Title: Reciprocity
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Rating: PG
Author: Lillian Luthor
E-mail: isso_k@yahoo.com
Feedback: sure, I'm a bitch for it... I'll even settle for flames if you have nothing good to say
Archive: if you care enough to want it, you have it. just let me know, or whatever...
Disclaimer: they're not mine, nothing this pretty has ever been mine... I'm just borrowing, in an amateur and unprofitable kind of way.
He sat in his office at the very top floor of the Luthorcorp Tower, his back turned with indifference to the majestic view of the nighttime Metropolis. He held in his hands the familiar shape of the portrait that had adorned his desktop for what seemed like forever; it was him and Clark, the year they met. They had barely known each other then; still so much unsaid, so many secrets kept. By then, Clark had already been everything to him.
There was an intrinsic beauty in the simplicity of things back then, and sometimes he just wished he could go back to those years of easy friendship and well-meant lies. To those times when he was just the rich brat in his exile, and Clark was just the innocent farm-boy with the puppy-dog eyes and the big heart. To the times before Luthorcorp, before Superman. Before duty and destiny meant anything to either of them.
He had loved Clark since the moment he had laid eyes on him, and he had loved him more every year that passed until it became the only real thing in his life, the only tangible thing in a sea of nothingness. Right now, Clark was his world. Clark was his reason to live, his reason to wake up every morning, to eat, to drink, to breathe. Clark was his reason to keep working, keep trying. He had to improve if he wanted to keep up with Clark.
That's why he loved that old picture so much, and that's why he had never tried to replace it with a new one. Because it was the beginning. They were going to be the stuff of legends, and so they were. Ten years after that first meeting in a Kansas countryside bridge, they were still together, still bonded. Their destinies were linked, and it always came back to those first years.
It all came back to the bridge, and to Belle Reve. The beginning, and the point that had marked them. He had come back from the dead at that bridge, but his life, as it was, had only started after Belle Reve.
He remembered very little of Belle Reve, and the little he remembered was fogged by the drugs they had filled him with. If he thought too much about it, it scared him how little he recalled of the place, of the sterile rooms and the constant fear. Strange how the human mind worked, or his at least. He had blocked the nightmare, and could only recall the dream that was almost too good to feel true.
He remembered Clark, getting him our of there. He remembered beautiful concerned eyes staring at him in his prison, a warm and terrified smile in a gorgeous face promising everything would be alright. He remembered the castle, as it had been then, and he remembered Lionel with cold eyes and words of feigned tenderness that were a threat even when they sounded like endearments.
He remembered pain, fear, hard work. He remembered Clark, always there, always with him. Clark helping him to go on, to stay sane, to fight back everything that was done to him. He remembered dreaming about Clark and him, about more than friendship, and he remembered the fantasy becoming real.
He remembered making love to Clark, his innocent farm-boy, and the soft words that had been exchanged with ease and feeling. He remembered Jonathan, and his shotgun; he remembered Martha and her apple pie. He remembered Chloe in those early days, always asking questions, always seeing beyond the obvious. She would have been such a wonderful reporter.
He remembered Pete and his distrust, and he remembered Lana and her pretty eyes and soft smile. Clark and Lana had never been meant to be; Clark belonged to him, and now they both knew it. There was nothing for him but Clark, and there would not be anything else for Clark but himself. Not if he had a say in it.
There had been inconsistencies in those days, he could tell now. Times when Clark wouldn't be there, and he would be left alone and wondering. Times when the things Clark did didn't make any sense, and times when reality was pushing hard to make itself known. He knew now, of course.
It had all been a dream of perfection for ten years, before he had had to face the reality of how things would be, of how they were meant to be. Of how they always had been, really. He had never wanted to share Clark, never wanted Smallville to be over. He was always in Clark's mind, and he found certain comfort in that, but sharing Clark with the world had proved a terrible challenge.
His life, as it was, had only started when he had left Belle Reve, three months ago. It had only started when Lionel had died, leaving in his will the final order of releasing Lex and giving back to him what was his by right; Lionel's final joke. If Lionel weren't dead, he would still be in Belle Reve. If Lionel weren't dead, he would still be 'travelling around Europe', as the official story went, dreaming pharmacologically induced dreams of Clark and of freedom.
If Lionel weren't dead, he wouldn't be Luthorcorp's CEO. He would still be in Belle Reve, his home for a decade. He would still be dreaming of sweet-eyed Clark and Jonathan's shotgun. Some days he hated Lionel for dying and making it end, and sometimes he was so glad Lionel was dead that he didn't give a damn. Clark was still his; he would always be his. Years would pass, and he would work hard to keep up with Clark.
He looked at his hand, and at the kryptonite ring, and he grinned. Clark had never showed up to rescue him. Clark had never loved him, never cared. But he would make him care, he would make him see. He would show Clark that they did have a destiny, and that it was a destiny of greatness. Someday, he would have Clark, and he would destroy him. Destroy him as Clark destroyed Lex, when leaving him behind.
If one thing Lex did not like, it was to be left behind. He loved Clark more than anything in the world, and he hated Clark more than he had ever hated anyone. Clark had forgotten, but Lex would never forget, and he would make Clark see. He would make Clark see him before he destroyed him, before he destroyed everything Clark stood for. It didn't matter how many had to die, how many millions had to be spent; if he couldn't have Clark, then nobody else could.
As for now, it was enough that Clark knew he was there, lurking, waiting, scheming. It was enough that Clark hated him. Hate was definitely better than indolence.