Lana is devastated by his exit. Somewhere in her mind, whether it was while
sipping champagne at the Dolce and Gabbana showroom in Moscow, or taking an
Aeroflot flight to Tehran to escape the pernicious attention of the Russian
law machine, she had always felt that the persecution was aimed at driving
her back to Lex. It had been frightening, certainly, but the feeling of
being connected to the spider that sat in the center of the web, the sense
of a personal battle with a powerful adversary had given her strength; it
had been a cosseting constant in her trail of rich men and exotic
destinations, to be taken out and mulled over in secret, knowing that at
the end of it all, there was still desire for her, for Lana-- the one who
got away. And now that constant had proved to be but a mirage—a vile,
impersonal Luthor missile let lose as a matter of principle, not as a mark
of vendetta. That hurts, even more than the relentless persecution over
five years had.
She cries then, feeling the viscous tears of disuse trailing over her made- up face and burning channels of charcoal into the ivory.
But already her mind is working, her orphan instincts picking up from the debris and shaping another dream. The rent for this place is paid for the quarter, and her business, though sporadic, is lucrative enough-- she is the veteran of enough page threes to be considered a catch by many. Her aim is not survival, it never has been. Underneath it all, Lana Lang wants to matter.
Lana recalls Lex's offer of five years ago, made when she was ready to leave Smallville, the Talon, everything that was familiar to study at MetU. He wanted her as a lover... he wanted her to be Clark's lover? She had never yet figured out that ambiguity, and had never asked. One just did not spill the crudeness of one's interpretation in its primal gore in front of Lex. Unless of course it was ratified by, impressed by his spoken declaration of intent, and that happened too rarely for Lana. In the personal space of Lex Luthor, the domain to which the term 'relationships' could be applied, (and yes, she believed fervently that once, she had, she had resided in that space) words were severely castrated. They had no meaning save an implausible amount of possibility. They breached her sanity; made her doubt, feel perpetually out of her depth, and her survival in Lexspace was a journey accomplished largely through chance rather than intent. This is why she had run...
Her mind processes Lex's rejection, and she has to perforce return to Smallville to complete the exercise. Was it her innocence of five years ago that Lex had craved? Or a small-town oasis in his personal life, a mobile Smallville invested in her person, to be reproduced at will anywhere in the world? Maybe the perpetuation of friendships fostered in youth, a coterie of well-wishers with fewer vested interests than what he was used to? Was he looking for a friend and confidante, his homegrown panacea to suspicion and deceit? She rejects the last surmise with disdain, and 'all of the above' with the easy cynicism of a woman who has lived by her wits for longer than she would care to reveal. She had been rejected because she had refused to be a conduit between him and Clark.
It has always been about Clark, says the Lana in her head, as her eyes trail to the copy of the Daily Planet on the rickety console table in the corner.
She cries then, feeling the viscous tears of disuse trailing over her made- up face and burning channels of charcoal into the ivory.
But already her mind is working, her orphan instincts picking up from the debris and shaping another dream. The rent for this place is paid for the quarter, and her business, though sporadic, is lucrative enough-- she is the veteran of enough page threes to be considered a catch by many. Her aim is not survival, it never has been. Underneath it all, Lana Lang wants to matter.
Lana recalls Lex's offer of five years ago, made when she was ready to leave Smallville, the Talon, everything that was familiar to study at MetU. He wanted her as a lover... he wanted her to be Clark's lover? She had never yet figured out that ambiguity, and had never asked. One just did not spill the crudeness of one's interpretation in its primal gore in front of Lex. Unless of course it was ratified by, impressed by his spoken declaration of intent, and that happened too rarely for Lana. In the personal space of Lex Luthor, the domain to which the term 'relationships' could be applied, (and yes, she believed fervently that once, she had, she had resided in that space) words were severely castrated. They had no meaning save an implausible amount of possibility. They breached her sanity; made her doubt, feel perpetually out of her depth, and her survival in Lexspace was a journey accomplished largely through chance rather than intent. This is why she had run...
Her mind processes Lex's rejection, and she has to perforce return to Smallville to complete the exercise. Was it her innocence of five years ago that Lex had craved? Or a small-town oasis in his personal life, a mobile Smallville invested in her person, to be reproduced at will anywhere in the world? Maybe the perpetuation of friendships fostered in youth, a coterie of well-wishers with fewer vested interests than what he was used to? Was he looking for a friend and confidante, his homegrown panacea to suspicion and deceit? She rejects the last surmise with disdain, and 'all of the above' with the easy cynicism of a woman who has lived by her wits for longer than she would care to reveal. She had been rejected because she had refused to be a conduit between him and Clark.
It has always been about Clark, says the Lana in her head, as her eyes trail to the copy of the Daily Planet on the rickety console table in the corner.