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).
VIII: Reprieve
The snow lasted through the night and did not even let up the following day. As night fell, Martha Kent trudged out to the barn. Stopping at the door, she turned and marveled at how still and beautiful everything was. She entered the barn, making her way over to the hayloft.
"Clark? Are you in here?"
Martha ascended the steps to the loft and found her son sitting near the window, looking down at the fingers he was interlacing contemplatively.
"Hi, Mom."
"Dinner will be ready soon," she told him. "You OK up here?"
"Yeah, I was just doing some thinking."
Martha nodded. "About Lex?" she asked after a moment.
"Yeah."
Feeling a strong draft, Martha began rubbing her arms through her sweater. "Clark, it's freezing out here. You should come back to the house."
Clark didn't seem to hear her request. He shook his head resignedly. "I just don't know what to do, Mom."
Martha stepped towards him. "I know you're worried about him, Clark... all of us are. The only thing we can really do, unfortunately, is wait for the police to find some break in the case. We can't give up hope, though."
"That's not good enough," said Clark. "After all of the abilities I've been discovering lately—it's like I'm the only one who would really have a good chance at rescuing him, and instead I'm sitting here doing nothing about it." He paused and looked up at her. "No one else is gonna save him, Mom."
"You don't know that, Clark."
"Yeah, I think I do."
"I know you want to help him, baby, but you can't just go off blindly looking for him by yourself. You can't risk your own safety."
With a sigh, Clark turned and considered the snowflakes falling noiselessly outside. "This whole situation, it's just..."
Martha came and stood behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders. "I know," she said softly.
Clark continued to stare out the window under raised eyebrows. "I'm really worried about him, Mom," he murmured, nodding distantly.
Martha leaned down and gave him a comforting hug. "Me too," she whispered, looking out into the night with him.
»»««
Lex was daydreaming (or nightdreaming, depending on what time it was). Of all things, it was about the Luthor mansion—quite ironic, given the hatred he had always felt towards the place. Right now, however, the gloomy eyesore might as well have been Cosette's castle on a cloud from Les Misérables. He pictured himself resting comfortably in front of a fire, listening to some Mozart and sipping Armagnac. The thought occurred to him that his father was probably doing the exact same thing at the moment, but Lex forced such cynicism to the back of his mind. If only he could get back there...
His thoughts were interrupted as Sherman, who had been busily flipping through radio stations and leafing through newspapers, came over to his spot on the floor. Tubby Buddy hadn't been around all day; while this was somewhat comforting, Lex honestly couldn't say which combination of kidnappers worked most in his favor. Neither was a walk in the park, that was for sure.
Sherman squatted in front of him. "How ya holding up, rich boy?"
"Wonderful," Lex answered unconvincingly.
"Well, so far, it looks as though you were right," Sherman said. "Never would have guessed it myself—heir to the Luthor fortune, left like an unwanted dog to die an ugly death."
Lex made no response but concentrated on breathing normally, which was no easy task given the excruciating pain that accompanied each intake of air.
"It must be wonderful to have such a caring father," Sherman continued snidely. "The love he lavishes on you... must be overwhelming."
Lex gave a slight smirk as he looked down, catching sight of his bloody tie still hanging like a noose around his neck. "Yes, that's the word."
"I thought so. In all honesty, I almost feel sorry for you; Lionel probably hates you just as much as I do, and that really says something when you think about it."
Indeed it does, Lex thought to himself. Lex knew what the man was trying to do, but he was not about to give the bastard the satisfaction that it was working.
"No, you're absolutely right," he replied serenely. "My father is a disgrace to fathers everywhere. He should really take a page out of your book. I mean the example you set for your daughter? One to emulate."
A terrifying rage flooded Sherman's eyes as he lashed out and struck Lex hard across the face. "Don't you ever mention my daughter again," Sherman bellowed as Lex withdrew from the pain of his mistake, trying not to gasp as the blood began to seep through his mouth once more. "Your dad might not love you, but I love my daughter more than anything."
Lex continued to stare at the ground, his head turned away. Sherman leaned towards him. "I want you to know that I intend to keep you here as long as your father keeps ignoring the both of us," he whispered venomously. "You might end up dying in the process, but that's up to Lionel to decide, now, isn't it?"
Lex brought his head back to rest against the pole and faced Sherman again. He suddenly knew exactly what had to be said. Even if it didn't stop this guy from killing him, at least it would take all the fun out of it. Judging it to be his last resort, Lex decided to go ahead and lay down some good old reverse psychology. He had, of course, always been aware of its potential; the thought had just never occurred to him to put it quite so bluntly. So, in this moment of extreme clarity, Lex gathered what little strength he had left—both to physically speak, as well as to steel his heart for the words his tongue was about to say.
Sherman was looking at him expectantly. Lex met his eye and then lifted his head, bringing his face that much closer. For the first time, Sherman was taken aback by his prisoner: Lex's eyes, though far duller than what they had been, appeared startlingly cold, and the exhausted, wry smile that flickered across his bloodied teeth literally made Sherman recoil. For his part, Lex had only hoped that what he was going to say would catch Sherman off guard, so he was more than pleased to see this display of apparent control was unnerving Sherman in itself.
"You can torture me all you want," Lex said in a low voice, "and you can kill me too, because I could give two flying fucks." Here Lex paused for dramatic effect, and he watched Sherman's face falter somewhat as he slowly declared, "I don't care whether I live or die."
On the one hand, Lex didn't mean it—he was, of course, only saying it in the hopes it would spare his life. Even so, he actually found himself believing the assertion to some extent. Although he certainly did not want to die here, at the hands of this fucker, Lex was somewhat at a loss when it came to a reason worth living for. He really hated to be so fatalistic, just because it meant victory for his father and everyone else who ever wanted him to fail. Even worse, though, was the thought of his mother's reaction to such a statement... but now was definitely not the time for such thoughts.
"I don't believe you," came the eventual response.
"Oh, I think you do," said Lex. "Otherwise, your face wouldn't look the way it does right now."
"No... no, I say you're full of shit. You value your life just as much as your fancy cars and your expensive clothes and every-fuckin'-thing else you surround yourself with."
"Sorry to burst your bubble," Lex said, visibly tiring, "but you couldn't be more wrong." When there was no immediate reply, Lex took the opportunity to plant an even bolder seed of doubt. "Honestly, I think it will be all the more poetic: after killing me, you'll get to waste away in prison—maybe death row, even—and all the while, you can never rest assured that what you did was worth it. All you'll have is the knowledge you put some poor fucker out of his misery."
"'Poor,'" Sherman repeated.
"As I was saying, just because you have money doesn't mean you're happy."
Lex watched the conflicting emotions fighting for dominance on Sherman's face. After a moment or two, the man turned from him and rose, exiting the room. Lex watched his receding back and wondered if he had just made things better or worse for himself. For the moment, at least, it looked as though Lex had scored himself a reprieve.
END 8/11
Disarm you with a smile
And leave you like they left me here
To wither in denial
The bitterness of one who's left alone
Ooh, the years burn
I used to be a little boy
So old in my shoes
And what I choose is my voice
What's a boy supposed to do?
The killer in me is the killer in you
I send this smile over to you
~ the smashing pumpkins, "disarm"