Hello! Well, a whole chapter within one week. I'm proud of myself.
This one is all Chlex again, so no worry for those who were abhorred with the last chapter. Hmm…So far I've had 'interesting', shocked disgust and 'funny'. Lol! I did warn…Anyway, there's mention of what happened in the last chapter, but no slash.
This is a rather frustration of moping and a further exploration of the sweet and wonderful friendship between Lex and Clark (repetition: no slash). Still mostly Lex's POV, I'm afraid, but next chapter Chloe will take over again. Anyway, on with the rest of the storm…
Twenty-nine: In which everybody is unanimously unhappyAfter his meeting with Shell Lex more or less tottered out of the building and into the company car he'd arranged to pick him up and have him transported to LuthorCorp Towers. He didn't know if it was because of the subject of pipe lines and oil jetties, which wasn't something he specialized in, or the remnants of the alien pheromones polluting his blood, or the back-lash of sexual release combined with both mental and physical trauma (He'd never been raped before. Most certainly not by a friend. Shot, yes. Kidnapped, yes. Tortured, yes. Betrayed, yes. He could deal with that easily—well, he dealt with it. Rape…rape was new, and he wasn't yet sure how well he was going to cope when it finally sunk in), or simple lack of sleep, but all he wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep for a day.
Nonsense. With Chloe gone, his father seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his head again. You don't need sleep. You just need a couple of aspirins, a cup of coffee and a whole-wheat sandwich with tuna salad and lettuce.
Lex chuckled faintly at himself. It was one thing to have his father discipline him about his personal failings, but imagining him lecturing about food was actually quite funny. Opening eyes he couldn't remember closing, he flipped open his cell and scanned the internet for the latest news. He didn't have to, because he knew that Mary, or any other assistant he had, or, probably the fastest of them all, his father, would inform him if there was anything in any newspaper that might possibly threaten either him or LuthorCorp. There was nothing. Instead of relieving it, the absence of incriminating articles increased his worry triple-fold.
Why hadn't Chloe published the Cradle Cancer story yet? Was she too upset? Was she ill? Or had she simply not have the time to finish tweaking it yet? Was this a good sign or an ominous one?
Lying in a half-sprawl in the backseat of the car, Lex rubbed his painful wrist with one hand while he fiddled with his cell phone in the other.
What tactics to use? He was a patient man, and waiting things out had yielded him victories that might easily have been total destructions…but waiting for the article that would warrant his execution was killing him. Waiting for Chloe to WRITE that article was killing him. If she wanted to bring him down, she should just do it and not leave him hanging like this. On the other hand, if he could still stop her, somehow...
Women were strange creatures. Was she torturing him or was she waiting for him to take the first step towards reconciliation? He remembered Paris, and that abhorrent hat, and almost called her...but then he remembered her standing in his office, screaming that she would bring him down, and he snapped his cell closed with an abrupt surge of anger.
No. He was done pleading with people to forgive him for things they had no right to demand his forgiveness for. If she hated him for doing things of which she didn't even know the details, without even giving him a chance to explain, there was no use humiliating himself and trying to explain. She wouldn't listen. People never listened. Not the people who mattered, anyway. Fine. If she had judged him guilty, so be it. Her loss. And if she thought she could take him on in court, well, he'd show her yet! He'd show her EXACTLY what he was capable of! If he had to, he'd have her declared insane. Madness ran in the family, right? If she was so convinced he was an utter bastard, he'd be one. He'd drag ma Sullivan out of her madhouse and plant her drooling form in front of a bought-off jury, and then Chloe'd find out exactly what happened if you first told Lex Luthor that you loved him and then stabbed him in the back.
In a fit of petulant rage he stuffed the phone down in the breast pocket of his shirt, beneath his coat—and had to dig it up less than a minute later as it announced the receipt of a text message.
Hartlow, the display told him, and he opened the message with an irritated huff.
Lex you missd out girl soooo talnted! Was good 2 c you again. Rep soon? John.
Lex hated people who did not take the time to spell out words in their text messages. John and his rutting filled him with loathing—and a deep, smoldering suspicion. Rep soon? What on earth for? Why was John so determined to suddenly tighten the old bonds? It wasn't as if they'd ever been close beyond the endless nights of clubbing, smoking and shooting up, alcohol-distilling attempts and picking up of women.
"Who hired you anyway," he muttered to himself. "And why?" Surely there were more promising lawyers to be found than John 'Does it have a hole?' Hartlow.
Then he sighed; of course John Hartlow wasn't connected to Edge. He was just a stupid fuck with a glib tongue and slick manners. There was no reason he'd want to bring LuthorCorp down; he'd just secured a position with said firm! And the reason he wanted to hang out with Lex was probably still the same as it had been all those years ago: Lex could significantly broaden his prospects of scoring pussy. The very reason why Lex resolved to quickly sever their beautiful rekindled friendship: he didn't mind to be used as some kind of key to places other people couldn't go to, but he did object to being exploited. John appreciated Lex's intelligence and sharp, cutting wit, but women would always come first. Lex hated being second, even when it concerned people he really couldn't stand. When it came to ruthless exploitation, John Hartlow was even worse than Lex himself, but guilty of treason…nah. He wasn't smart enough.
That was the worst about situations like these: he immediately suspected everybody of conspiring against him. Paranoia was exhausting. He already was so damn tired. He almost wished Chloe would just go ahead with it and excrete all that Luthor filth onto the eager masses.
Disregarding the scathing voice in his head proclaiming him a worthless weakling, he closed his eyes. Twenty more minutes to his office. Maybe, if he tried very hard, he could convince his body that it was twenty hours, so it would heal and invigorate itself.
Chloe sat on her bed, curled up around her pillow, her badgered laptop in front of her humming complainingly about the fact that the covers made it impossible to ventilate properly. She had started typing her big article and what she had typed so far was good, probably the best she had ever written. There was a furious quality to her writing, a
palpable indignation, well founded and with the sheen of righteous tears. Anger and horror dripped from her sentences, never diminishing the impact the story made. It was a masterpiece of journalism.
Reading it filled her with a sickening mixture of professional pride and personal misery.
What she really wanted to do, what she should be able to and NEEDED to do was call Lois and cry out on her suffragette shoulder. She wanted to howl to Lois what a lying, cruel bastard Lex was, how he had shaken her trust by flat-out lying to her about his disgusting little projects, how he had made her doubt her self-worth and dented her faith in herself. And no doubt Lois would agree totally, support her and subtly say that she had known that all along—for Lois could be subtle if she wanted to, and if the situation warranted such. She would urge Chloe to spit her thug over this here beat and cheer for every negative image of Lex that left her mouth; then offer to bash his brains in and
piss on his bleeding body.
It would make her feel a lot better.
For a while.
Knowing that it would make her feel better, if only for one evening, made it all the harder not to grab her phone and wail 'He HURT meeeeee!' into Lois' ear.
Still, she refrained from doing so. On the contrary, she had gently held off Lois' offers of coming round and comfort her in her hour of flu and misery, claiming she was feeling too sick for chickflick marathons. Of course she was feeling quite ill, but only part of it had to do with her cold. While it had taken her out for the count the entire Thursday and she had told herself that it was so bad it would keep her from reading Edge's files today, the cold itself was actually well on its way to certain demise.
Lying to Lois had made her feel guilty, but the guilt wasn't enough to call her and ask her to come over. Her phone was lying silent and blinking on her night stand—the blink was from a missed call that hadn't been Lex. Lex was as silent as her phone.
Another option would be to call Clark and weep against his manly chest of steel. He would be understanding too—if, of course, he'd care to listen to what she had to say and didn't interrupt her every other word—since he'd been through the same stage as she was going through now. Having her blubbering in the protective circle of his arms would, of course, destroy any newly-built trust between him and Lex, and destroying the last chance of a friendship, or at least some sort of non-hostile relationship between the two of them would be a very satisfying way to take revenge on Lex.
It was also something she truly did not want to do. Why? she wouldn't know. The bastard didn't deserve any trust.
The problem was, she thought wryly, that all her friends already thought Lex was shit, and while that made her sure of their sympathy, it wouldn't really help her to figure out what to do. Even while she wanted to be comforted by a pair of strong, either male or female arms, going to her closest friends would be so hypocritical as to be embarrassing. While her feelings of betrayal and anger were very real and legitimate, the whole situation made her feel like a duplicitous bitch.
Lex had lied to her, and that hurt the most—but she'd known he was lying. Ok, she had thought he wasn't lying to her but she really should have known better. These were not the kind of secrets you told, not if they were this horrible.
And she had kept Edge's letter from him. What was more, she'd kept it from the police as well, and she was no longer entirely sure that had been to protect Lex. The article she had just written had broken her heart—but it was a damned good news item. And that painted a picture of herself that was not favorable at all.
Her anger towards Lex was a confused jumble of emotions, aimed mostly towards him but some to herself and to others: anger at him that he had fooled her into believing he was innocent.
Anger at herself for being so upset about it. Horror at what she had read in Edge's files and an inability to connect it to the Lex she knew. Amazement and hurt that he had somehow managed to be so different behind his mask that she didn't recognize him—and doubt, too, because she KNEW what he was like, didn't she? Anger at Edge for making her feel this way. Guilt for following Edge's lead, and satisfaction about finally finding this out—again combined with pain and anger and more guilt for feeling this way.
Before, she had been enraged by what she had perceived as Lex threatening her—"My father will kill you." By now she had realized that he hadn't been threatening her, but was seriously afraid Lionel would kill her. After all, Lionel had tried that before and Lex had
protected her from him, and she had still almost been blown to pieces. That honor-bound obligation to keep her safe, that was so very Lex it made her feel like crying, because it was those chevalier actions that had always struck her as so very charming, and losing that…She blew her nose, tossed the used Kleenex onto the pile in her overflowing bin.
Lex still wanted to protect her, obviously, but since she was the one trying to bring him down she could imagine it was difficult.
And she was afraid. Lionel scared her in a way Lex never would. Lex loved her—or had loved her, anyway; but Lionel would just as well gut her and use her blood for fertilizer. Lex was right, she now understood. If she published this masterpiece of journalist art, she
was going to open a can of whoopass as of yet without bounds. Was that worth it?
As a reporter, she'd answer that question with a ringing 'Yes!'
As a person who knew what it was to be locked away in a safe house...
As a person who was going to betray one of her best friends...
As a woman who was going to socially butcher the man she loved...or thought she loved...
She hugged her pillow tighter to her chest. Bringing this out was the Right Thing To Do. People had died, laws had been broken. Trust had been broken. Hearts had been broken. The guilty party should be punished. The fact that it was Lex shouldn't make a difference—but of course, it did. It did now. In fact it mattered more than anything else in this whole damned mess. She was dying to see him in court, have him pay for that dreadful .wav file and all those other things he'd lied about—none of it as convincing as that horrible scream voiced by the man called 'Jack', and for covering up the Cradle Cancer case. At the same time she couldn't stand thinking she might put him there. Even imagining Lex in court made her feel sick, although he was probably used to it.
A violent wave of hatred towards the two men who made her feel this way made her stomach clench: Towards Edge for using her to uncover his filthy truth, and towards Lex for making her love him and having this kind of skeletons in his closet.
I hate you for not being able to let me keep my blissful ignorance.
There. It was out, if only in her head. The first entirely truthful thing she had thought all evening. It was a thought so petty and self-centered she would have laughed at anyone else voicing it, and she did sneer at herself, but the epiphany did not make her feel any better. Nor did it answer the question What am I going to do now?
"Send it or destroy it?" Her fingers hovered over her keyboard. She typed another three, four condemning sentences, saved her file. Then she blew her nose, stared at the text, and sighed. Lex. Why don't you call me and stop me?
If reality had mirrored Lex's state of mind, there would be torrential rains, flashes of lightning and growls of thunder, and the occasional swell of musical despair produced by an orchestra of corpses playing Mahler's sixth symphony. Instead, the sky was blue, the sun was shining, and a misguided brass band around the corner was playing 'Happy Days Are Here Again'.
Lex sat staring at a printed spreadsheet, supporting his head in his hand, and wondered if he could have another shot of espresso without getting a caffeine overdose. Already his heart was beating twice as fast as it usually did (he could feel it thudding rapidly in his chest) and faint tremors kept starting up in the pit of his stomach and then radiating outward, ending at the tips of his fingers. His entire body was thrumming with nervous, caffeine-induced energy. Unfortunately that energy did nothing to improve his concentration, nor did it drown the lethargy dragging his eyelids down. His mind couldn't decide what to stress about: Chloe's betrayal, Lex's anger at that betrayal or Lex's hurt feelings at being so brutally dumped, Clark's unexpected, alien problem, the way he'd solved it, his manner of reasoning, and the after-effects of the problem's solution. To his chagrin, Lex also realized that he badly missed someone to talk to—someone he trusted, liked and who wasn't afraid to joke with him or tell him to go to hell.
His poor subconscious didn't stand a chance figuring out how he felt about Chloe or Clark if his conscious ego couldn't work it out. As a result, any and all of the thoughts above kept intruding at the most inappropriate of times— while he had lunch and drank way too much coffee; during telephone conversations; while he was writing a summary of this morning's meeting for his Asia department; in the middle of an unpleasant but very necessary and calculated loss of temper with one of his directors who'd screwed up in France; and now, again, while he was trying very hard not to fall asleep over the spreadsheet.
"Sir?"
He didn't even open his eyes. "What?"
"Go home."
"I'm not done yet."
"It's five." Mary's voice came from a very short distance, and he slowly tilted his head on his hand until he could see her face. "It's Friday, and I'd like to go home. However, a good P.A. never leaves before her boss does. You're putting me in a dreadful situation. Especially," she smiled a little, "since I don't think you have moved a muscle in the last forty minutes and have been sitting with your eyes closed for at least ten. Are you alright? I know you don't appreciate me prying into your private life, but you seem somewhat off-kilter these last few days."
"Busy week," Lex said noncommittally. Mary arched an eyebrow, and he sighed, tired of keeping up appearances. What good would it do to remain here and thereby force Mary to stay as well if he wasn't going to do anything productive anyway? He put down his pen, shut down his computer and carefully got up from his chair. Mary was right, he hadn't moved a muscle in quite a long time, and with good reason: they all hurt. Maybe he could call a masseuse over and have her knead the kinks out of him…No, bad idea. Not with all those bruises. Massaging them would increase the blood flow and make them heal faster, but he really didn't want to expose his tenderized flesh to curious eyes.
"Here you go," Mary said, and helped him into his jacket. As he stretched out his arm the cuff of his shirt rode up, showing a beautiful sunset of color on his wrist. Mary noticed it, and he saw her eyes widen, but she said nothing although her lips thinned and worry darkened her eyes. He grunted an expression of thanks, both for the help and her silence, put on his coat as well and followed her down to the reception hall where he ordered a car to take him home. He managed to stay awake until he was dropped off at his penthouse, rode up the elevator in a half-doze, opened the door and took off his shoes with his eyes closed and failed to get undressed further than his jacket before simply giving up and sinking down on the bed. His blindly seeking hand pulled one pillow down for his head and another to keep him from rolling over—his back didn't approve of that. Maybe next time you can buy yourself a really tight inflatable doll and use her to get off instead of me, he thought hazily. Before he was halfway finished tugging the duvet around him he'd already fallen asleep.
Chloe finished her article at nine. After editing it was eight pages long, had twenty-eight footnotes, listed three crimes with enough evidence to be punishable by law and four that had inadequate proof to be a serious threat to LuthorCorp but were still damnable enough to raise some serious hell and incite the Metropolis Chief Commissioners to write bible-thick stacks of search warrants.
She had sent it to her Daily Planet email address as a .doc file and printed it out on her semi-multifunctional; now she had it on her lap, together with the last carton of Ben&Jerry's Clark had brought her yesterday, and licked chocolate ice cream from her fingers to keep from making fingerprints on her baby. Oprah was on—no matter what time, Oprah was always on, on one channel or another—and today's issue was, very fitting, violent and destructive children.
She cast a look at her own newest creation, caressing it with her fingers and sneering down on it with a curled lip. Ten pages, including a title page and finishing blank page, and two blind cartons to keep it together. Her baby. It felt like a baby for sure. She couldn't bear to let it out of her sight, her thoughts were constantly with it, and she had dedicated it all her energy. Now she didn't know what to do with it.
'It doesn't matter what I do,' a young, stressed-out looking single mom sobbed on Oprah's ample chest. 'it's never enough! He just doesn't listen to me. I just want him to love him, he's my baby, and he's all that I have, but I just can't deal with him!'
Oprah made shushing noises. The camera zoomed in on a four-year-old sitting in the chair next to his mother's, his small legs kicking, feet ten inch from the floor. He was regarding his mother with barely concealed disdain. The expression looked out of place and rather creepy on his young, freckled face.
"Yeah, it's a really good idea to admit that right in front of your son," Chloe scoffed, and plunged her spoon deep into the ice cream container. "He's really going to respect you after this revelation."
Her own baby, after its lengthy and painful deliverance, was quiet and unobtrusive—much like a new-born Mordred. Its mother could do two things: send it into the world and let it wreak righteous havoc on its father with the chance of ending up dead herself as a result, or kill it and spare herself and its father a ton of grief.
'Don't you…discipline him?' Oprah asked tentatively. 'I mean with time-outs, putting him in the corner?'
'I've tried…' the young mother sighed. 'But it affects me more than it does him! I have no authority over him whatsoever.'
Could a mother kill her child? Chloe watched a home-shot video of the mother and her son that was almost as shocking as the .wav file on Edge's memory stick. If that boy had been her son she'd have flushed him down the toilet at the age of two. Yet her article, lying so sweet and heavy on her left knee…No, she couldn't give that up. She didn't want to. Lex deserved it. He'd had it coming a long time. Bastard.
He still hadn't called her. Apparently he didn't want to explain himself. He was probably sure he'd win any case she might bring to court. Chloe almost choked on a huge spoon of ice cream. "We'll see about that, Lex! We'll just see about that when I send this in, won't we? And God you'll be sorry for not trying to apologize to me!"
Oprah introduced a Super Nanny, a pleasantly portly woman with a friendly face and eyes like the Terminator. Chloe turned off the TV. She wanted to go to bed filled with cold rage and conviction…
…before she changed her mind yet again and started feeling alone and miserable.
Lex woke up at two o' clock at night in a tangled twist of blankets, trying to fend off alien rapists and a small blonde girl who was shouting descriptions of everything that was happening to him through a Dictaphone. His head felt as if it was going to split in two like an overripe water melon and all the bruises on his body were all singing a different song of protest.
"Fuck you," he gasped at the ceiling. "Make up your mind about which events you're using to create my nightmare." Combining every single traumatic event of the last...two days...really wasn't playing fair.
Since he felt sleeping was out of the question for the time being he got out of bed, desperately missing someone he could curl up against, got himself a drink and spent two hours zapping through one mind-bendingly horrible program after the other, until sheer depression made him turn off the TV and try to get some more sleep.
When he woke up again it was almost two in the afternoon. The headache was gone, his bruises had all faded to a greenish brown and yellow, but he was still feeling so low he almost turned over and went back to sleep again. Unfortunately Luthor pride insisted that wasting time like this was simply 'not done', so he got up, ordered something to eat and sat down (at least he could sit properly again, that was good thing) on his couch, waiting for the energy to take a shower. As he was sitting there, he turned on the news...nothing. He zapped through every channel that might possibly show any kind of news…nothing.
Then he plugged in his laptop, logged into every newspaper site he had a password for, and hacked into a few others besides...nothing.
She still hadn't published anything. What the hell was she doing? Why the HELL hadn't she published her great big disclosure all over the world?
"What are you waiting for!? What the FUCK are you waiting for, you bloody BITCH!?"
If only he hadn't loved her. If only she was someone else, anyone else, she'd have been properly persuaded by now that getting anywhere near a keyboard would result in fingerless hands. If she'd been anyone else he'd have been standing on her doorstep two evenings earlier and scared the hell out of her simply by telling her he would be most displeased if she made any of that crap public. He'd have her deported out of the fucking country, if she could just have been ANYONE else but Chloe bloody Sullivan.
"FUCK you!" he screamed in helpless fury, and threw the nearest object at hand against the wall. It turned out to be a pillow. It made a soft thump and fell serenely to the floor. "Fuck you," Lex muttered, and became even more angry when his eyes began to sting. He would NOT cry over yet another pathetic lost love affair. He was a Luthor, god damn it, and Luthors bounced right back. He'd bounce her right out of the earth's atmosphere!
Well, there was the energy he'd been waiting for, even if it didn't exactly improve his state of mind. Snatching up the ash tray from the destroyed club from his table, Lex got to his feet and hurled the it with all his might against a framed etch just above his television. Both the glass, the etch, and the ash tray exploded with a cathartic crash. He'd hoped the pieces might damage his TV as well, but no, the destruction was restricted to etch and ash tray.
Good enough. He'd broken something and that had been his intention. No use tearing down his entire house—he'd only have to have it refurnished and he really wasn't in the mood for working men. Casting one final, satisfied glance at the mess on the floor, he angrily stalked out of the room, towards his bathroom, taking a furious delight in slamming every door he walked into.
After showering and forcing himself to have a proper lunch Lex tried working for a while, but his mind refused to properly boot up; it was almost as if he were normal again.
Thankfully, there was Clark.
When Lex opened his front door to head out to LuthorCare and check up on his kids, something that didn't require his brains to actually function, Clark was standing right outside his door, leaning against the opposite wall of the hallway.
"Hey Lex," Clark said, reaching out one of those huge hands of his…and Lex freaked out so hard he had slammed the door into Clark's face and was back inside his own bedroom before he even knew he had turned tail and ran. Any conscious thought was drowned out by a boiling flood of adrenaline and one overpowering realization: NO. I WON'T LET HIM DO THAT AGAIN.
Clark called his name—too close, inside. He'd stopped the freaking door!
Lex pressed his back against the wall, eyes flicking frantically all over the room searching for a weapon, any weapon that might stop him…The ring, where had he put the ring? He had a gun hidden away in his desk in Smallville, but not here, and where had he left that fucking green K ring?
"Lex?" Clark asked. He must be standing right outside the door to Lex's bedroom. Lex's teeth began to chatter. "Lex? Are you ok? Can I…can I please come in?"
He clenched his jaws together and pushed harder against the wall. "No. Go away."
"Lex. Please. Let me in. Please. I won't hurt you. I swear I won't hurt you. I won't even get near you. Please let me in, I need to talk to you."
He can walk through that door as if it's made of paper, Lex reasoned with the thing inside of him that was still fleeing. He's asking if he can come in. He's in control. He says he won't hurt me. Christ, this is Clark bloody Kent we're talking about. He wouldn't hurt a fly. He was still shaking so hard the change in his pockets was jingling.
"Lex?" Clark asked again. "Are you ok? I'm…God, I'm sorry. Please let me come in. Please let me apologize. Are you ok? I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking. I won't hurt you, I swear I won't. It's over, I'm fine and I'm not going to hurt you, ok. So can I please come in and see if you're fine?"
Lex took a deep breath, rubbed an icy hand over his wet face. He barked out a laugh at himself: Lex Luthor, standing knee-deep in fear-sweat—but when his mouth closed his teeth began to rattle again and even his fists were quivering. Nevertheless he forced himself to nod. His mouth was too dry to speak.
Clark had been looking through the door, because the handle turned and he opened the door, wide as it could go, slipped in and placed himself against the wall, as far away from Lex as was possible while being in the same room. His face was a study of horrified guilt and that, that familiar expression on that innocent, familiar face, stopped the animal instinct in Lex's body trying to burrow into the wall. Whenever you start to panic, some childhood therapist droned in the back of his head, imagine you're behind a bullet-proof glass wall. Nothing can touch you. It's like a movie. Breathe. He breathed.
He was beginning to feel spectacularly stupid.
"I'm sorry," Clark said. "First and foremost, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you, and I'm sorry I assumed you wouldn't mind. I'm sorry I was so selfish. I'm sorry I didn't…I didn't think about how this must have been to you. I thought…I honestly thought it wouldn't hurt you. I didn't think it…I never meant to damage you." He shook his head, his eyes never leaving Lex's face. Something like pain twisted his mouth. "I was so afraid of hurting Lana I never considered that even though you'd heal, it'd hurt you too, more, maybe. It simply didn't occur to me. All I thought about was that you'd be able to take it, and that you're the only one I trusted enough to turn to, and I'm…Lex, I'm so sorry. Please stop looking at me that way."
"S-sorry," Lex lisped. "Rabbit-reflex." The shivers began to ease up. He unclenched his cramped hands. Luthors did not behave like rabbits.
"I'll leave, if you want," Clark said. His voice caught, once. "I understand. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry and that I never meant to hurt you." He studied Lex with a thoroughness that suggested X-ray and that, as well, helped Lex to repress the urge to run like hell. Which, after the easy way they parted just after Clark had raped the fucking daylights out of him, was a pretty weird response anyway.
Stress. Must be stress. Being scared of Clark Kent…Ha! Laughable. He's the good guy, remember? He saves people. He doesn't rape them. So what if he can restrain me with one digit? I'm fine. I'll be fine. If he says he won't hurt me, he won't.
But he did.
And I don't think I'm doing quite so well.
"Do you want me to leave?"
He swallowed. "No."
"Are you alright?"
Lex laughed. "No. You scared the fuck out of me." He flung himself away from the wall, endeavoring casual elegance, and kind of crumpled on the bed. His fingers were still quivering. He frowned down on them, and they stopped. Lex kept looking down on his hands, telling himself that he wasn't afraid, and that not being able to pinpoint Clark's position every single second was not threatening at all. When nothing happened for more than a minute and even the last minor tremble had bled away, Lex looked up and smiled, happy to have his face obey him again.
"Well," he said dryly. "That was embarrassing."
"Lex…"
"I get it. You're sorry."
"Are you sick?"
"Sick? No. Why?"
"I mean, did…what I did to you, are you ok? My…my semen, I mean. It didn't hurt you?"
Ah. That. Lex smiled faintly. "No. At least, I don't think so. I've just been really tired. Especially yesterday, it's better now. But I thought that might have been a reaction to your pheromones. Could have been your sperm, I don't know. If so, it's mostly gone, now. There was no long-term damage—as you predicted."
Clark grimaced. "I'm sorry. What about…I checked for broken bones, yesterday. But when I woke up I remembered what I…how I held you down." He was blushing again. "Did I hurt you in any other way?"
"Why don't you check?" Lex asked, a touch cruelly.
"I can't. I can't really focus my x-ray like that. I can look through clothes and flesh and bones, but I can't really select which layer to remove." He took a step closer, then reigned himself in and remained where he was standing. "Please, Lex. I need to know. Did I hurt you in any way? Other than the…obvious." He looked away. "I know I should have known but I honestly didn't realize it would be so hard on you. I mean, there are lots of gay men, right, and they all have sex, and if it is so painful…But that's neither here nor there." He turned back to Lex. "Please show me."
"No," said Lex.
Clark's mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "Why not?"
"I'm not going to let you beat yourself up over something that has already happened and for which you've just apologized."
"That bad?" Clark said quietly.
Lex almost rolled his eyes. Trust Clark to read him wrong when he was being laconic. "It hurt. You got that." For some reason he was beginning to get a little angry. Clark once broke his arm when he was infected with some sort of paranoia substance, and he didn't apologize then, or only vaguely, claiming he hadn't been himself. Why bother now? "It's ok now."
"It can't be ok if seeing me makes you freak out like that," Clark said stubbornly. He sighed as Lex raised an eyebrow. "Fine. Don't show me. It's your good right."
"Damn right," Lex said. He slid off the bed. "Come on. Let's behave like civilized people and continue this conversation in the living room." As he walked into the sitting room (or actually towards the decanter with scotch in the sitting room), he expected Clark to comment on the pile of broken glass and clay on the floor and the TV, but while he must have noticed, Clark said absolutely nothing, just sat down and shook his head when Lex raised a glass at him in question. Lex shrugged and filled it to the brim, drained it in one gulp. Armed with a newly filled glass, he sat down on the couch opposite Clark.
"So," he drawled, once again in control. "About your little problem. Is that over now?"
"Yes. It's completely gone."
"No heat befuddling your brain and getting in the way of social conditioning? No irrepressible desire to ravage me?"
Clark blushed again but refused to rise to the bait. "No. Lex, I'm…"
"Sorry. Yes, so you've told me."
"I won't ever do this again. To you I mean. I…"
"Let's not make promises we might regret later, shall we now, Clark."
Confusion spread over Clark's face. "But I thought…Lex, you can't mean that you want me to do this to you again."
"You're right," Lex said calmly. "I don't. But since you don't have an alternative I'm not going to take away your only option. I told you that I'd be there if this would ever happen again and I meant it. Of course," he continued in a lighter tone, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't wait until you were overcome with lust and wouldn't completely disregarded my personal well-being the next time…and," he drew out the word until it was rendered a nasal hum, "I want to know."
"What do you want to know?"
"What happened. Your being in heat. I want to know how it starts, and how often it's going to happen. I'm not asking you to give me a show of your abilities—although I'd surely appreciate it." Clark was silent. "Let's begin," Lex continued briskly, "what happened after you dropped me off at the jetty site. How did you feel, then? And what did you do?"
"I went home," Clark said. He sighed. "I was wasted. I slept the entire day, and night; I only woke up a few hours ago. And then I remembered what your arms looked like…"
"Enough about me, I'm fine. So you were worn out, too. Are you ever tired, usually?"
"Of course I am. Not physically, but I do get tired."
"But this was physical?"
"I…I think so, yes."
"Have you kissed Lana lately?"
"Yes, I did, when I woke up, and no, she didn't react to it."
"Why did you blow me?"
"What?!" squeaked Clark. He controlled himself. "I think because…" So he hadn't forgotten about that, nor did he claim that he had. That was interesting. "Because you were fighting me and I…something in me wanted you to stop struggling. I don't know. I like it when Lana does it to me. I guess I thought it might make you more…docile."
I should have taped this, Lex thought. "So it wasn't to get me covered with pheromones?"
"How the hell should I know, Lex. I wasn't dropped on this earth with a user manual. My father…my BIOLOGICAL father's full of wisdom but he never came by to give me sex-ed. I only know that by the time I was standing outside your apartment, all I felt was this overwhelming need to get rid of that heat and the knowledge that you were the only person I knew who could help me deal with this. I honestly don't remember much about…our…encounter. And, like I said," he pulled up his shoulders in defense, "call me a stupid country hick but I really didn't know it would hurt you like that. Not that that would have stopped me."
"No," said Lex, amused because the admission was both guilty and proud—Clark didn't know anything about gay sex and was perfectly happy not knowing, even though he wished he had known more than the absolute basics for Lex's sake. He should have gone to Excelsior. He'd have learned a thing or two. "I don't think anything would have stopped you."
"I'm…"
"Ssssh." He took a pondering sip.
"It's just that…I'm usually very, very good at controlling myself. Do you know how easy it is for me to break every single glass I pick up if I don't concentrate? Shaking people's hands is something I have to do with great care or they end up with squashed stumps. I was losing that. It wasn't that I wasn't paying attention, I just COULDN'T judge what was ok and what was going to rip the door out of its hinges. It frightened me to death."
"So as a matter of fact I should be glad I only ended up a little bruised," Lex concluded dryly.
"In hind sight," Clark said, so grave Lex felt a twitch of worry, "I should have found another way to burn through the heat because I could have torn you apart."
Talking about an unpleasant way to die: raping and quartering. Lex repressed a shiver. "Well, you didn't."
"But I could have, and…"
"Clark. Stop incriminating yourself, and stop apologizing. It's tiresome. We're both fine, so let's not create doom scenarios simply so you can speed up your guilt trip. Just stop it, alright? I accept your apology and as long as it won't happen again any time soon I'm still volunteering for repetitions."
"It won't happen any time soon," Clark hastened to reassure him.
"Good."
Clark watched him while he sipped his scotch. "So," he said after a while, clearing his throat. "Are we cool?" Lex nodded. "You're not afraid of me anymore? I don't want you to be scared of me."
"You wouldn't have said that a couple of months ago."
"That was before I became a rapist," Clark said harshly, and Lex winced, because those words coming from Clark Kent upset his world view. "I can deal with you being afraid of me because of something I might write about you, or because I'll stop one of your projects, not because you're afraid I'm going to assault you."
Maybe, Lex thought wearily, I should move to a place where people don't know about my secret projects and actually want to be my friends because they like my company. "I think that fear is gone."
"You're sure?"
"I think so. Although I must say I would appreciate it if you didn't start hunting for my downfall for the next half year or so." One was enough, thank you.
Clark snorted. "Lex, you're the public's darling at the moment."
"Huh?"
"You just cured Cradle Cancer," Clark said, smiling. "Don't tell me you already forgot. The people love you. They're singing your praise in the streets. I'd have to come up with a whole lot more than an inkling of some illegal project or other to break that devotion."
"Oh, that. Do you think so?"
"Yes," Clark said. "I do think so."
What about proof that his company was responsible for it, and solid evidence that Lex 'I cured your kids!' Luthor had made a great effort to make said proof disappear? Would that do? "Oh," said Lex. He faked a smile. "That's good to know."
They sat in silence for a while. Clark didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave, and Lex was ok having him sit in his drawing room. With the other man as a distraction, his head was calmer, his thoughts less chaotic. When Clark spoke, that uncomfortable shyness had almost left his voice. Apparently apologizing over twenty times diminished even the guilt over rape.
"Did you and Chloe have a fight?"
Lex choked on his drink. "What?" he coughed.
Clark thumbed over his shoulder. "Your ash tray. It used to be an ash tray, right? You seem to have misplaced it. Um, right into that painting."
"Etch, actually," Lex corrected. "It wasn't a painting, it was an etch. And yes, we did have a fight." About me lying to her and her deciding loving me was inferior to bringing out the truth as perceived by the man who tried to kill me. He did not elaborate. Clark didn't ask. He truly seemed to be completely unaware of the reason of their spat.
"Are you going to make up?"
Lex shrugged. "It depends." He cleared his throat, feeling a certain unwanted huskiness in his voice. "I hope so."
"You should, Lex. Chloe's a great girl. She's good for you."
Oh yeah, she's wonderful. Between you and Chloe I'm slowly losing my mind. At the same time a spasm of want made his fingers clench around his glass. "I know she's a great girl. You thought so too, before you decided she was great but not the love of your life."
"We both decided that," Clark said defensively. He splayed his fingers over his thighs. "I can't help I keep coming back to Lana. I know it isn't right, lying to her, I mean. But I can't tell her. I mean I…can't. I just can't. I can't bear to lose her, and I will lose her if I tell the truth."
"How can you be so sure? If she really loves you, she won't care."
Clark sneered. "Oh yes," he said softly. "She would. Chloe could handle it. She's different. But Chloe isn't Lana."
"No," Lex said. Lana was curious about things but didn't move heaven and earth to find out about secrets that weren't any of her business. She wasn't as driven as Chloe, nor as smart. He sighed.
"Did you hurt her?" Clark asked, shy and sympathetic, the way he used to be when he was fifteen. "I talked to her on Thursday and I recall she was upset about something, but I can't really remember what she was talking about."
"In a way."
"Did she hurt you?" Clark said it as if he knew exactly how nasty the fairer sex could be.
Oh yes. Yes, she had. "In a way."
"Did you lie to her?" Lex looked up at him, expressionless, and Clark sighed. "Do you want me to talk to her?"
Lex laughed. It had seemed such a good idea yesterday: manipulate Clark into manipulating Chloe. He didn't even need to do any manipulation; Clark, knight in shining armor to every damsel (or evil billionaire) in distress, was willing to take it up for him without even being asked.
God, it would have been funny if it wasn't so sad.
"Nah," he said, bolstered by this offer of friendship despite himself, "Not yet. I'd like to think that I'm able to salvage my own relationship. I appreciate the suggestion, though. I might take you up on it if things don't work out."
Clark smiled. Lex smiled back. He'd just refused, and they both knew it.
"In that case…I'd better get going. I won't give you any advise because you don't want it, but…Chloe likes roses. Pink ones. And she's a chocoholic. You probably knew that already."
"Yes," said Lex, "I know." If it only were that simple. But he nodded and smiled as if Clark's well-meant advise was usable. When the younger man had let himself out, he sat back on the couch and pressed the foot of the glass against his forehead.
Pink roses and chocolate.
Yeah, right.
Sunday arrived and Lex dragged himself out of bed at nine, feeling as if he had repeated the night with his old study friends even though he hadn't touched a drop more than the two glasses of scotch he'd had before closing his laptop and falling face-first into bed. It wasn't the same kind of tiredness as he'd felt after Clark worked him over, just a general fatigue generated by his overall misery. He showered on auto-pilot, skipped breakfast and made a quick Irish coffee instead, hoping the combined bite of alcohol and caffeine would wake him up. It didn't.
The newspapers were indeed singing his praise about Cradle Cancer—one of the kids had given a statement to the Inquisitor and all was well with the world. There was no sign of slander or other unpleasantness. Again, it failed to make him feel better. Glumly, he stared at the remains of his etch, still scattered over the TV.
Time for more drastic measures. He put on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants and headed down to the basement gym. Two hours later his muscles waved the white flag, while his mind was beaten into its usual razor-sharp shape. He showered for the second time, happy to note that his work-out had significantly aided in making the bruises disappear even if it had reinstated the dull ache in his shoulder.
Wong had sent him the plans for the glass factory, and he made use of his current alertness to go over them and add comments before sending them back. His foreman from the Smallville plant had sent him an email requesting a meeting, and Lex wrote him back to say that he'd be there on Monday. Before he knew it, it was four in the afternoon, and he hastily threw his laptop into his Ferrari to get to LuthorCare before the evening visiting hour would begin. He had planned to visit the children the day before, but Clark had changed his plans. Not today; he wanted to see them before leaving for Smallville in the evening.
Outside, the sky was already dark and snow was drifting down. It wasn't torrential rain, and when he turned on his radio he heard Radiohead, not Mahler, but it would do. He turned on his windshield wipers and left, knowing the remains of ash tray and etch—the proof of his loss of temper—would be cleaned up when he returned.
Seeing Jessica, Ronny and the other children made him both happy and uneasy. They were so cheerful, so grateful—at least, the older children were. Ronny was happy to see him as usual, but he didn't have a clue why he should be grateful. That was good, since he didn't have to be grateful at all.
Lex couldn't stay long; the parents would arrive soon and he didn't have any desire to talk to them. However, when he came to the room Emmy had been moved to, he noticed someone was inside already. A soft voice drifted through the half-open door. He peeked inside and saw a blonde woman sitting on the edge of the girl's bed, whispering sweet nothings to the child and dripping tear drops on her sheet. Not a nurse, then. Emmy's mother? That horrible woman who'd let her daughter get the feeling she was nothing if she had no hair? He stopped, listening to her voice, waiting for a chance to tell her what a self-centered bitch she was.
"Everything's going to be fine, my darling," the woman said, smiling through her tears. She couldn't stop touching her daughter, stroking her cheeks, her arms, kissing her little hands. "You'll be fine, and then I can take you home. Mr. Mobs is waiting for you; he'll be so happy to see you again. He really misses you, you know? I take him out of his cage every day, and then I tell him that you'll be home soon, but I'm sure he'd much rather see you himself."
She went on like that for some time. Emmy drank in her words like it was the water of life, too weak to reply but clearly overjoyed to have her mother with her. Lex, on that very fine line of incidentally overhearing and eavesdropping, silently wondered what kind of animal Mr. Mobs was. A rabbit? Guinea pig? Perhaps a bird of some kind, or a more exotic pet, like a chinchilla. His anger was disappearing like blood covered by fresh snow.
Emmy's mother was exactly what he'd expected: a well-to-do woman, slightly arrogant, well-dressed and made-up, with a select amount of antique rings gracing her slender, manicured fingers and a trim figure. But as she walked out of Emmy's room, gazing back and waving every two steps, she was also a woman who had come very close to losing her child, and however stupid she was, that had wiped away her superiority and left her plain and exhausted, with swollen eyes and run-through mascara, a red nose and a jerking chin. An object of pity, not of rage.
In the hallway, Mrs. Sittard, halted and gave a loud, unladylike sob, and vainly scrubbed her eyes. Her shoulders were shaking. Lex searched in his pocket and came up with a flat package of Kleenex. One of his old 'comfort tissues'; they were always handy to have around in case one stumbled on a woman in tears. He tapped Mrs. Sittard on the shoulder and handed her one. She blindly accepted it with a wet smile, blew her nose and wiped her eyes. Only then she looked up and realized who was standing in front of her.
"Mister Luthor…?"
"Mrs. Sittard." I would like to tell you how much I detest you, and how I hold you personally responsible for the fact that your daughter is attached to a respirator instead of playing with the rest of the kids who were not told that they were worthless without hair. I think you are a selfish, loathsome female who doesn't deserve the love of such a lovely girl.
But he said nothing. He couldn't, not in the ray of exhausted gratefulness that was suddenly turned upon him. Mrs. Sittard clasped his hand, even though he hadn't offered it. Her eyes were still overflowing, but her smile, though tremulous, was wide and quite beautiful.
"Thank you," she said. "Thank you for all you've done. Thank you for saving my little girl."
"You are welcome," he said, helpless and hating himself more than her. "Really, it was the least I could do."
It took him another five minutes to extract himself from the detested mother's clinging grasp, and when he finally managed to pull away he was thoroughly sick and tired of the whole Cradle Cancer business. All he wanted was out.
I think my C drive is in need of defragmentation, he thought to himself as he made his way to the elevator. It's getting overheated. I should call Chloe. Clark's right, I should just call her. Maybe it isn't too late yet, maybe I can convince her to…God, I just want her back—no! She betrayed me, not the other way around. If anyone should make the first step it's…
"Wow. That's some deep down digging you're doing," a low voice commented with a trill of laughter. He slowed down, startled, as Valerie Decan fell into pace next to him. "You didn't even notice me. It's good to see you, Lex," she greeted him with that wide smile, and suddenly he didn't want to be subjected to that calm, piercing, gentle brown gaze.
"Valerie. Hi." He gave her his best fake warm smile and strolled on, creating a maximum of space between them in the most leisurely fashion. His face tightened as he heard a quick patter of clicking heels: she was running after him. Fuck.
"Wait up, Lex," she said, catching up with him. "I haven't seen you in ages. I was wondering how you were doing. How are you?"
He presented her a pleasant smile. "Me? I'm fine. How are you? You must be terribly busy…or are things letting up now the children are recovering?" Keep talking about her, her work, the kids. He had continued his purposeful saunter towards the elevator; within a minute he'd be rid of her without even once giving the impression that that was his objective. "I just saw Emmy. She seemed very weak still; I thought she'd recover more quickly."
"She was, quite literally, at death's door," Valerie said. "Even a miracle cure like the one you got us can't repair such a taxed body overnight."
"It's been over a week."
"And it'll be another week before she can start even trying to walk again. She just needs time, Lex. She'll be fine, but she does need time. What about you?"
The fuck? "What do you mean?" he asked amiably. "You mean my injuries? I'm almost completely healed. With my old healing factor back, I…"
"That isn't what I meant," she said.
The elevator was at least another fifty steps ahead. Lex relaxed his shoulders, creating the impression he was totally at ease, at the same time walking just a little faster. "Oh? So what do you mean?" What do you mean? What do you know?
She laughed. "Lex, you can't just tell me you're fine when you're looking like this. Don't lie to the person with the psychology background. You look like shit. Is everything ok?"
Lex was mystified. He'd looked in the mirror just before he left and he looked just like he always did. "I must've mistaken my night cream for my day cream again," he drawled, and she snorted.
"You don't use facial creams."
"How would you know?"
"You'd be afraid you'd look gay. Besides, you don't need them."
"At least fifteen magazines are convinced I'm gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide; who's to say they aren't right?"
"You're quoting Pratchett to me now?"
"He's gay too, Pratchett. He has to be with that hat he's always wearing. Let alone that he wrote it together with Neil Gaiman. I mean, 'Gaiman'?"
"You are trying to evade my question."
"What question was that? I think I missed it."
She sighed, and something ominously like concern creased her brow. "Whether you're alright. I get the feeling that you aren't."
"You're wrong," said Lex. He came to a standstill in front of the elevator and pressed the button, hoping it wasn't stuck on the first floor. "I'm perfectly all right." He did not ask her why she thought he shouldn't be fine, mainly because he didn't want to hear it.
"Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"
He almost laughed in her face. "Actually, I was just leaving for Smallville. Business," he added, before she got it into her head that he'd go there for different reasons.
"At five?" she exclaimed. "You'll be stuck in the traffic for hours!"
"It's Sunday. And I don't mind traffic." He managed not to push the elevator button again.
"And it's snowing," Valerie maintained.
"Not heavily. Besides, I have snow tires."
"Oh come on. One cup of coffee. We could talk about the children. Jessica…"
He wasn't about to let her use the children to trap him and hear him out and then flood him with concern. The elevator made a soft humming sound; an indication that it was almost on his current floor.
"I really can't, Valerie. Another time, perhaps?" Ping. He gave her a friendly peck on the cheek and slid into the elevator as the doors opened. There were three other people inside. Valerie Decan's foot hovered between the doors for a few seconds, then, with a glance from his face to those of the other people inside, she pulled back her foot and sighed.
"Ok. But do come by one of these days, will you?"
"Next week," Lex promised glibly. He gave her a smile that made her eyes widen in alarm and sucked it back in before she jumped after him. Yes. Defragmentation was definitely in order. The doors closed. The elevator went down.
TBC
