A/N: I don't own any of this.
I almost decided not to post this … oh the angst. I have to stop. The next one will be fluffy, I promise.
Nadir
Amongst all of Lex's questions and quests, there are a few basic truths he knows:
He knows that he will be judged harshly. The relentless pursuit of answers will lead him to take actions that conventional morality will reject. His own resolve may even waver when the moments present themselves, but in the end he will follow through without remorse. His intentions, his sanity, his very humanity will be called into question.
He knows that he is becoming his father.
He knows that he will never stop. His work may ultimately destroy him – in his more morose moments he almost hopes it will – but even that doesn't deter him. These pursuits are now all he has left to keep him from releasing his grip on reality and slipping completely into the seductive arms of madness.
He knows that he will never know a day's peace. No matter what he learns, no matter how much worldly worth he amasses, it will never be enough; there will always be more questions.
He knows that he hates Clark Kent. And that too is a torment from which he will never be released.
Perhaps it is true what they say, that hate is only thwarted love; but it doesn't matter what the nature of hate might be. Even philosophy cannot ease its sting.
All the women Lex has known – and there have been a considerable number – cannot blot Clark's image from his mind's eye. Their soft curves, their empty eyes, their seas of flowing hair in bronze and auburn and gold hold no sway against the magnetic power of his former friend. Lex has never even touched him, not in the way he burns to; but he still owns Lex's soul, whether or not he wants or knows it.
Clark is the zenith, the very polar extreme of all that Lex will never be. He is purity, he is altruism, he is hope. And despite all reality and reason, Lex loves him – and despairs – and hates him for it.
There was a time when Lex could focus all the desperate power of this feckless emotion into something less hideous. He has spent more time and effort on Clark Kent than he ever has for any other person; he has sought his approval, his acceptance, his pleasure with a dogged tirelessness that makes him sick now to remember it. Perhaps if Clark had ever shown just the slightest hint of gratitude, of trust …
Lex never says his name aloud now. That would be too risky; if he lets it grow too comfortable in his mouth, who knows at what inopportune time it could slip out?
He knows that Clark is stronger than he is, and that he cannot possibly hope to win in a fair fight. But he knows nevertheless that one day, he will kill him. If he is doomed to live in hell, then the least he can do is send Clark there himself.