Title: At Arms Length
Author: Maddie
Rating: PG
Feedback: Constructive feedback is always welcome.
Archiving: Please ask first. I usually say yes.
Disclaimer: The characters and the town of Smallville belong to DC comics and the WB and anyone else who had claim to them. Only the plot belongs to me.
Spoilers: None
Summary: A furturfic set nine years after season one. Coming home to Smallville. Some things have not changed. Hard to summarize this one. Reading is better. Characters include Lex and Chloe.


At Arms Length

Lex Luthor descended on Smallville, a little over nine years ago turning life here into temporary chaos, not unlike the meteor shower that took the town by surprise fifteen years prior. His arrival was marked by the same rush of emotion, and it wasn't just the speed of the cars he drove that stirred up the dust. Rumors flew, shaking this sleepy little hamlet out of its complacent reverie. Granted, there was a LuthorCorp plant at the edge of town, and one of many Luthor mansions not far from that, but the Luthors themselves never graced our community with their presence for more than a week or two at a time. We were little more than an afterthought in the fast paced Luthor world. I doubt Lex would have even remembered Smallville if he hadn't been here the day the meteors came. If he hadn't been scarred, like so many other people, by the cataclysmic arrival of hell from the heavens. We wondered why had he come back? Or more specifically, why had he been he exiled here?

I don't think any of us ever learned the answer to that question, though several of us tried, either directly or indirectly to pry the information from him. What had he done to be banished here and why was he never granted dispensation to return to Metropolis? I suppose in the broad scheme of things, that really didn't matter. The fact remained that he came, and he never left, and while I'd say most of our minds settled around the idea of him being here, very few of us actually accepted the notion. You could see it in the eyes that followed him whenever he moved through any crowd in town, whether on the street, or at one of the local restaurants or small clubs. It was particularly evident in the looks he received from those old enough to remember his father. The looks reserved for Luthors. The ones that said, 'I don't care how much money your family has, you don't belong.' The looks, that if tipped with diamond, would have drilled through his skull when his back was turned, because no one ever had the balls to tell him to his face what they thought, except for maybe Jonathan Kent.

There was an almost tangible sphere of avoidance that surrounded him wherever he went, at the farmer's market, on the street, in the Beanery or the Talon, even at the occasional mansion party he invited us peasants to. People avoided making contact with him. They moved away as he walked through a crowd. At first I thought people were simply keeping a respectful distance, but after a while I saw that it was more than that. People were afraid of him. Afraid that something Luthor might rub off on them if they got too close. And he encouraged that sentiment by doing nothing to prove them wrong. As though he had accepted this mantle of disdain as an inevitable part of being Luthor. None of them could see that he had actually helped this town. He'd kept his 'crap factory' afloat when good business sense would have told him to shut it down. He took a risk and increased operations, saving countless jobs and creating others, when logic, and his father, told him to cut his operating budget and lay off workers. Over the years he faced down his father's wrath more than once for us, and while we all suspected he had his own agenda, in doing so he helped this town through rough economic times.

No, even after all these years I can still see the same emotion in the faces of the good citizens of Smallville. When they look at him all they see is the Luthor name. And while they may be obsequious to his face, they talk behind his back. Small town Smallville talk. Who he's cheated. Who he's slept with. Who he'll destroy with his next business venture. All the wonderful, if often unfounded, gossip. I confess I played the game too, shared the titillating rumors. To so many of Smallville's good citizens Lex has been the symbol of all the bad things big business can be, and while I'll admit, there are things about Lex I didn't trust, he has never intentionally hurt anyone in this town. There have been incidents, suspiciously shaky incidents, that could have turned into disaster, but didn't. Incidents that may not have been Lex's fault, though he accepted responsibility and whatever blame we heaped upon him.

Not that the enforced isolation is entirely Smallville's fault. Lex Luthor doesn't exactly reach out to people and draw them in. Always aloof and in control, he envelopes himself in practiced disinterest. I was amazed the first time I actually watched him walk through a crowd, weaving gracefully around elbows and backsides, skillfully avoiding all physical contact. Oh, there have been exceptions, the women who drape themselves over him at the slightest provocation. Hanging on his every word. Little better than leeches. Sucking the life and the light out of him with their endless greed. And the 'yes men' wanna be's who are little better that the women, hoping for some token Lex might cast their way.

The role of the distant, dispassionate monarch has been one he has played very effectively. Until he thinks no one is looking. That is when a careful observer can see the true Lex Luthor. The man behind the mask. The man who has spent his life guarding his heart and his soul from prying outside eyes. Not because there is a putrid blackness rotting there that he doesn't want us to know, but out of fear we might see the hurt, and the loneliness, the deep, burning ache to belong to anything other than the Luthor legacy. To belong to friends and lovers. To belong to the boundless and unselfish love of a father who cares. To belong to a family. For all his external wealth, Lex Luthor is starved for the things so many of us take so easily for granted. And he doesn't want us to see his need. So he hides behind a aloof facade, a wall of control, that very rarely cracks. He keeps us all at arms length, because if he allowed us to draw near, we might just see him falter. And above all else, Luthors never falter.

Lex had honored the business and community leaders of Smallville with a gala celebration this evening, though he has no interest in most of us. It was what the Lord of the Manor was expected to do. As usual he moved through the crowd with practiced ease. Socializing as though his relationship with this town was congenially normal. The citizens of Smallville had put aside their daggered glances for an evening and yet it wasn't long before I saw Lex quietly withdraw to the side of the room.

The party was in full swing, he must have though no one was watching because, for a moment, his face relaxed. His customary expression was replaced by a look of wistful sadness. Wistful was not a word I would have used to describe Lex Luthor nine years ago. But, I'd like to think I've also grown up and learned to look at the man for what he is, not what the rumors say he should be. It hasn't been easy to set aside my suspicions and instincts.

Turning my attention back to where he was standing, I saw he had once again assumed the classic Lex pose, hands buried deeply in his pockets, face composed and distant. Now was the time, I thought as I set my drink on the bar and slipped from the stool I was sitting on. Making my way through the crowd in the conservatory, I tried to mimic the way he moved. Slipping unnoticed through the crowd of bodies, intent on my goal. I wasn't quite as successful as Lex. I was stopped by one or two of my former classmates along the way. I realized as I moved that there were so many lifelong acquaintances here that I could not call friends. Most had dismissed me throughout my high school years, few had acknowledged my accomplishments afterwards. In many ways I was as alone as Lex.

I'm not sure what brought me back to Smallville. Perhaps, like Lex, it was my father though in a different way. Dad was getting up in years and he was also alone. I always thought I would roam the world. I never thought I would end up here. But I'm here by choice. Life in Metropolis, for all its glamour, didn't hold the appeal I thought it would. Perhaps, I had learned one valuable lesson from Lex Luthor. Better to be a leader in exile, than be a mere minion in the armies of the king. I had accepted the position of Editor in Chief for the Smallville Ledger. Not quite the same as working for the Daily Planet, but far better than the Inquisitor or the Torch. And here I was in control. It was up to me to mold the Ledger or melt it down. I liked the idea.

I had visited Smallville frequently in the years leading up to this evening, unofficially to visit my father, and often, officially, to cover stories concerning the enigmatic Lex Luthor. I understood more than many, how skillfully a Luthor could manipulate the press, and yet I always felt Lex was more honest with me than he would have been with others. Those visits had kept me in touch with Lex, and though I hadn't always called him a friend, I began to think of him in those terms. Until the terms of engagement changed.

As I pushed through the last of the crowd in the conservatory and looked up again, I noticed that he was no longer standing near the side of the room, but had slipped out into the garden. I followed, shocked by the sudden rush of warm, humid air laden with the heavy fragrance of lilac. They were blooming late this year. I could see his shadow at the edge of the garden path barely lit by the lights from the house, a hint of moonlight catching the top of his head. I refused to think of halos and Lex in the same thought, but that was what it looked like.

The tapping of my shoes on the marble verandah seemed harsh and invasive as I walked to where he stood, hands still in his pockets, surveying a kingdom he could not see. I waited beside him without speaking, inhaling the heady aroma of lilac, and the faintly musky scent of Lex's cologne.

"Some things never change," he said in that quiet tone he uses.

I knew what he was thinking. Once a loner, always a loner.

We stood together in silence. "I wanted to thank you, Mr. Luthor."

"Thank?"

"For taking good care of my father. His retirement package was very generous."

"Your father has been one of my best employees, Miss Sullivan. So tell me, what brings you back to this fair city of Smallville?"

"I've accepted the position of Editor in Chief of the Smallville Ledger."

Lex gave me a disbelieving look. "Smallville Ledger? With your investigative abilities and ambition, I was certain you'd be Perry White's hand picked and trained successor as editor of the Daily Planet."

I shrugged. "Oh, that was an ambition at one time. For me and a thousand other aspiring reporters."

"And do I detect a note of bitterness."

"Let's just say, Mr. White has already picked his successors."

"Clark Kent and Lois Lane."

I nodded, trying to keep the frustration and anger from my expression and my voice. I had spent my teen years pining over Clark Kent while he was passionately in love with Lana Lang. I'd finally escaped to Metropolis, landed a position as the Planet's youngest rookie reporter ever and thought I was free to start again. Until Clark joined me in the news room. I could have dealt with that alone, because in my heart I would always have a special place for Clark. But when I saw him falling for my bitterest rival at the Planet, Lois Lane, I refused to spend more years longing for someone I would never have. Besides, deep in my heart, I had come to realize my destiny was not in Metropolis.

"Miss Sullivan?" Lex's voice was quiet but intense, interrupting my silent thoughts.

I smiled. "I decided to take a lesson from you, Mr. Luthor."

"Better to rule in hell...."

I nodded. "And you, I always thought you would be ruling the world before you were thirty."

"Exile can be never-ending," he answered, staring off into the darkness of the garden, conjuring in his mind, what armies I'll never know. "And plans change." He smirked, an expression that never complimented his face, but which he wore like armor. "Who says I don't already rule most of it."

There was an unfathomable look in Lex's eyes in that unguarded moment. An odd mix of pride and regret. Over the years I've seen other expressions in his eyes when he thought I would not notice. Smoldering passion, a burning hunger, a need I was once too young to truly comprehend, a desire that was beyond my ability to satisfy. Sometimes it seemed his glances were directed only at me. When I was in high school they all used to frighten me. Then somewhere along the line I realized that what I felt for Lex went beyond friendship. I don't understand when it happened, but I realized I was no longer happy to be an observer at arm's length. I did not care if he moved through life with orchestrated perfection or if he slipped and fell along the way. That's what friends and lovers are for. To help when our loved ones slip and fall.

I should have said something, asked how he was, but I couldn't. Instead I laid one hand on his shoulder and turned him towards me. There was a quizzical look on his face. I had, after all, touched royalty unbidden. But there was no other reaction. He continued to stand, facing me, hands in his pockets. Now or never, I thought. Tell him now or you never will. Better yet, show him.

Without further thought I grabbed the lapels of his suit coat in my hands, watching as his look of curiosity turned to one of mild surprise. I crumpled the expensive fabric in my hands, not caring that the jacket's tailoring was impeccable or the fit perfection, only knowing that under the meticulous clothing was a heart and soul I wanted very much to touch. For a second I held him at arms length, then slowly pulled him closer, until I could brush his lips with mine, the barest whisper of a kiss.

I pulled back, suddenly unsure of myself. He hadn't moved, still stood calmly, hands thrust deep in his pockets. He ran his tongue slowly over his upper lip as though tasting some remnant of me. Had I so seriously misjudged him? Had I so seriously misjudged myself? I could feel an embarrassed flush burning my cheeks and thanked God for the concealing moonlight.

"Certainly, Miss Sullivan," he said, his voice barely audible, not the slightest accusatory, "there's more."

Encouraged by the challenge I read in his words, I stood on tip toes, pulling his head to mine, my lips meeting his once more. Tentatively at first, then more deeply. My tongue flickered across his lips, marveling at the slightly sweet taste of the wine he drank as I opened my mouth, inviting his response. I didn't think that the worldly Chloe Sullivan could possibly be surprised, and yet I was, by the gentleness of his response. Gentle, yet electric, as my lips tingled down to my toes until I feared I'd forgotten to breath and pulled away.

He stared down at me a surprisingly intense look on his face. "Chloe." My name sounded wonderful coming from his lips. "Are you absolutely certain this is what you want?"

I realized he had never taken his hands from his pockets, and although he stood less than an inch from me, he remained distant. I released my hold on his lapels, absently smoothing them as I started to pull away, feeling foolish for assuming my advances would be welcome, or that he would want the distance between himself and the world breached. I backed off a step turning to leave before he could see the tears of humiliation that welled in my eyes.

"Chloe, wait."

There was something in his voice that made me turn. He had not moved, and yet his voice conveyed his overpowering need.

"I've wanted you. More than I can say, for longer than you can imagine." He was different now. "But I'm afraid for you. For what I will do to you."

"You wouldn't hurt me."

"No, but I could destroy you. What you are. I have every intention of bringing my bastard father to his knees, and anything and anyone associated with me will--" He stopped mid-sentence as though the image he had created might overwhelm us both.

"Can I consciously make that decision myself?" I asked again, stepping closer.

Only then did he reach out and gently rest his hands around my waist. He pulled me closer, my body tightly against his, his heart pounding against mine. This time the kiss was his to take, on his terms. I needed only to respond. I had found my destiny, and it was here in Smallville.

(end)