Fortress

21

A/N: I don't own Smallville or any characters and places in the DC universe. Nor do I own the episodes that these chapters are based and contained from.

I also don't claim to be a writer. My inspiration is simply to get a creative outlet going.

I only own Tyla Nevin and what pertains to her character story.

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Lex was surrendering himself to his thoughts in the study. Music was filling the room as if to drown them out however, it was a failed attempt. So, he tried to add a literary world with the combination of music as a distraction. It was better but even coupled with the comfort of sitting in front of the fireplace, his mind would wander to Tyla. He would be lying if he said that he was not a little bothered by the fact that she was going out on dates. He felt an overwhelming sense of protectiveness over her which was partly a frightening feeling and partly familiar. It wasn't that he didn't think she should be seeing anyone at all. It was just that she deserved the best and he had a sinking feeling that whoever she was currently seeing was not that. He knew nothing of it, but it could be argued that Tyla made things very secretive for him to even find out so much as a name. Was he from Smallville? Could it be an old beau from National City? Or perhaps, he was a local Metropolitan. He looked up upon finished the chapter to see Tyla sneak towards the door. "Where are you going?" He blurted, effectively freezing the blonde as she realized she had crossed his line of sight.

"Out." Was all she said.

"Like that?" He bookmarked his page and closed the book. He eyed her down. She looked like she was ready for a night out on the town. Her hair was done up in loose curls again and her makeup brought out the brown of her eyes, coupled with a deep shade of red lipstick. She had on a pair of black high heels and a white leather coat that revealed white satin pants and a very skin-tight red shirt that made her bosom look....

Tyla sighed, loudly and irritably which caused Lex to break his gaze to look back up to her eyes. "If you must know," she replied. "I'm going to see my mother."

He put his book down on the coffee table and rested his hand over his mouth. Thankfully, he was hiding his attraction towards her. Shockingly, he was admitting to himself that he was just now seeing her in that light. "I wouldn't see my mother like that," he muttered. She may have looked like she was going to a meeting, but it was a bit much.

"That's because you own nothing but suits and formalities, sir," she quipped, granting a smirk from the millionaire. "I'm pretty sure I am warranted to let my mom take me out for a shopping spree on my 21st birthday." Lex's eyes widened. He knew that.... vaguely. Of course, she had a birthday. Everyone did. But he didn't know that it may have been today. He was deep in thought, making a note that her birthday was April.... he needed to check today, before snapping back to what she was saying. "So, while you enjoy Mikhail Glinka, I will be going and taking advantage of my newly minted adult status."

Once more, he was shocked by the woman. "You know of Glinka?" he asked her, raising his head.

"Yes, he was well acquainted with Pushkin."

Lex dropped his hand and it padded against the arm of the chair. "And you know Pushkin."

"Of him, yes," she corrected. "I haven't had the chance to read anything of his." She smiled as he started at her in slight awe. "What? Not all regular folk steer away from Russian literature. I happen to like it!"

"You're the first woman who I hear that does," he smiled, leaning to the side and rested his head in a fisted hand.

"Each author writes with such directness, honesty and accuracy about what it is to be human." Tyla began to speak, passionately. There was a split second where she remembered that she was talking to Lex and regained a bit of restraint. "There's something raw when they write. It's as if they don't shy away from addressing the society for what it is." She played with the keys to her car in her hands and looked down. She probably could talk about Russian literature for hours, maybe even recite a bit of Tolstoy.