Reminders and Regrets
by Celli Lane
***
Feedback: celli@fanfic101.com
Category: Futurefic; angst; slash.
Rating: PG-13 for language and "sexual situations."
Spoiler: One passing reference to "Dichotic."
Summary: "I hate you some / and I love you some / but I miss you most." Part of the Elizabeth Smart Challenge.
Archiving: Ask and I'll probably say yes.
Disclaimer: Smallville and its residents belong to Millar Gough Ink, Warner Brothers, DC Comics, and other assorted people with lawyers. Bummer.
Notes: Huge thanks to Jayne for the challenging, the betaing, and the brainstorming. Feedback, good or bad, greeted with the kind of excitement usually reserved for naked billionaires.
Edited to add: ack! I forgot to explain the challenge-related bits! Notes at the end.
***
You chase me like a shadow
And you haunt me like a ghost
And I hate you some
And I love you some
But I miss you most...
--"On a Bus to St. Cloud," Trisha Yearwood
***
Smallville
Thanksgiving Day
***
Clark stood at the door. That hadn't been a car driving
by. Well, it had, but it had been a Ford pickup, not an
Aston Martin or a Porsche or anything costing more than the
mortgage on the farm.
"Superhearing fails again," he muttered, and went back into
the kitchen.
"Is someone coming?" his mother asked. Martha seemed to be
stirring something, setting the table, and giving him a
Concerned Look at the same time. Moms were amazing.
"Nope. I thought Pete might be down early, but whoever it
was drove by."
"I'm really looking forward to having everyone back. It
seems like every time you came home from college these last
couple years, Pete was interning, and Chloe had a story to
write, and Lana was out with the horses. It'll be nice to
have you all together in one place."
"Yeah," Clark said. *All of us that matter anymore.* The
pain had settled in his chest like a dull ache, and he
welcomed it lately as his powers grew more and more, well,
powerful. Maybe he couldn't hurt physically anymore, but
he could be heartbroken with the best. Yay him.
"I'm surprised it's not snowing," he said quickly as the
Concerned Look got turned on him again. "It seems like it
always snows on Thanksgiving, usually just in time for me
to get stuck in a blizzard driving home."
"Welcome to Kansas," Martha said. "If you don't like the
weather--"
"Wait five minutes, it'll get worse," they said together.
Clark felt some of the bitterness ease as he looked at his
mother. He gave her a quick hug.
"I think it's behaving because Someone," she pointed her
spoon at the ceiling, "knows it's our last Thanksgiving
like this."
"What do you mean last? Mom, just because we're graduating
doesn't mean none of us will come home for the holidays
again."
"You never know. The Planet might want you to work. There
might be a big story only you can cover."
"Or a little one and all the star reporters will be home
for the holidays, more likely. Assuming the Planet hires
me at all."
"Of course they will!" She leaned against his shoulder.
"Or there might be a disaster or something. You might need
to...help out. You never know."
"True." His near-total recall (SuperMemory, Pete called
it) was the only thing keeping him in a decent GPA this
year. It seemed there was a new crime to fight every ten
minutes. He and Pete and his parents all worried about
it...but they had until graduation to figure something out,
before he had to find a way to excuse himself from a nine-
to-five job to go save people secretly. "Okay. So if it's
our last Thanksgiving bash, we should do it properly.
Anything I can do to help?"
She pointed at the table. "The cider's getting cold."
Fwoomp! He blasted it with a quick heat wave. "Not
anymore."
She was laughing. "Okay, but after everyone gets here, you
might want to use the microwave instead."
"Yes, Mom."
"Now get your dad. If we let him, he'll be playing with
the new tractor all day and he'll never get dressed for
dinner."
***
Jonathan was in the barn, of course, practically petting
the new tractor.
"Have you named it yet?"
"What?" His father looked up with an embarrassed laugh.
"Sorry. I know you and your mother think I'm being
foolish--"
"No, not foolish." Clark stepped next to him and ran a
hand over one wheel. "It's going to make a huge difference
in our productivity this year." He didn't look at his dad.
"Almost makes up for me being gone."
"Clark."
He shrugged. "I know it's harder without me."
"Well, yeah. I'm not going to deny that. But I miss you,
son, not your abilities."
Clark shuffled his feet. "Yeah. But." He sent a sideways
look at his dad. "The tractor will help, though."
"Is that a hint? I admit, I had a hard time accepting the
tractor at first."
"So it's all gifts you have trouble taking, not just a
Luthor's." The silence that followed was deafening, and
Clark shoved both hands in his pockets. *Shit.* "I
promise I didn't do anything illegal to get the money.
Pete triple-checked with the Senator's office to make sure
no one owned the claim, and nobody saw me dig the gold up--
heck, it's Alaska, I don't think anyone was around for--"
"Clark."
He stopped. Suddenly the dirt on his boots was immensely
fascinating.
"Don't expect me to get angry because you miss him."
He rubbed a hand absently over his chest. The pain was
back, compounded by the guilt and the...the sheer emptiness
that not even Thanksgiving and Pete and Mom and Dad and new
tractors and new powers could fix.
"I'll get over it," he said roughly.
He heard the long, rough sigh that was almost a platitude
in itself, and he had to smile.
"I will, Dad."
Jonathan put a hand on each shoulder. "Clark. Look at
me."
"What?" And it was nearly a whine, dammit, he'd thought he
was done with complaining and pity and all that.
"Of all the things you can't fix as a father, this is the
hardest to accept."
"My sexuality?" Clark said lightly, or tried to, and
Jonathan shook him.
"Stop that." A long, steady look; those eyes still saw
more than X-Ray vision ever could. "I want to tell you
it's all for the best. I want to tell you this would
happen anyway, that's who he is."
What he is, Clark thought. Lex had never been given the
chance to be who, just what.
"But I'm your dad, and you're hurting, and it doesn't
matter what I think."
"Dad--" His father's arms were tight around him. How
could he still miss Lex? It'd been months, for God's sake,
and there were only so many classes to take, so many chores
to do, so many lives to save. He should have worked this
out of his system by now.
"Hearts aren't invulnerable," Jonathan said as if he could
read Clark's mind.
"I know," he said into his father's shoulder. "I know."
***
Gotham
Later that day
***
"Mr. Wayne? Mr. Luthor?"
Lex turned smoothly, leaving Bruce still laughing at his
last joke (or smirking, at least, which was as close to
laughing as he usually got). "Thank you, Jayne."
"Is that her name?" Bruce murmured, and Lex gave him a
sardonic look.
"She's your assistant."
Bruce shrugged. "Everything set?"
Lex skimmed through the contracts quickly. They looked the
same as the ones his lawyers had sweated over for hours,
but it never hurt to double-check. Even with a Wayne.
They matched up just fine, and he made short work of the
multiple signatures.
While Bruce did the same, Lex wandered over to the window
and stared out. Fifty-some stories down, and it was all
lights and steel and the occasional snowdrift. Nothing
like the clean modernity of Metropolis, which was nothing
more than a facade for the same crap you saw in any big
city. The polar opposite of Smallville, where even the
snow was quaint, and hey, he wasn't thinking about that.
He checked his watch. A good half hour since the last time
he hadn't thought about it. Impressive.
Lex turned back to watch his assistant, Donna, take the
paperwork and tuck it into his briefcase for him. His eyes
lingered a bit on the LexCorp logo on the cover page. Even
after all these years, it gave him a happy little jolt.
"Thanks, Donna. Nothing else tonight. I'll see you in the
office on Monday."
"Happy Thanksgiving, sir." She followed Jayne out the
door. Lex was sure they'd be discussing their respective
executives within seconds. Well, he had Bruce beat on
fashion, if not looks.
"Heading back home for the holiday?" Bruce asked, moving
nearly silently to stand beside him at the window.
Home. A city mansion with cold floors and a colder master.
A stone castle with a bed he still couldn't sleep in. A
farmhouse kitchen with people laughing and talking with
their mouths full and passing dishes over and around each
other in defiance of any rules of manners whatsoever.
"No, I think I'll go out and find a bar that's still open.
Join me?"
"I have...plans," Bruce said in that deep, portentous voice
that probably made "I'm using the bathroom" sound like An
Event.
"Oh. Well." Lex shrugged. "Have fun."
Bruce smirked. "See you."
***
Gotham might be an action-packed town, but it seemed even
its famous nightlife shut down for Thanksgiving. Lex
walked along, one part of his brain scanning his
surroundings, the other flipping through his options. The
restaurant in the hotel was a last resort...no. He was too
restless to head back just yet. Two or three visits back,
Bruce had taken him to a jazz club that was low-key for a
Luthor but not too unentertaining. Now what street had it
been on...?
"Day deceives, but at night no one is safe from
hallucinations!"
"What the *hell*?" Lex spun around, searching the shadows
near him. "Who said that?"
A man reeled out, bouncing off the nearest streetlight. He
laughed madly. Drunk? High? Plain old nuts? It was hard
to tell.
"The legends here are all of bloodfeuds and suicide,
uncanny foresight and supernatural knowledge."
"Ah...they are?" Lex saw the paper bag clutched in the
man's hand. Drunk, then. "Glad to know it." He backed up
a step, calculating how far he should be before turning his
back on the guy--
--and ran smack into someone. Before he even turned
around, his stomach sank.
Yes. Bad news. Roughly the size of a mountain, dressed
completely in leather, with a wicked-looking nightstick in
one hand. Before Lex could even open his mouth to barter
(he was arrogant, not stupid), the mountain spoke.
"Wallet. Watch. Coat," it rumbled.
Ah, dammit, not the watch *again.* Lex spread his hands in
a hopefully non-aggressive gesture. "Look, I'm sure we can
come to some sort of--"
"Now." The mountain reached out and grabbed his arm.
Lex could feel his temper detaching from the rest of his
brain and taking over. Oh, to have a good golf club with
him... "Like. Hell."
The mountain seemed a bit surprised to be challenged, which
gave Lex just enough time to yank away and put all his
strength into one punch.
No effect at all. Except on Lex's knuckles. Great. He
scuttled back a bit, twisting to get to the knife in his
boot top, which probably would feel like a toothpick to
this guy. Shit! Where was Clark with his improbable
rescues when you needed them?
Both Lex and the mountain had forgotten about the drunk.
"Moon, moon, rise in the sky!" he shrieked. "Be a reminder
of comfort and the hour when I was brave!"
The mountain jerked around, surprised, which gave Lex
enough time to dive for the knife. But when he came up,
someone was behind the mountain. Someone big, masked,
wearing bat ears.
Huh.
Three kicks later, the mountain was a crumpled heap in a
corner, and Lex was unscathed right where he'd started. He
stared at his savior. "Thank you, Batman," he managed.
Feeling rather stupid, he leaned down to put the knife
away. What was he supposed to say? To do? You didn't tip
superheroes, did you?
Of course, by the time he straightened, Batman was gone.
"This is familiar," he told the empty air. "I have a
friend you should meet."
Then he stared back at the ground. No...no, he didn't.
"There is no room for pity, of anything," the drunk said.
He'd moved until he was standing right next to Lex. "In a
bleeding heart I should find only exhilaration in the
richness of the red." He grinned and held his hand out.
Lex dug through his coat pockets until he found a silver
monogrammed flask, which he dropped in the man's hand.
"Here. Shut up."
He stalked off. Pity. Ha. "Nothing bleeding on me," he
muttered. "Didn't you hear? I don't have a heart to
bleed. Asshole."
***
Metropolis
Five months ago
***
"I'm tired of secrets."
Lex sighed. "Trust me. If you told your parents, you
would be much, much more tired of the flack they would give
you."
"They'll get *over* it." Clark was pacing beside the bed,
wearing only unbuttoned jeans and one sock. Lex gave
serious thought to getting out of bed just to remove the
sock. And the pants. And...he made himself focus on the
argument.
"No. No, they won't."
"You don't know them--"
"Excuse me." Lex's eyes met Clark's squarely. "I do know
them. I've known them for almost six years now, and they
still don't trust me farther than they can throw me.
Definitely not as far as you can throw me. They can handle
me as your friend. They might even, with a great deal of
time and therapy, be able to handle me as your lover. But
you know what? The minute you tell them I know about your
past, your father will have you in the Superhero Protection
Program."
How many times had they gone over this argument? Lex let
his mind drift away from the logistics of parental lying
and back to that one dangling sock. If he stepped on it
when Clark walked by, he just might trip him, and Clark
flat on his back was never a bad thing.
"I don't think you give them enough credit." Clark stepped
into Lex's line of view, or rather his chest did. Lex ran
a hand across it almost absently; he could feel the hitch
in Clark's breathing, feel the muscles contract where their
skin met. He moved his hand down towards the invitingness
of those undone buttons.
"They trust me," Clark said, although from the sound of his
voice Lex would be able to distract him any second now.
"Just because your father would screw me over without
thinking twice--"
"Never say 'father' and 'screw' in the same sentence," Lex
said, speaking lazily to hide the burn in his throat.
"Ever. Don't mention my father in the bedroom, really."
His hand dipped still lower. "Why are we still talking
about this? Isn't this the part of the program where we--"
His hand was pushed very firmly away. "It's not always
about sex, you know."
"It's not?" Lex said with mock-innocence. "Because we're
mostly naked in my bedroom, and if we just came up here to
talk, you waited a while to tell me. Or are you really
here for a discourse on corporate mission strategies? I
really don't think that's your kind of--"
"God *damn* it!" Lex blinked at the sudden vehemence.
Clark was nearly shaking with fury. "Not another joke
about how you're slumming with me. Not another attempt to
seduce me out of a conversation. Listen to me, Lex."
"I am listening."
"No, you're too busy having father issues and trying to
feel me up."
Lex threw the covers off and stood in one swift movement.
Clark took a step back. "You're right. It's not about
sex. And it's not about my father," he said coldly. "This
is about a spoiled brat thinking his parents will give him
whatever he wants. They're not just going to fall in line
with whatever your master plan is. They'll see me as a
threat. And my father will treat you just the same.
That's how it *is.*"
Clark's face had flushed at the "spoiled brat" comment.
"It *is* two years of sneaking me out of my dorm room and
making excuses for you to come to the plant on my
vacations. What are you going to do when I graduate?"
Lex shrugged. "I'll think of something then." Somewhere
in between the dangling sock and his father's intentions--
he flinched at the very thought--the argument had left its
usual track. This was a battle now, and Lex knew better
than to give up anything in battle.
"Right. You'll think of something. Something to make my
life even more twisted and dishonest. Because *I'm* the
spoiled brat. Right." Clark moved forward until he was
inches from Lex's face. "Tell me the truth. This isn't
about me at all, is it? It's not to protect me. It's
easier for you to lie."
Sometimes a silence spoke for itself. A thousand replies
came to mind, but none of them could stand up to that. "It
is," he said slowly. Clark was already backing away. "I
thought it was easier for both of us."
"Fuck. *Fuck.*" Clark sat down and jammed his shoes on.
He dug through the sheets until he found his shirt. Lex
somehow felt more naked with each move Clark made to get
dressed. "We've been arguing about this for two years. I
don't know why I thought I could fix it."
"Fix what? Why does it have to be broken?"
"You don't get it, do you?" Clark yanked the shirt over
his head. "I can lie to the world. Okay? I hate it, but
I have to do it. I've accepted that. But I can't lie to
my family. I don't know why I ever thought I could."
His words had an almost physical impact. Clark's family.
The people he loved. The people who had only accepted a
Luthor on false pretenses.
"I don't know why I thought you'd understand that," Clark
said.
"No." Lex's voice echoed oddly in his ears. "What would I
know about family? About relationships? About protecting
people? You have to have an actual heart for that, and
everyone knows the Luthor model isn't equipped with that
particular enhancement."
Clark looked up from buttoning his shirt. For the first
time, his hands faltered. "Lex..."
"You're right." He drew himself up to his full height.
"I'm surprised it took us two years to realize what a
mistake this was."
Clark's mouth shaped the word "mistake," but he didn't
argue. He just left.
***
Metropolis
The day after Thanksgiving
***
Clark landed in his favorite deserted alley and looked
through the walls before walking out casually. No point in
being circumspect about the flying, just to walk into
someone who knew he hadn't been there a second ago. He
headed for the dorm, checking his watch as he went.
Between holiday shopping, family visits, and the wonders of
the new tractor, no one at home would miss him for a couple
of hours yet. And he just really needed to be
someplace...else. Somewhere away from the lingering looks
and the tactful queries and somewhere, underneath, the
demands that he just get over it. Even his friends, who
only knew he'd ended a relationship "badly" (what an
understatement) had stopped asking questions and were
making noises about fixing him up.
"Male or female," Chloe had said cheerfully over a serving
of Dutch apple pie. "You pick. We'll find you somebody,
Clark."
Only sheer manners had kept him from leaving the table.
Preferably at a speed faster than light.
*You're moping,* he told himself as he ducked around other
pedestrians. *You weren't this bad in high school. Well,
yes, you were, but you should be over it. All of it. I'm
sure Lex is.*
Lex didn't wake up in the middle of the night reaching
for...well, if he did, there was someone there, not a dream
or a memory. Lex wasn't still replaying their last
conversation five whole months after the fact, trying to
figure out where he'd made whatever crucial mistake he'd
made. Lex had moved on. And Clark would too.
Clark looked up. Yeah. Just as soon as he stopped
automatically walking past Lex's condo, anyway.
He stared up at the wall. If he focused tightly, he could
just see one of the penthouse windows. Lex's office
window.
*Now you're a moping stalker,* he told himself. *Move your
alien feet. Go. Home.*
There was a quick burst of movement near him, and Clark
looked down to see doormen and limo drivers and all kinds
of assorted servants bustling around the front entrance.
He knew that level of obsequiousness. Lex.
He was tempted to speed away, but just the thought of
seeing him again scrambled Clark's brain, and he couldn't
send the orders to his feet fast enough. And then the wall
of people parted, and Lex was standing there, wearing all
black and all attitude.
Clark swallowed, hard, but even when Lex's gaze reached him
he didn't move, although his legs locked with the effort of
keeping still. His fists clenched in his pockets. He saw
Lex say something--his name maybe?--and take a step
forward, but there was a noise behind him and Lex turned
away.
Clark stayed rooted to the sidewalk until the last of the
people crowding the door had disappeared. If he looked up
and through, he could see the elevator ascending, see Lex
walk into his home, see if he went to the window to look
down.
He didn't look up. He made his way back down the street
blindly. Lex's face seemed burned in behind his eyes
somewhere, and he couldn't forget it. *It doesn't matter.
It's over. He's over it. It's a mistake, remember?*
But that last look wouldn't let him go. Lex's eyes, and
something in them. Something that might have been regret.
--the end-
Challenge notes: The following lines are taken from Elizabeth Smart's book "By Grand Central Station I Sat Down And Wept." The Elizabeth Smart Challenge can be found here: http://www.dreamwater.net/ladyjaynel/smartfic.htm and I recommend not only the fic but the challenge itself. Great food for thought.
"Day deceives, but at night no one is safe from hallucinations. The legends here are all of bloodfeuds and suicide, uncanny foresight and supernatural knowledge."
"Moon, moon, rise in the sky to be a reminder of comfort and the hour when I was brave."
"There is no room for pity, of anything. In a bleeding heart I should find only exhilaration in the richness of the red."
by Celli Lane
***
Feedback: celli@fanfic101.com
Category: Futurefic; angst; slash.
Rating: PG-13 for language and "sexual situations."
Spoiler: One passing reference to "Dichotic."
Summary: "I hate you some / and I love you some / but I miss you most." Part of the Elizabeth Smart Challenge.
Archiving: Ask and I'll probably say yes.
Disclaimer: Smallville and its residents belong to Millar Gough Ink, Warner Brothers, DC Comics, and other assorted people with lawyers. Bummer.
Notes: Huge thanks to Jayne for the challenging, the betaing, and the brainstorming. Feedback, good or bad, greeted with the kind of excitement usually reserved for naked billionaires.
Edited to add: ack! I forgot to explain the challenge-related bits! Notes at the end.
***
You chase me like a shadow
And you haunt me like a ghost
And I hate you some
And I love you some
But I miss you most...
--"On a Bus to St. Cloud," Trisha Yearwood
***
Smallville
Thanksgiving Day
***
Clark stood at the door. That hadn't been a car driving
by. Well, it had, but it had been a Ford pickup, not an
Aston Martin or a Porsche or anything costing more than the
mortgage on the farm.
"Superhearing fails again," he muttered, and went back into
the kitchen.
"Is someone coming?" his mother asked. Martha seemed to be
stirring something, setting the table, and giving him a
Concerned Look at the same time. Moms were amazing.
"Nope. I thought Pete might be down early, but whoever it
was drove by."
"I'm really looking forward to having everyone back. It
seems like every time you came home from college these last
couple years, Pete was interning, and Chloe had a story to
write, and Lana was out with the horses. It'll be nice to
have you all together in one place."
"Yeah," Clark said. *All of us that matter anymore.* The
pain had settled in his chest like a dull ache, and he
welcomed it lately as his powers grew more and more, well,
powerful. Maybe he couldn't hurt physically anymore, but
he could be heartbroken with the best. Yay him.
"I'm surprised it's not snowing," he said quickly as the
Concerned Look got turned on him again. "It seems like it
always snows on Thanksgiving, usually just in time for me
to get stuck in a blizzard driving home."
"Welcome to Kansas," Martha said. "If you don't like the
weather--"
"Wait five minutes, it'll get worse," they said together.
Clark felt some of the bitterness ease as he looked at his
mother. He gave her a quick hug.
"I think it's behaving because Someone," she pointed her
spoon at the ceiling, "knows it's our last Thanksgiving
like this."
"What do you mean last? Mom, just because we're graduating
doesn't mean none of us will come home for the holidays
again."
"You never know. The Planet might want you to work. There
might be a big story only you can cover."
"Or a little one and all the star reporters will be home
for the holidays, more likely. Assuming the Planet hires
me at all."
"Of course they will!" She leaned against his shoulder.
"Or there might be a disaster or something. You might need
to...help out. You never know."
"True." His near-total recall (SuperMemory, Pete called
it) was the only thing keeping him in a decent GPA this
year. It seemed there was a new crime to fight every ten
minutes. He and Pete and his parents all worried about
it...but they had until graduation to figure something out,
before he had to find a way to excuse himself from a nine-
to-five job to go save people secretly. "Okay. So if it's
our last Thanksgiving bash, we should do it properly.
Anything I can do to help?"
She pointed at the table. "The cider's getting cold."
Fwoomp! He blasted it with a quick heat wave. "Not
anymore."
She was laughing. "Okay, but after everyone gets here, you
might want to use the microwave instead."
"Yes, Mom."
"Now get your dad. If we let him, he'll be playing with
the new tractor all day and he'll never get dressed for
dinner."
***
Jonathan was in the barn, of course, practically petting
the new tractor.
"Have you named it yet?"
"What?" His father looked up with an embarrassed laugh.
"Sorry. I know you and your mother think I'm being
foolish--"
"No, not foolish." Clark stepped next to him and ran a
hand over one wheel. "It's going to make a huge difference
in our productivity this year." He didn't look at his dad.
"Almost makes up for me being gone."
"Clark."
He shrugged. "I know it's harder without me."
"Well, yeah. I'm not going to deny that. But I miss you,
son, not your abilities."
Clark shuffled his feet. "Yeah. But." He sent a sideways
look at his dad. "The tractor will help, though."
"Is that a hint? I admit, I had a hard time accepting the
tractor at first."
"So it's all gifts you have trouble taking, not just a
Luthor's." The silence that followed was deafening, and
Clark shoved both hands in his pockets. *Shit.* "I
promise I didn't do anything illegal to get the money.
Pete triple-checked with the Senator's office to make sure
no one owned the claim, and nobody saw me dig the gold up--
heck, it's Alaska, I don't think anyone was around for--"
"Clark."
He stopped. Suddenly the dirt on his boots was immensely
fascinating.
"Don't expect me to get angry because you miss him."
He rubbed a hand absently over his chest. The pain was
back, compounded by the guilt and the...the sheer emptiness
that not even Thanksgiving and Pete and Mom and Dad and new
tractors and new powers could fix.
"I'll get over it," he said roughly.
He heard the long, rough sigh that was almost a platitude
in itself, and he had to smile.
"I will, Dad."
Jonathan put a hand on each shoulder. "Clark. Look at
me."
"What?" And it was nearly a whine, dammit, he'd thought he
was done with complaining and pity and all that.
"Of all the things you can't fix as a father, this is the
hardest to accept."
"My sexuality?" Clark said lightly, or tried to, and
Jonathan shook him.
"Stop that." A long, steady look; those eyes still saw
more than X-Ray vision ever could. "I want to tell you
it's all for the best. I want to tell you this would
happen anyway, that's who he is."
What he is, Clark thought. Lex had never been given the
chance to be who, just what.
"But I'm your dad, and you're hurting, and it doesn't
matter what I think."
"Dad--" His father's arms were tight around him. How
could he still miss Lex? It'd been months, for God's sake,
and there were only so many classes to take, so many chores
to do, so many lives to save. He should have worked this
out of his system by now.
"Hearts aren't invulnerable," Jonathan said as if he could
read Clark's mind.
"I know," he said into his father's shoulder. "I know."
***
Gotham
Later that day
***
"Mr. Wayne? Mr. Luthor?"
Lex turned smoothly, leaving Bruce still laughing at his
last joke (or smirking, at least, which was as close to
laughing as he usually got). "Thank you, Jayne."
"Is that her name?" Bruce murmured, and Lex gave him a
sardonic look.
"She's your assistant."
Bruce shrugged. "Everything set?"
Lex skimmed through the contracts quickly. They looked the
same as the ones his lawyers had sweated over for hours,
but it never hurt to double-check. Even with a Wayne.
They matched up just fine, and he made short work of the
multiple signatures.
While Bruce did the same, Lex wandered over to the window
and stared out. Fifty-some stories down, and it was all
lights and steel and the occasional snowdrift. Nothing
like the clean modernity of Metropolis, which was nothing
more than a facade for the same crap you saw in any big
city. The polar opposite of Smallville, where even the
snow was quaint, and hey, he wasn't thinking about that.
He checked his watch. A good half hour since the last time
he hadn't thought about it. Impressive.
Lex turned back to watch his assistant, Donna, take the
paperwork and tuck it into his briefcase for him. His eyes
lingered a bit on the LexCorp logo on the cover page. Even
after all these years, it gave him a happy little jolt.
"Thanks, Donna. Nothing else tonight. I'll see you in the
office on Monday."
"Happy Thanksgiving, sir." She followed Jayne out the
door. Lex was sure they'd be discussing their respective
executives within seconds. Well, he had Bruce beat on
fashion, if not looks.
"Heading back home for the holiday?" Bruce asked, moving
nearly silently to stand beside him at the window.
Home. A city mansion with cold floors and a colder master.
A stone castle with a bed he still couldn't sleep in. A
farmhouse kitchen with people laughing and talking with
their mouths full and passing dishes over and around each
other in defiance of any rules of manners whatsoever.
"No, I think I'll go out and find a bar that's still open.
Join me?"
"I have...plans," Bruce said in that deep, portentous voice
that probably made "I'm using the bathroom" sound like An
Event.
"Oh. Well." Lex shrugged. "Have fun."
Bruce smirked. "See you."
***
Gotham might be an action-packed town, but it seemed even
its famous nightlife shut down for Thanksgiving. Lex
walked along, one part of his brain scanning his
surroundings, the other flipping through his options. The
restaurant in the hotel was a last resort...no. He was too
restless to head back just yet. Two or three visits back,
Bruce had taken him to a jazz club that was low-key for a
Luthor but not too unentertaining. Now what street had it
been on...?
"Day deceives, but at night no one is safe from
hallucinations!"
"What the *hell*?" Lex spun around, searching the shadows
near him. "Who said that?"
A man reeled out, bouncing off the nearest streetlight. He
laughed madly. Drunk? High? Plain old nuts? It was hard
to tell.
"The legends here are all of bloodfeuds and suicide,
uncanny foresight and supernatural knowledge."
"Ah...they are?" Lex saw the paper bag clutched in the
man's hand. Drunk, then. "Glad to know it." He backed up
a step, calculating how far he should be before turning his
back on the guy--
--and ran smack into someone. Before he even turned
around, his stomach sank.
Yes. Bad news. Roughly the size of a mountain, dressed
completely in leather, with a wicked-looking nightstick in
one hand. Before Lex could even open his mouth to barter
(he was arrogant, not stupid), the mountain spoke.
"Wallet. Watch. Coat," it rumbled.
Ah, dammit, not the watch *again.* Lex spread his hands in
a hopefully non-aggressive gesture. "Look, I'm sure we can
come to some sort of--"
"Now." The mountain reached out and grabbed his arm.
Lex could feel his temper detaching from the rest of his
brain and taking over. Oh, to have a good golf club with
him... "Like. Hell."
The mountain seemed a bit surprised to be challenged, which
gave Lex just enough time to yank away and put all his
strength into one punch.
No effect at all. Except on Lex's knuckles. Great. He
scuttled back a bit, twisting to get to the knife in his
boot top, which probably would feel like a toothpick to
this guy. Shit! Where was Clark with his improbable
rescues when you needed them?
Both Lex and the mountain had forgotten about the drunk.
"Moon, moon, rise in the sky!" he shrieked. "Be a reminder
of comfort and the hour when I was brave!"
The mountain jerked around, surprised, which gave Lex
enough time to dive for the knife. But when he came up,
someone was behind the mountain. Someone big, masked,
wearing bat ears.
Huh.
Three kicks later, the mountain was a crumpled heap in a
corner, and Lex was unscathed right where he'd started. He
stared at his savior. "Thank you, Batman," he managed.
Feeling rather stupid, he leaned down to put the knife
away. What was he supposed to say? To do? You didn't tip
superheroes, did you?
Of course, by the time he straightened, Batman was gone.
"This is familiar," he told the empty air. "I have a
friend you should meet."
Then he stared back at the ground. No...no, he didn't.
"There is no room for pity, of anything," the drunk said.
He'd moved until he was standing right next to Lex. "In a
bleeding heart I should find only exhilaration in the
richness of the red." He grinned and held his hand out.
Lex dug through his coat pockets until he found a silver
monogrammed flask, which he dropped in the man's hand.
"Here. Shut up."
He stalked off. Pity. Ha. "Nothing bleeding on me," he
muttered. "Didn't you hear? I don't have a heart to
bleed. Asshole."
***
Metropolis
Five months ago
***
"I'm tired of secrets."
Lex sighed. "Trust me. If you told your parents, you
would be much, much more tired of the flack they would give
you."
"They'll get *over* it." Clark was pacing beside the bed,
wearing only unbuttoned jeans and one sock. Lex gave
serious thought to getting out of bed just to remove the
sock. And the pants. And...he made himself focus on the
argument.
"No. No, they won't."
"You don't know them--"
"Excuse me." Lex's eyes met Clark's squarely. "I do know
them. I've known them for almost six years now, and they
still don't trust me farther than they can throw me.
Definitely not as far as you can throw me. They can handle
me as your friend. They might even, with a great deal of
time and therapy, be able to handle me as your lover. But
you know what? The minute you tell them I know about your
past, your father will have you in the Superhero Protection
Program."
How many times had they gone over this argument? Lex let
his mind drift away from the logistics of parental lying
and back to that one dangling sock. If he stepped on it
when Clark walked by, he just might trip him, and Clark
flat on his back was never a bad thing.
"I don't think you give them enough credit." Clark stepped
into Lex's line of view, or rather his chest did. Lex ran
a hand across it almost absently; he could feel the hitch
in Clark's breathing, feel the muscles contract where their
skin met. He moved his hand down towards the invitingness
of those undone buttons.
"They trust me," Clark said, although from the sound of his
voice Lex would be able to distract him any second now.
"Just because your father would screw me over without
thinking twice--"
"Never say 'father' and 'screw' in the same sentence," Lex
said, speaking lazily to hide the burn in his throat.
"Ever. Don't mention my father in the bedroom, really."
His hand dipped still lower. "Why are we still talking
about this? Isn't this the part of the program where we--"
His hand was pushed very firmly away. "It's not always
about sex, you know."
"It's not?" Lex said with mock-innocence. "Because we're
mostly naked in my bedroom, and if we just came up here to
talk, you waited a while to tell me. Or are you really
here for a discourse on corporate mission strategies? I
really don't think that's your kind of--"
"God *damn* it!" Lex blinked at the sudden vehemence.
Clark was nearly shaking with fury. "Not another joke
about how you're slumming with me. Not another attempt to
seduce me out of a conversation. Listen to me, Lex."
"I am listening."
"No, you're too busy having father issues and trying to
feel me up."
Lex threw the covers off and stood in one swift movement.
Clark took a step back. "You're right. It's not about
sex. And it's not about my father," he said coldly. "This
is about a spoiled brat thinking his parents will give him
whatever he wants. They're not just going to fall in line
with whatever your master plan is. They'll see me as a
threat. And my father will treat you just the same.
That's how it *is.*"
Clark's face had flushed at the "spoiled brat" comment.
"It *is* two years of sneaking me out of my dorm room and
making excuses for you to come to the plant on my
vacations. What are you going to do when I graduate?"
Lex shrugged. "I'll think of something then." Somewhere
in between the dangling sock and his father's intentions--
he flinched at the very thought--the argument had left its
usual track. This was a battle now, and Lex knew better
than to give up anything in battle.
"Right. You'll think of something. Something to make my
life even more twisted and dishonest. Because *I'm* the
spoiled brat. Right." Clark moved forward until he was
inches from Lex's face. "Tell me the truth. This isn't
about me at all, is it? It's not to protect me. It's
easier for you to lie."
Sometimes a silence spoke for itself. A thousand replies
came to mind, but none of them could stand up to that. "It
is," he said slowly. Clark was already backing away. "I
thought it was easier for both of us."
"Fuck. *Fuck.*" Clark sat down and jammed his shoes on.
He dug through the sheets until he found his shirt. Lex
somehow felt more naked with each move Clark made to get
dressed. "We've been arguing about this for two years. I
don't know why I thought I could fix it."
"Fix what? Why does it have to be broken?"
"You don't get it, do you?" Clark yanked the shirt over
his head. "I can lie to the world. Okay? I hate it, but
I have to do it. I've accepted that. But I can't lie to
my family. I don't know why I ever thought I could."
His words had an almost physical impact. Clark's family.
The people he loved. The people who had only accepted a
Luthor on false pretenses.
"I don't know why I thought you'd understand that," Clark
said.
"No." Lex's voice echoed oddly in his ears. "What would I
know about family? About relationships? About protecting
people? You have to have an actual heart for that, and
everyone knows the Luthor model isn't equipped with that
particular enhancement."
Clark looked up from buttoning his shirt. For the first
time, his hands faltered. "Lex..."
"You're right." He drew himself up to his full height.
"I'm surprised it took us two years to realize what a
mistake this was."
Clark's mouth shaped the word "mistake," but he didn't
argue. He just left.
***
Metropolis
The day after Thanksgiving
***
Clark landed in his favorite deserted alley and looked
through the walls before walking out casually. No point in
being circumspect about the flying, just to walk into
someone who knew he hadn't been there a second ago. He
headed for the dorm, checking his watch as he went.
Between holiday shopping, family visits, and the wonders of
the new tractor, no one at home would miss him for a couple
of hours yet. And he just really needed to be
someplace...else. Somewhere away from the lingering looks
and the tactful queries and somewhere, underneath, the
demands that he just get over it. Even his friends, who
only knew he'd ended a relationship "badly" (what an
understatement) had stopped asking questions and were
making noises about fixing him up.
"Male or female," Chloe had said cheerfully over a serving
of Dutch apple pie. "You pick. We'll find you somebody,
Clark."
Only sheer manners had kept him from leaving the table.
Preferably at a speed faster than light.
*You're moping,* he told himself as he ducked around other
pedestrians. *You weren't this bad in high school. Well,
yes, you were, but you should be over it. All of it. I'm
sure Lex is.*
Lex didn't wake up in the middle of the night reaching
for...well, if he did, there was someone there, not a dream
or a memory. Lex wasn't still replaying their last
conversation five whole months after the fact, trying to
figure out where he'd made whatever crucial mistake he'd
made. Lex had moved on. And Clark would too.
Clark looked up. Yeah. Just as soon as he stopped
automatically walking past Lex's condo, anyway.
He stared up at the wall. If he focused tightly, he could
just see one of the penthouse windows. Lex's office
window.
*Now you're a moping stalker,* he told himself. *Move your
alien feet. Go. Home.*
There was a quick burst of movement near him, and Clark
looked down to see doormen and limo drivers and all kinds
of assorted servants bustling around the front entrance.
He knew that level of obsequiousness. Lex.
He was tempted to speed away, but just the thought of
seeing him again scrambled Clark's brain, and he couldn't
send the orders to his feet fast enough. And then the wall
of people parted, and Lex was standing there, wearing all
black and all attitude.
Clark swallowed, hard, but even when Lex's gaze reached him
he didn't move, although his legs locked with the effort of
keeping still. His fists clenched in his pockets. He saw
Lex say something--his name maybe?--and take a step
forward, but there was a noise behind him and Lex turned
away.
Clark stayed rooted to the sidewalk until the last of the
people crowding the door had disappeared. If he looked up
and through, he could see the elevator ascending, see Lex
walk into his home, see if he went to the window to look
down.
He didn't look up. He made his way back down the street
blindly. Lex's face seemed burned in behind his eyes
somewhere, and he couldn't forget it. *It doesn't matter.
It's over. He's over it. It's a mistake, remember?*
But that last look wouldn't let him go. Lex's eyes, and
something in them. Something that might have been regret.
--the end-
Challenge notes: The following lines are taken from Elizabeth Smart's book "By Grand Central Station I Sat Down And Wept." The Elizabeth Smart Challenge can be found here: http://www.dreamwater.net/ladyjaynel/smartfic.htm and I recommend not only the fic but the challenge itself. Great food for thought.
"Day deceives, but at night no one is safe from hallucinations. The legends here are all of bloodfeuds and suicide, uncanny foresight and supernatural knowledge."
"Moon, moon, rise in the sky to be a reminder of comfort and the hour when I was brave."
"There is no room for pity, of anything. In a bleeding heart I should find only exhilaration in the richness of the red."