father yet?" Alexis crossed the room quickly, going into the closet as she spoke and pulling out one of Lex's light black jackets to toss over her shoulders to help hide the cleavage.

Whitney effortlessly slid Shayla into the back seat of the truck's cab, and he wasn't at all surprised when she laid down in the seat and closed her eyes. He gave a soft sigh, and covered her up with one of his jackets, still tossed back there, and got into the front seat, cranking up the truck.

Chloe, with great effort, heaved herself up into the truck, groaning as she did and keeping the phone pushed to her ear. She closed the door with a thump and started to wriggle the seat belt on over her huge belly, even as she spoke. "I swear to God, I'm leading a room at the hospital, Lex. And no, we haven't talked to your dad--Whitney wanted you to do it, in case Dominic's not up to it."

"Good man," Alexis said with a nod. "Christ, but I don't think Dominic is ready for this, though I don't know that we can get away with not telling him, as I think he's the one who's taken responsibility for her, now that his mother's leaving Saturday." She gnawed her lower lip as she stood there. "I'll meet you at the hospital, and once we know what's going on, then I'll figure out how to deal with Dominic."

"Okay, hun. We'll be there, kay? Give me a call, tell me how things go...since the signal doesn't always carry through in the hospital, if you get my voicemail, I'll call you back--I'll be checking my cell on and off, kay?"

"Okay," Alexis said, and hung up the phone. Nothing was ever easy.

Whitney slid his hand over to stroke the back of his girlfriend's neck. "Hey, baby. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay."

Chloe looked back at Shayla, whose face was gray and eyes closed, and her breath hitched, hard.

 

-fin-

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