I own nothing of Smallville and nothing of Batman Begins.
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Mirror
Usually, Lex Luthor avoided Gotham. It was seedy, dark and violent--reeking of the earmarks of a city infested with Plague. He gazed out through his limousine window at its towering, gray buildings shrouded in smog, his eyes tracing the paths of the elevated train that hung like spiderweb over the winding streets.
"Are you certain you don't wish to take the main road through Gotham, sir?" his chauffer questioned. "It's a good half-hour quicker."
Lex glanced at him, then back out at the foggy downtown.
"No thank you, Herold. I don't feel like being car-jacked this early in the day."
"Yes, sir."
They exited onto a winding road that was quickly surrounded by trees. They rounded a sharp corner and Lex's stomach turned. He felt his face grow cold and he closed his eyes.
"Go a bit slower," he ordered, though his voice was faint.
"Sorry, sir. Are you feeling ill again?"
Lex did not bother to answer. He gradually opened his eyes and tried to keep his gaze fixed on the road in front of the car, through the windshield.
"Straighten your tie, son. We want to make a good impression."
"He won't be looking at me. Your business partners never do."
"He's not my business partner. Yet."
Lex brushed at his forehead, trying to banish the memory of that deep, calculating voice--wondering if he needed to readjust his medicine.
The surrounding, leafy woods took on a familiar form, and Lex risked a glance out the side window again, this time to the left.
There it was: the old, private cemetery lined with leaning, moss-covered headstones, surrounded by towering, black-barked oak trees and a stone wall.
"Here we are, sir," his chauffer announced. The limo pulled up a winding road that ascended a hill, and Lex leaned sideways so he could take in the full view through the window. His mouth twisted in a half smile. There it was; the same palatial manor he remembered--except it wasn't. Though these impressive, almost foreboding, towering stone walls, small-paned windows, sharp parapets and elegant stone work appeared to be at least a century old, he noted the blackened stones of the foundation, and the new grass coming up where the old had been scorched as the first mansion burned to the ground.
"It looks the same as always, doesn't it Mr. Luthor?" Herold commented.
"Indeed it does," Luthor nodded, still staring at it. "He's done a fantastic job." It was larger than his own mansion, and built in a more welcoming way, despite its height and grandeur. A person could drive almost to the front door, and could dodge out of rain or snow under a spreading, pillared overhang. The limo stopped outside of this overhang, since there was no precipitation, and Lex opened his own door.
"Will you be needing me anymore, sir?" Herold inquired. Lex shook his head.
"I have my medicine in my coat pocket." He patted the large pocket of his long, black coat. He shut the car door and faced the mansion door. Taking a deep breath and fighting back another wave of nausea, he carefully ascended the stone stairs. Studying the intricate work done around the door, he reached out and pushed the bell.
Sooner than he expected, he heard the latch move, and the thick door swung open. A young man stood there, slightly older than Lex, and taller. He had dark hair, combed back from his face, but one strand fell across his forehead. His features were chiseled and handsome, his jaw was defined, and his bright brown eyes were penetrating without being fierce. He was barefoot, wore long pajama pants, a black t-shirt, and a knee-length green bathrobe. Lex allowed himself to smile. Other than himself, Bruce Wayne was the only other billionaire he knew of who enjoyed opening his own door.
Bruce's heavy eyebrows shot up.
"Lex Luthor!" He glanced down at himself and laughed, then reached around and tied his robe shut. "Sorry, I was expecting my friend Rachel; her family used to work here and we grew up together, so I'm used to being a little less formal around her."
"No problem," Lex assured him. "My arrival is completely unexpected anyway. You'll have to forgive me for being so presumptuous."
"Nah," Bruce waved it away. "Come on in." He stepped aside and Lex entered, gazing at the fantastic arched ceiling, the lovely rugs and the gold-framed paintings on the walls. Bruce strode ahead of him, his bare feet padding against the carpet of the long, broad hallway.
"So what brings you all the way up to Gotham, Lex?"
"Well, first of all," Lex put his hands in his pockets and followed Bruce. "I wanted to see if you had done justice to the old Wayne manor with your rebuild."
Bruce let out a laugh.
"And what do you think?"
"I think it's incredible," Lex confessed. "Looks just the way I remember it."
"Good," Bruce answered. Lex noticed something in his soft undertone, but could not decipher it. He took a breath.
"And second of all, I wanted to address that email you sent me a month or two ago."
Bruce stopped, his hands in the middle of re-tying his sash, and his eyes widened.
"Don't tell me that you drove all the way here because of a wine rack, Lex," Bruce said slowly. Lex put up a hand placatingly.
"Don't worry about it. I was due for a trip up to Gotham anyway and I thought that while I was up here I would stop by."
Bruce glanced at him sideways, and Lex felt the uncomfortable sensation that for the first time in a very long time, his guard was being penetrated. He had forgotten that about Bruce. But, unlike some other people, Bruce decided to let it go. He turned back around and raised his voice.
"Alfred!" He kept walking. "Alfred, we have a guest!"
"Yes, sir?" An old, white-haired English gentleman wearing a suit came out of the kitchen area and stopped next to Bruce.
"Alfred," Bruce gestured to Lex. "You remember--"
"Mr. Lex Luthor!" Alfred exclaimed. He smiled broadly and inclined his head. "Of course, sir--you came here to visit when you were just a lad. I'd recognize you anywhere, though you have grown quite a bit!"
Lex, unused to this kind of talk, chuckled uneasily and extended his hand for Alfred to shake. Bruce just grinned.
"Alfred, could you show Mr. Luthor to my study while I get dressed?"
"Of course, Master Bruce," Alfred nodded. "Follow me, Mr. Luthor."
"Just give me a second, Lex," Bruce held up one finger, then strode to another part of the house. Wordlessly, Lex fell in behind the butler and ascended a flight of wide stairs. When they reached a landing, they continued down a darker corridor and then Alfred opened a door for Lex and stepped out of the way.
"Here you are, sir. If you should need anything, give the bell in the corner a tug."
"Thank you, Alfred," Lex said quietly, stepping into the wooden-floored room, the scent of the hundreds of books surrounding him flooding him with memories.
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
"Here you are, sirs." The Butler's voice sounded distant, his words automatic. Lex stepped through the waiting door next to his towering father, prepared to be bored again. He knew he would be forced to sit and listen to an entire afternoon of technical and business talk between two old grown-ups.
The library was tall-ceilinged, and all of the walls except one were covered from floor to ceiling with shelves and all kinds of books. The one excepting wall bore a tall fireplace, but no fire was burning.
Lex glanced to his left. He almost said something, but words died in his mouth.
There stood an impressive desk, carved from beautiful cherry wood, and atop it sat all the necessaries for office work--a stapler, a stack of papers beneath a marble paperweight, a fancy pen and a lamp.
But behind it, in a tall, leather swivel-chair, sat a boy.
He was a bit older than Lex, but the chair still dwarfed him. He wore a suit, and his hair was parted to the side and combed. He looked pale, the curve of his eyebrows showing buried worry, and his auburn eyes moved quickly from Lex's father to Lex, to the butler and back again. "Master Bruce, this is Lionel Luthor and his son, Lex," the butler announced. Lionel stopped.
"Wait. There must be some misunderstanding," Lionel stammered. "I wanted to meet the owner of Wayne enterprises."
"I own Wayne enterprises," the boy stated, meeting Lionel's gaze squarely. However, the worry line remained. "My parents died."
"I...Yes, I did hear about that, and am terribly sorry," Lionel recovered. Lex knew full well that he was lying about being sorry. But he went on. "I had just surmised that the heir apparent was a little...older."
Bruce did not answer. However, his gaze flickered over once to meet Lex's.
"Were you expecting to make a business transaction, Mr. Luthor?" the butler asked, stepping over to stand by the young Wayne's side.
"Well, yes, as a matter of fact," Lionel clasped his rough hands behind him.
"Then, sir, I would recommend that you go down to Wayne Tower, in downtown Gotham, and meet with a Mr. Earle," the butler advised. "He is acting custodian of Wayne Enterprises until Mr. Bruce reaches eighteen years of age."
"Well, then, we won't take up any more of your time, Mr. Wayne," Lionel said, unsuccessfully trying to mask his patronizing tone. Again, Bruce did not say anything. Lionel turned to leave.
"Come on, Lex."
"Daaad," Lex groaned. "I don't want to sit in on another meeting!"
"Lex," A dangerous tone entered Lionel's voice, and his eyes flashed.
"If you don't mind, Mr. Luthor, Master Bruce hasn't had any playmates for several months now," the butler cut in. "If you wouldn't mind sparing Mr. Lex, I'm certain the boys could amuse each other while you are conducting your business."
Lionel glared at the butler, and at young Bruce, then down at Lex--and suddenly his hard face cleared. He actually smiled.
"Excellent idea," he commended. "As long as we're not imposing, Lex would be glad to stay here and play, wouldn't you, Lex?"
Lex wasn't sure, but as he glanced between Bruce and his father, he knew he would definitely rather keep company with someone his own age. So he nodded.
"Good," Lionel slapped his small son's back and headed toward the door. "Thank you, Mr. Wayne. I'll be back to pick Lex up later this evening." Lionel left the study, and the door shut behind him. The butler cleared his throat and stepped toward the door as well.
"Would you like some milk and cookies, young masters?"
Lex blinked, not knowing what to say.
"Yes, please, Alfred," Bruce answered. "Thank you."
Alfred smiled.
"Rightoh. Be right back." He left as well. Lex's brow furrowed. He turned to Bruce.
"You say please and thank you to your butler," he observed. Bruce met his eyes.
"Yeah, I do," he replied. "Don't you?"
Lex considered for a moment, then shrugged.
"I never thought about it."
Bruce hopped down from his chair and came around the desk.
"Alfred is my friend," he said, as if that explained something. The two boys stood for a moment, awkwardly, then Bruce's eyes fell on a beautiful chess set on a coffee table in the corner.
"Do you know how to play chess?" he asked. Lex straightened, then nodded. A hint of a smile lit Bruce's face.
"Cool. You can teach me."
VVVVVVVVVVVVVV
"You can turn the lights on, Lex. I paid the bill."
Lex turned and saw Bruce standing in the doorway, dressed now, wearing a blue dress shirt and black pants, his hands in his pockets.
"Yeah," Lex acknowledged. "I was just thinking."
"Hm," Bruce nodded, casting his gaze around the library. "Well, I suppose this is the room for it."
Lex chuckled. Bruce turned to him.
"Want to see the wine rack I need replaced?"
"Sure."
The two men left the library and trailed downstairs.
"I called Rachel and asked her to come another time," Bruce said. Lex's brow furrowed.
"You didn't have to do that."
"It's all right. She just wanted to see the progress in the gardens. I told her you were here, and she said she'd come back tomorrow."
Lex kept his thoughts on Rachel's opinion of him to himself. The two walked through the kitchen and to the door of the cellar. The descending stairs were wooden, but Lex noticed that they did not squeak. He said so.
"New wood, Lex," Bruce reminded him as he turned on the light.
Lex rolled his eyes at himself.
"Of course," he muttered. They hit the meticulous stone floor and strode across the empty cellar where a space had been built into the wall, eight feet wide and nine feet tall.
"This was where my father's wine cabinet used to be," Bruce gestured with one hand. "It was beautiful mahogany, with curved glass and claw feet."
"I know the type," Lex nodded, envisioning it. "They were made in England, I think, in the seventeen hundreds."
"This one was Russian," Bruce said grimly.
Lex glanced at him in surprise.
"Russian? Well, that certainly makes it--"
"Difficult to find?" Bruce offered. He sighed. "Yeah, I'm beginning to think it was a piece of furniture from the Czar's palace."
Lex chuckled.
"Actually, I wouldn't be surprised."
"Neither would I. Which is why I emailed you." Bruce faced him. "I know you have an talent for tracking down rare antiquities."
Lex canted his head.
"That's my hobby, I suppose." He studied Bruce. "I don't suppose you have any wine to go with it once you get it?"
Bruce shrugged.
"If I do, it would just be for decoration, or for guests. I don't drink much."
Lex's eyes narrowed.
"I thought you were inebriated the night this mansion burned."
Bruce suddenly looked uncomfortable.
"It's all right," Lex said. "I'm not trying to get you in trouble or anything. We all have our...indulgences."
Bruce's jaw tightened.
"Well, you're taking steps though, right?" Lex pursued. "Isn't that the reason you don't drink now?"
Bruce stared at the space where his cabinet had been.
"No," he murmured. He took a breath. "But I promised that I'd rebuild this house the way it was, brick for brick. And I had a Russian cabinet here."
"I understand," Lex said, though he was still pondering Bruce's reaction. He realized something: whatever had happened that night, it had not happened because Bruce had been drunk. The press was wrong. Bruce wasn't like that. So what had happened?
Bruce's eyebrows raised and he changed the subject.
"So...what do you think?"
Lex smiled and gave a short nod.
"I'll get to work on it," he assured him.
"Good," Bruce crossed his arms over his broad chest and tilted his head back. "Now--why did you really come here, Lex?" He lowered his head and gave him a level stare. "Besides asking me about my drinking habits."
Lex tried to appear innocent, but when Bruce just waited, he sighed and turned from him.
"All right, I did need to ask you something," he confessed. "Has my father contacted you at all?"
Bruce's brows came together.
"You mean from prison?" he asked.
"I mean from anywhere," Lex replied.
"Why?" Bruce demanded in a low voice. Lex stood still and met his gaze.
"Could you just tell me, Wayne?"
"No, he hasn't," Bruce answered. "I don't speak to that man."
Lex felt the knot in his chest loosen a bit, but a twinge of nausea traveled up his gut.
"What makes you think he would contact me?" Bruce pressed. Lex took a deep breath, then decided to stop debating with himself.
"The night he was taken into the prison, I was poisoned with my own brandy."
Bruce stared at him.
"Poisoned?" he repeated, darkly astonished. Lex nodded, his mouth tight.
"Yes. My own father poisoned me. I have to take frequent injections and I'm constantly nauseated--not to mention being lucky to be alive." Lex barked out a laugh. "I guess that shouldn't surprise me; his own son threw him in prison. It's all one in the end, right?"
"No," Bruce growled, fire behind his eyes and anger deep in his utterances. "He threw himself in prison. Anyone who chose to do the things he did deserves to be there."
TBC