Title: The Whammy
by ingrid
Rating: PG-13, parody, broad humor, romance, fluff, Clark/Lex.
Spoilers: NOTE: This was inspired by the spoilers for Episode Two of Season Two entitled "Heat" as read off of Kryptonsite (www.kryptonsite.com) and if you don't want to be spoiled for it in any way shape or form (assuming the spoilers there are accurate which they usually are) please don't read further.
Disclaimer: Lots of people own them. I don't. Oh poop.
Feedback: That would be nice, thank you.
Summary: The illusions, the facts and the dangerous nature of the Whammy.
----
Contrary to popular opinion, Clark Kent was neither blind nor stupid.
It was more a selective mental process, probably native to his species, where he heard and saw what he wanted to hear and see, regardless of silly little things like facts. A great way to live ninety-nine percent of the time and except for that inconvenient one percent when those crazy little facts picked him up, slapped him in the face and kicked his ass to God and back, he was usually pretty happy with it.
That's why when Lex called him excitedly one Saturday afternoon, exclaiming that he had something big to tell him -- something *really* big -- Clark wasn't expecting much more than a change in the produce order, a different kind of lettuce maybe or a cancelation of the basil that hadn't been doing very well that year anyway.
Armed with this assumed foreknowledge, Clark loped into the den at five on the dot. "Hey, Lex. What's up?"
Lex beamed at him from behind his desk with a giddiness that virtually made his head glow. "Congratulate me, Clark. I'm engaged."
Alien neurons began their downward spiral. "Pardon me?"
"I said, congratulate me. I'm engaged."
God's foot. Clark's ass. Percentage-wise there was no need to do the math. "You're ... engaged." The words stuck to the roof of his mouth like cyanide-laced peanut butter. "To ... to what? I mean, who?"
"Come on, I want you to meet her." Lex practically bounced with excitement as he dragged Clark bodily into the library. "She's so great. You won't believe how great she is."
"Yeah. I bet I won't," Clark mumbled, trying without much success to disengage himself from Lex's overzealous grasp.
"Sweetheart!" yelled Lex. "He's here. My best man, Clark Kent." He whirled breathlessly, capturing the woman before him in a passionate embrace. "Clark, this is Chantel. Chantel DeVille, from Metropolis. My future wife."
"How do you do?" said Lex's financee politely. She was petite, slim and passingly pretty. "I'm very glad to meet you."
All right, more than passingly pretty and Clark smiled so hard, it actually hurt. So much for being invulnerable. "Glad to meet you."
"Lex has told me so many nice things about you. I'm looking forward to having you in our wedding." Sweet voice, nothing wrong there ... if you liked sugar with your poison.
"I'm looking forward to it too." Clark nodded, still smiling and his jaw began to audibly crack. "I just can't believe this. What a surprise." Or at least that's what he meant to say but through clenched teeth it came out more like "Igarenleafyus. Futgahazize."
Chantel and Lex looked equally concerned. "Are you okay, Clark? Do you need some water?"
He didn't need water. He needed air. Lots of it. There was nowhere near enough of it when Miss Suck All The Air Out of The Room was standing there looking all beautiful and happy to be alive, wrapped around Lex like a silk-clad boa constrictor. "Inebbaenetta. Gotagonuh. Buh-bye."
"But wait ... don't you want to hear about some of the plans?" Lex called after him but Clark was gone, barely bothering to cover his super fast exit.
He slowed down somewhere near Metropolis, only to speed up again as the memory of Lex's voice actually uttering the word 'Sweetheart' filled his mind with horror.
Eventually Clark's long flight ended him up in Hell but out of deference to the residents of Fishkille, Kansas he decided to keep that particular comparison to himself.
It was only fair. Besides, if she wasn't there, who could be sure it was Hell?
Eventually, a celestial toe shoved him along the path back to Smallville. It was dark when he arrived home and his mother stood waiting in the doorway.
"You're late," she scolded. "And just where have you been?"
"To hell," Clark replied sullenly. "It has a gas station, a bait store and one half-dead cow."
"Oh, Clark. Go wash up." Annoyed, she wiped her hands on a ragged apron. "And I hope you brought some hellfire back with you. Your dinner's ice cold."
----
Chantel DeVille was a beautiful girl-woman, alluring and odd at the same time. A sight to see with her trendy green eye shadow, aquamarine halter top paired with a skin hugging pair of bicycle shorts and well-ironed hair down to her waist, swinging a mere inch above her hips. She smiled, men drooled and her shapely ankles were never lacking for the perfect shoe, even if it were a mundane cross-trainer with tiny pom-pom socks.
She strolled through the Talon with Lex on her arm, smiling sweetly at Clark before tugging her future husband away with impressive force. They'd then slip into some corner of the room, oblivious to everyone else, indulging in public displays of affection that would have earned them expulsion if Lex hadn't been the coffee shop's owner.
She wasn't even close to being Lex's type, Clark thought bitterly. Whatever that was.
But Lex wasn't being himself either. He followed Chantel through town with the strangest expression on his face: eyes wide, mouth slack and checks hollowed narrowly, sucking in each breath as if it were his last.
He carried her bags, opened the car door for her, laughed too loudly at every comment and Clark could have sworn he heard a "Yes, dear" come out of Lex's mouth more than once.
It made Clark want to cry. His best friend had obviously lost his mind.
Or ... maybe Lex's brilliant brain had been ripped from his skull by a certain Ms. DeVille, where it was clutched tightly in her evil grasp, dripping and slimy, a priceless hunk of grey matter the likes of which the world would never see again.
Awful. Simply awful. "She's done something to him," he confided in Chloe one afternoon in the Talon as Lex trotted after his bride-to-be mumuring something about loving the combination of rose and teal.
"Uh, huh. And I bet I know what it was," Chloe snickered.
"No," Clark snapped. "She's done something to his brain and I've got to figure out what it is before he makes the biggest mistake of his life."
Chloe gently rubbed his arm in an attempt to comfort. "Don't be jealous, Clark. It was bound to happen sooner or later. It's just sooner, that's all."
Jealous? What the ... "I'm *not* jealous, Chloe. I'm concerned. Can't I be concerned about my best friend?"
"Whatever you say," she sighed. "But don't get too concerned until the wedding's over, okay? I heard she's already spent half a million with three weeks to go." She took a short sip of latte, wincing when it burnt her tongue. "And Lord knows Smallville could use the money."
Clark stared at Chloe as if she'd grown a second evil head.
"Well, we could!" she insisted defensively. "Besides, it's not like Lex didn't wait long enough." Drained her cup with a satisfied slurp. "You could try the most patient of souls, Clark. Trust me, I know."
---
Talking to his parents about it didn't help either.
"Mom ... what do you think about Lex getting married?"
Martha Kent looked up from her mashing, a tiny fleck of creamy potato dotting her chin. "Well, I think he's a little young ..."
"Never too young to grow up and be a man." Jonathan Kent's eyes were fixed firmly on his newspaper. "Once you're over 21 that is."
"But he's obviously in a position to support a wife and family, so I can't see anything wrong with it," his mother finished, shooting an annoyed glance at her husband.
"I say it's a great thing." Jonathan Kent sounded inordinately smug from behind his Smallville Ledger. "At least he won't be sniffing around here anymore. That wife of his will keep him at home where he belongs." He put the paper down and brightened. "Maybe she'll move him back to Metropolis. Either way ... looks like you'll have to get a new pal, Clark. Married men don't have much time for hanging with the boys. Or a boy, as the case may be."
Clark scowled deeply. "I think there's everything wrong with it ... Mom," he said, pointedly ignoring his father. "This all wrong for Lex. She's all wrong for him. This ... this doesn't make any sense." He took a deep breath. "I think she's done something to him."
"I'll bet she has," Martha giggled. She coughed, then turned back to her potatoes, stirring them as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. "Not that I condone that sort of, um ... " She abandoned the masher and picked up the electric mixer. "Do you want cream cheese in these tonight, sweetie? Or just plain?"
"Mom ..." But the mixer was whirring and Martha was humming, loudly.
"Yep, it's a great thing." His father chortled. "Mr. and Mrs. Lex Luthor. Back to Metropolis before you know it. Damn, I should tie some cans to his bumper now, I think."
----
Two weeks later, it was almost closing hour at the Talon and Clark's fuming was still in high gear.
"It's not right, Pete. That bitch pulled a whammy on him."
Pete stared at Clark then at Chantel who was busy licking whipped cream from Lex's lips with long flicks of a soft-looking pink tongue. "I wish I could get whammied," he sighed dreamily.
Clark punched his friend in the arm and put a little more muscle into it than usual. "Pete!"
Okay, a lot more muscle. "OWWW!" Pete clutched at his arm with angry disbelief. "Take a chill, man. It was bound to happen. You can't just hope a guy stays stuck on you without giving something in return eventually, you know?"
"What? What are you talking about?"
"You know what I'm talking about. That's you, Clark Kent. The Man of Denial." Pete rolled up his sleeve and squinted at his arm. "Dang. I think you bruised me. I should sue."
"Go ahead," Clark grumbled. "You can have my whole life if you want it."
"No thanks." Adona Sweet sashayed past their table and Pete was already half out of his seat to chase her down. "I got my own to live. " He shrugged cheerfully at Clark. "Besides, yours sucks."
----
On the night of the rehearsal dinner, Clark discovered he'd gained the most unlikely ally of all -- Lionel Luthor.
"Tell me something, Kent."
"Yes, sir?"
"You're not very fond of this ... creature ... that's engaged to my son, are you?"
"No, sir." Finally, someone who agreed with him. Too bad it was Satan. "I don't like her at all."
"You're far smarter than I thought." He stroked his short beard thoughtfully. "Young man, I know of only two people in this world who give a rat's ass about my son. And those two people are me and you."
Lionel's voice was scratchy and hoarse, as if he'd spent most of the day screaming at the top of his lungs, which, guessing from the chilly air circulating between him and Lex all night, he probably had. "So here's the deal, Kent. If you get my idiot son away from that godawful witch, you'll be earning something more valuable than either my son's trust fund or the holdings of LuthorCorp in its entirety. Can you guess what that might be?"
Clark swallowed hard. "Your, um, eternal gratitude?"
Lionel shook his head. "No. An eternity of me Looking. The. Other. Way." Dark eyes narrowed and focused on Clark. "Do I make myself clear, young man?"
Not at all, Clark thought, but he nodded anyway. "I'll try my best, sir."
"There is no try -- there is only DO!" Lionel boomed, channeling a Yoda who'd succumbed to the Dark Side long ago. "Or else I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands. And that's not going to be pretty."
He slapped Clark on the back so hard, Clark's teeth rattled. He really was going to have look into this invulnerability thing. It just wasn't working at all lately.
"So go get her, boy!" Lionel exhorted, as if he were talking to the exterminator about a particularly pesky gopher that was fouling his golf course. "And then he's all yours."
All mine? Clark blinked and was about to question the man further but with a flap of his long black coat, Lionel Luthor was gone.
Clark took a sip of warm soda that tasted like cardboard. Twenty-four hours to go and the clock was ticking toward the final grudge match between life as he imagined it and life as it really was.
Since it was Sunday, maybe God would take the day off.
Or at least His foot might.
----
The morning of the wedding was one of those rare sparklers that came along once every few springs in southern Kansas.
Clark stood half-dressed in the groom's preparation room, debating whether to take a long gulp of vodka from the overloaded drink table. It was there that bottle after bottle of booze and mixers sat waiting to help nervous bridal party members prepare for their stumble down the aisle and Clark itched to have some liquid comfort.
Too bad when it came to booze, the invulnerable thing did work, every single time. Damn it.
Lex sauntered into the room, resplendent in a long-tailed black tux and white tie. "Are you ready? Why, Clark, your tie isn't even on." Lex grinned at him, a delightful combination of white teeth and bright eyes.
Clark couldn't help but stare. It hadn't hit him before -- not in the world he lived most of his life in anyway -- but Lex was shockingly beautiful. "No, not yet. Listen, Lex "
Lex reached up and took hold of Clark's collar. "You still don't know how to tie these, do you? Allow me."
"Lex, we have to talk."
"Now?" Lex's fingers deftly knotted away as the string quartet started their warm up outside. "Can't it wait until after the ceremony?"
"NO!" Clark pushed Lex's hands away. "It can't wait. I should have said something before, I know I'm an idiot for letting this go this far, but something is wrong, Lex. I can feel it. I can *see* it. Something is wrong with you ... with this. It's not right. You're not right."
"I feel fine," said Lex. He looked shocked at Clark's outburst but his cheek twitched with discomfort. "Perfectly well. Never been better."
"Tell me, Lex. Please .... I'm your best friend aren't I? What did she do to you? Did she drug you? Hypnotize you?" A tiny lightbulb flashed somewhere above his head and Clark gasped. "Did she shake your hand like Rickman did? Oh my God, Lex ... is she a mutant?"
"Clark. Please stop. Or ... or ..." Something within Lex was warring violently. A look that screamed both "Fuck you!" and "Save me!" shone from his face and Clark knew he was dealing with something that went way beyond simple friendship.
It was a battle for Lex's soul. "Or what? If she's done something to you ..."
Lex cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. "I said stop it, or our friendship is going to end right here and now." The fuck-you part was winning and that wasn't good. "I'm serious, Clark. Don't push me."
Clark straightened his shoulders. Stood high and knew in his heart what he had to do. It had been there all along. "Our friendship isn't worth having if you're not the Lex Luthor I know ... and love."
There, he said it and let Pete call him The Man of Denial now. It was one-percent time, the facts were all in order, lined up in a neat row and Clark was prepared to bend over and take his punishment like a man. Or an alien. Or whatever.
Right after he saved Lex.
"Damn you, Clark." Confusion weakened Lex's voice. Save me, save me, save me, his eyes were screaming and Clark dove in for the rescue.
He kissed Lex, kissed him with everything he had at his disposal, hoping against hope his superpowers extended to his lips and beyond, giving life back to Lex one more time.
He pulled back and examined Lex's face closely. Gone was the preternatural giddiness and forced passion, back was the man Clark had known intimately since the day their lives literally crashed together over a year before.
"Lex?" He held his breath. "Are you with me?"
"Oh shit," said Lex, running a trembling hand over his face. "Oh shit. What the hell is going on?"
Clark kissed him again, across his forehead, eyes and down his neck. This time just because it felt wonderful. "Are you okay? Tell me you're okay now. Please."
Lex gasped under the tender assault. "Holy shit, what the fuck am I doing? Why am I here? Damn it, Clark ... why am I getting married?"
"Because she tricked you. Think Lex, what happened the night you met?"
"I don't remember. It was in a club, one I'd never seen before and " Lex clung to Clark, shaking. "Wait ... there *was* something strange. She ... she was wearing green lipstick that night. I remember, because I didn't want to kiss her but I couldn't stop looking away from her lips and ... and ... I just couldn't say no, so I "
"Shhhh." Another kiss. "It's over and once we get you out of this wedding we can "
A furious shriek cut him off mid-sentence. "OH MY GOD!"
It was Chantel, standing in the doorway, tomato-red with fury and Clark realized that when it came to brides, Frankenstein had it easy.
"You you " she spluttered. "You sonofabitch!"
At the sight of her, Lex made the same face he did after stepping in something not quite wholesome while walking through the Kent's barn. "It's bad luck for the bride and groom to see each before the wedding," he said coldly. "Perhaps we should call this charade off."
"You bastard! You queer bastard!" She tottered toward them, unsteady on new high heels, gleaming French manicure outstretched and aiming for Lex's eyes.
Clark quickly stepped between her and her target, but fell back with a hiss of pain. "Lex! It's the make-up," Clark gasped, holding onto his stomach as the meteor-induced agony shot through him. "It's made of meteor rocks. You have to get it off of her."
Lex, completely cured, snatched a seltzer bottle from the drink table and after a dangerous minute of fumbling, turned it on full blast at his fiancée's face.
She howled, then staggered under the torrent of soda until slowly sinking to the floor, sobbing.
When she lifted her face she was no longer beautiful nor young-looking. It was the visage of a haggard older woman, somewhere close to fifty going on ninety. Her craggy, green-tinted skin was lined by a vicious decades-long fight against the ravages of time using the magical, and deadly, cosmetics.
Mascara ran down her cheeks in great black rivulets and it was safe to say the meteorite make-up had a definite downside.
It was sad, it was pathetic, but most of all it was ugly. Very, very ugly.
"Yah!" Lex said. He shied away, unable to look anymore.
Clark cringed. Forget the meteor rocks. He had seen the Tammy Faye special on E! and this was too close for comfort.
"BASTARDS!" she screamed. "I hope you're very happy together, you freaks of nature."
"People in glass houses," Lex said, waving over his security guards who'd miraculously appeared at the door -- minutes too late, of course. "I'll be sure to get you the help you need." He straightened his bow tie as his former fiancée was dragged through the gaping crowd, kicking and scratching. "Although I'm not quite sure even the professionals will know where to begin."
Lex pushed past the gathered gawkers, strode to the podium and tapped the microphone for attention.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm very sorry to announce that the wedding, due to circumstances beyond my control, has been canceled. I can't apologize enough for this sudden change but I hope that all of you will do me the honor of enjoying whatever amenities are already here. There's tons of food and drink and the band is staying, so I hope you'll join me in a simple celebration of life."
The crowd muttered and Lionel Luthor (who'd never looked happier in Clark's estimation) raised his arms high above his head in a victory salute.
"Well, you heard him." He glared at the band who broke into "Let's Dance" at a fearful tempo. "Stop standing there like a band of slack-jawed yokels and let's have a party!"
A collective shrug passed through the crowd and everyone milled toward the bar where the shakers soon were shaking next to rumbling blenders going at full speed. Three drinks later everyone was looking almost as happy as the Luthors and Clark, except for one notable exception.
"Damn," muttered Jonathan Kent beneath his breath, just loudly enough for Clark to hear. "Damn it to hell."
----
The wedding that wasn't turned into the best party Smallville had seen in decades, ever since Mr. Luntz decided to bequeath his fortune in cash to the town drunk, Charlie Carrol, on the condition he turn his life around and embrace the joys of sobriety.
It didn't happen and before the executor could take back the money, Charlie had bought beers for everyone. Then some whisky, then some more and before they knew it, the town of Smallville had enough gossip under its collective belt to last a generation.
That hallowed day paled in comparison to Lex's Liberation bash, as Chloe called it.
There was dancing, none of it formal, some of it downright embarrassing and Lionel Luthor was a smart man to eject the video photographer before starting the conga line through the castle. He looked wickedly elated and all the souls following him joined in wholeheartedly, even through the garden fountain where Mrs. Stratis lost both her new shoes.
Martha Kent beamed and snuck extra chocolate truffles into her sparkling handbag. Nell Potter counted paid-on-delivery floral arrangements and smiled. Chloe tossed cocktail shrimps at Pete and everyone applauded his dead-on imitation of Sally the Sea Lion, star of the Metropolis Zoo, as he snapped them down from the air one after another.
Jonathan Kent merely looked crushed.
Lex smiled half apologetically at everyone who passed, thanked them for being so understanding before he pulled Clark into the coatroom for stolen kiss after stolen kiss, eventually emerging guiltily flushed and more than passably happy.
Lionel Luthor, true to his word, turned the other way while this was going on. But, true to his nature, he couldn't help but get a comment in edgewise.
"Seems like my son's pulled a whammy on you, young man," he smirked as Clark shyly pushed his way to the bar to put down his soda.
He nearly dropped the glass. "Pardon me, sir?"
Luthor laughed at his terrified expression. "Never mind, boy. Just remember, what you see isn't always what you get."
"Right. Um, I'll remember that sir," Clark promised.
And Clark would remember, for the ten seconds it took to join Lex on the dance floor, doing a chaste "we're just pals" version of The Bump, for which everyone cheered, far too drunk to care.
After the ten seconds were up, however, all bets were off and it was back to a world of ninety-nine percent illusion, one percent pain.
Clark Kent couldn't have been happier.
____
fin