Not the *cure* for insomnia, but the beautiful, happy reward of having wandered back out to my computer at four a.m. Because I discovered that runpunkrun had secretly smuggled a half-naked Clark into my apartment and left him drinking milk in my kitchen. She is a good, good person. She also reposted a link to The Milk and Cookies War (Clark/Lex), which I hadn't had a chance to read yet, and this is the kind of story you squee over and have to quote lines of:

"Lex," Clark says, standing behind him. "It hurts me to say this, because you have a brilliant mind, but that ham just outsmarted you. Maybe you shouldn't help."

*

It's a shame none of these people work for him anymore because he wants to fire them again, harder this time.

*

The doors close. Lex stares at his reflection. There's a bald man holding a cranberry walnut scone. He sighs and takes a bite.

*

"...lean hog futures," Lionel pauses for a breath. "Are you listening to me, son?"

"Not really," Lex says.

"I can tell when I'm not wanted," Lionel sniffs, apparently operating under the delusion that Lex has amnesia and can't remember the last twenty-seven years of his life.

The last quote started its own section of the story, which multiplies its hilarity for me by at least 79%. Or maybe I mean 179%. I'm not good at math.

All this and Rothko. She must be read. I am happy, happy, happy. And too awake! But I'm going to go back to bed and switch channels and think about Jack Davenport for a while and maybe someday sleep again.