Summary: Lex contemplates his unhappy past and uncertain future when he is taken hostage in an act of revenge against the Luthors.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the lovely characters featured in Smallville—unfortunately!
I also do not own/have not written any of the lyrics or quotes which may appear as credited within this story; intended usage is merely to complement narrative and thematic elements of my original work.
A/N: This takes place somewhere in Season 1 (not very important to the story, just some minor details).
V: Developing Picture
Clark heard a knock at the kitchen door and rose to answer it.
"Hi, Clark," greeted the anticipated visitor.
"Lana," Clark said, returning the smile. "I'm guessing you're here for the riveting homework session about to unfold?"
Lana laughed. "Oh, you know it." Sensing Clark was alone, Lana looked around behind him inside the house. "Where's Lex?"
"What?"
"Lex."
"Lex isn't here," Clark said, lowering his eyebrows.
"His car's in the driveway," said Lana.
"It is?"
"Yeah, you didn't know?"
"No," Clark said, craning over her shoulder and seeing the silver car for himself. "That's weird. Maybe he's in the barn or something—I guess I should go look?"
"Yeah, I'm in no hurry to get started. I'll go with you."
The two of them walked over to the barn and went inside. Looking about, there was no one to be found.
"Lex?" Clark called out. "Lex, are you in here?" He moved away from Lana to search the room more closely. Lana, meanwhile, surveyed the area from where she stood, her eyes adjusting to the light. It was then that her gaze happened to drift along the floor.
"Clark?"
"Yeah?"
Lana moved over to what she hoped she wasn't seeing, stopping above it in muted horror.
"Lana, what is it?" Clark asked as he turned to join her.
She pointed to the ground. "Clark, there's blood on your floor."
Clark arrived by her side and saw the dark, ghastly stain for himself. He squinted, letting his eyes roam from the puddle to the unmistakable trail that meandered haphazardly nearby. Fear swept over Clark in a way it never had before, and he reached for Lana's arm as he scanned the barn with his x-ray vision.
"Clark, let's go," Lana whispered anxiously.
Convinced that whoever had been there was gone, Clark nodded and quickly escorted Lana back to the farmhouse. They ran up the steps and burst through the door, startling Martha Kent.
"Mom, we need to call the police."
"Clark, what's wrong?"
"It's Lex..."
Jonathan Kent, hearing the commotion from the den, entered the room. "What's happened, Son?" he asked.
"I don't know," Clark said. "Lex's car is in the driveway, but when I went to go look for him, he wasn't anywhere. And, uh," Clark stopped, not even wanting to say the words.
"Clark, tell us," Martha probed.
"There's signs of a struggle in the barn," Clark said. "Or lack of one," he added under his breath, looking at the ground.
Jonathan stared at him, then turned to his wife. "Martha, go call the police. I'll go out to the barn with Clark and have a look for myself." The two of them exited the farmhouse, and Martha briefly reciprocated Lana's stunned expression before making for the phone.
Outside, Clark felt his stomach twisting as he walked beside his father. "Did you know Lex was coming to visit you tonight, Son?" Jonathan asked as they briskly crossed over to the barn.
"Well, he had called me earlier today and said he might stop by, but he didn't say what time or anything. So I just figured, you know, if he shows, he shows..." Clark trailed off.
They entered the barn, and Clark pointed out the track of blood that ran a good length of the floor. Jonathan squatted to get a better look at it, frowning heavily.
"I should go look for him," Clark said.
Jonathan rose and faced his son. "Clark, don't be ridiculous. You don't have the first clue of where he could be right now." Wagging his index finger at the floor, he added, "We don't even know if this is him for sure."
Clark looked back at him with hopeless eyes, but Jonathan grabbed him gently by the shoulders. "Listen to me, Son: there's nothing you can do right now. We have to let the authorities have a look at this and go from there. But we're going to find him, OK?"
»»««
The first thing Lex realized was that he was cold. The numbness helped to disguise (at least initially) his less than desirable situation. Finding his eyelids too heavy to lift, Lex instead tried to move his hands, which somehow responded from behind his back. The horrific realization of where he actually was—or at least under what circumstances—slowly began to dawn on him. He felt sore and sluggish (not to mention what felt like a tie in his mouth), and, although he really didn't want to open his eyes, the idea of keeping them closed terrified Lex even more. He was given some incentive in this area when he suddenly sensed movement in front of him, followed by the improbable sound of a Polaroid going off. Lex cracked his eyes open, the dim yet searing light of the room forcing him to squint. The unwelcome face of Jack Sherman appeared before him, and Lex started as another photo buzzed off in his face.
"Rise and shine, movie star."
Lex continued to frown out at him as Sherman clicked off a final picture, seemingly aimed at the ground. Lex glanced down and was promptly brought up to speed: his injured leg, which was stretched out before him, had been tied with a tourniquet so he wouldn't bleed to death.
How thoughtful, Lex mused. Taking in his surroundings, it looked to be an abandoned warehouse of some sort. While the place didn't look at all familiar, Lex knew they had to be in Metropolis somewhere—the air was just different here. Lex realized his hands were actually secured around a pole, the frigid surface of which was seeping through the back of his shirt. He wasn't sure how much time had passed since the whole incident at the barn, but he must have lost quite a bit of blood because he felt weak as hell.
"Welcome back," Sherman said, looking at the developing picture. "Looks like Smallville is about to get wind of your little predicament."
This bit of news sounded pretty good to Lex; he had actually just been wondering where that Clark Kent was when you needed him...
Sherman glanced over at Lex. "It's too bad most of the people in Smallville could care less what I do to their least favorite son." He walked over to where Lex sat on the ground and stopped. Lex looked up at him as he went on, "You know, I never liked your old man. I mean that's an understatement. But the minute you decided to fuck with my family—that's where you messed up big time."
Lex closed his eyes and shook his head.
"Oh what, you disagree?"
Lex knew it probably wasn't too smart on his part, but he nodded haltingly anyway.
Sherman knelt and loosened the gag behind Lex's head. "By all means, speak your mind," he encouraged through tightened lips. "It's gonna be one of your last chances."
"Look, if this is about the farms, I didn't want to do it," Lex managed to get out. That crack in the jaw from the schmuck with the gun (who wasn't present, noticeably) really made speaking unpleasant; thankfully, though, his jaw didn't seem to be broken—Lex wasn't sure how he had gotten away with that one.
"You expect me to believe that?" Sherman asked, his face still level with Lex's.
"It's the truth," Lex replied wearily. "I told my father not to do it, but he did it anyway."
"You mean you did it," Sherman said, wrapping one hand under Lex's chin and pressing back, lightly forcing Lex's skull into the pole.
Lex winced. "Careful," he warned absurdly. "I'm a bruiser."
Sherman frowned. "Really? I thought you had to be warm-blooded for that."
Lex resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Let's just say my father has ways of making me do things I don't want to do," he said, returning to the original accusation.
"Doesn't say much for your character, now, does it?"
"No, I suppose not."
Sherman rose and walked away, apparently not interested in inflicting any more bodily harm at the moment.
"Where's my friend?" Lex asked after him.
"Hmm?"
"Y'know," Lex slurred languorously. "The big fella."
"He'll be back," Sherman assured him, "don't you worry your pretty little head."
"If you really think my father is going to lift one finger to rescue me, you've got another thing coming," Lex said suddenly.
Sherman looked at him. "Well, let's just hope for both our sakes, you're wrong about that one."
END 5/11
Clutching my cure
I tightly lock the door
I try to catch my breath again
I hurt much more
Than any time before
I had no options left again
I don't want to be the one
The battles always choose
'Cause inside I realize
That I'm the one confused
I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
I don't know why I instigate
And say what I don't mean
I don't know how I got this way
I'll never be all right
So I'm breaking the habit
Tonight
I'll paint it on the walls
'Cause I'm the one at fault
I'll never fight again
And this is how it ends
~ linkin park, "breaking the habit"