A/N:
How's the pacing working out? On the one hand, I don't want it to be a "Lex waves magic Evil Wand and Clark succumbs," on the other hand, I don't want the tiny buildup of manipulations to get boring.
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Clark looked at me with troubled eyes. At their best, they can remind me of opals, the way they seem to change color with different angles and lights, one part of my mind noted, while the other parts did a last-minute recheck of my story.
I sighed. "I can't help thinking that if I'd been around, maybe...maybe your parents wouldn't have...I'd have been able to get your father treatment...it wouldn't have been like this."
"Your money couldn't solve everything. He never would have taken it, in any case."
"No. Ironic, isn't it? The people I want most to help won't let me, the ones I don't care about are always right there when the checkbook comes out. I learned that in Smallville and keep learning it again." I laugh shortly. "I learned a lot in Smallville, and mostly the lessons my father wanted me to. That my name defines me absolutely. Even Alexander Borgia had a grandson who was named a saint. I suspect it will take more generations than that to clean the Luthor blood. That's what I learned when I came back to Metropolis."
"What do you mean?"
"You reported most of it, you should know. He was dead. Level Three--remember that--that was the equivalent of not mentioning his favorite toothpaste. There were so many secrets, uglier and uglier, that I kept finding. They were so mixed up with legitimate business that it was hard to separate them. God knows I drove myself more than a little crazy trying to. Shutting things down that turned out to be legitimate, pouring funds into what were cover companies." I veiled my eyes with my lids. "I had no idea what to do or how. After all, I could hardly call in Arthur Andersen. I think if one person had told me that leaving it all behind was an option--I would have." I closed my mouth abruptly. "But I didn't want to talk about my troubles. They don't matter."
"Of course they matter." That was the earnest old Clark, eyes shining with unspoken platitudes.
"All right, then, they can't be solved."
He had the grace to look hesitant before answering, "Of course they can."
I swallowed hard. "You still have faith in me, Clark."
"Come on, Lex, everybody says you're a genius."
"And you believe what they say in the papers?" I grinned up at him, teasing, as I had so often before, then held my hand up to my mouth. "God, Clark, I didn't mean to say that."
"Say...oh, the papers...Lex, I still can't believe I did that. Even if I was...out of it."
"Pain makes us strike out in strange ways, Clark. When we feel as though people are abandoning us or betraying us, sometimes we're the ones who run away first, or hurt them, in order to make them get it over with. God knows I did." I muttered the last under my breath, but he heard me, as he was intended to.
How's the pacing working out? On the one hand, I don't want it to be a "Lex waves magic Evil Wand and Clark succumbs," on the other hand, I don't want the tiny buildup of manipulations to get boring.
**************************************************************
Clark looked at me with troubled eyes. At their best, they can remind me of opals, the way they seem to change color with different angles and lights, one part of my mind noted, while the other parts did a last-minute recheck of my story.
I sighed. "I can't help thinking that if I'd been around, maybe...maybe your parents wouldn't have...I'd have been able to get your father treatment...it wouldn't have been like this."
"Your money couldn't solve everything. He never would have taken it, in any case."
"No. Ironic, isn't it? The people I want most to help won't let me, the ones I don't care about are always right there when the checkbook comes out. I learned that in Smallville and keep learning it again." I laugh shortly. "I learned a lot in Smallville, and mostly the lessons my father wanted me to. That my name defines me absolutely. Even Alexander Borgia had a grandson who was named a saint. I suspect it will take more generations than that to clean the Luthor blood. That's what I learned when I came back to Metropolis."
"What do you mean?"
"You reported most of it, you should know. He was dead. Level Three--remember that--that was the equivalent of not mentioning his favorite toothpaste. There were so many secrets, uglier and uglier, that I kept finding. They were so mixed up with legitimate business that it was hard to separate them. God knows I drove myself more than a little crazy trying to. Shutting things down that turned out to be legitimate, pouring funds into what were cover companies." I veiled my eyes with my lids. "I had no idea what to do or how. After all, I could hardly call in Arthur Andersen. I think if one person had told me that leaving it all behind was an option--I would have." I closed my mouth abruptly. "But I didn't want to talk about my troubles. They don't matter."
"Of course they matter." That was the earnest old Clark, eyes shining with unspoken platitudes.
"All right, then, they can't be solved."
He had the grace to look hesitant before answering, "Of course they can."
I swallowed hard. "You still have faith in me, Clark."
"Come on, Lex, everybody says you're a genius."
"And you believe what they say in the papers?" I grinned up at him, teasing, as I had so often before, then held my hand up to my mouth. "God, Clark, I didn't mean to say that."
"Say...oh, the papers...Lex, I still can't believe I did that. Even if I was...out of it."
"Pain makes us strike out in strange ways, Clark. When we feel as though people are abandoning us or betraying us, sometimes we're the ones who run away first, or hurt them, in order to make them get it over with. God knows I did." I muttered the last under my breath, but he heard me, as he was intended to.