title: It was a Kryptonite sky.
author: newtypeshadow (August 2004)
fandom: Smallville, a smidge of Teen Titans (and possibly Superboy)
rating: G? PG?
pairing: squint for it and you might see two ships.
notes: AU futurefic. drive-by fusion of comicverse and SV. Answered for a Challenge #1 on the lj community photoprompts (http: www. livejournal. com/ community/ photoprompts/ 452.html )
It was a Kryptonite sunset. The sky was green as a jewel or a curse. Clear path from eyes to burning sun, vision rimmed in black sea and cautious gray-green clouds, the jade sunset was a radiant thing, and all Clark could feel as he fell from the sky was revulsion.
He'd finally done it. Luthor was so driven, he'd dyed the sky with the meteor they all knew would eventually leech the life from Superman's veins.
Hours later, deep inside the anonymous-looking LeXcorp laboratory, Superman lay on a surgical table like a willing sacrifice and stared through the multi-layered complex to the sky above, so deadly in its beauty. Green is such an alien color, he thought. Clark never liked it much.
Luthor was talking from somewhere beyond his head and to the right. A truce, a few tests, a few honest answers and it would all go away. The Kryptonite staining the sky, the traces of it that would inevitably remain in the atmosphere after Luthor's machines removed it, what remained of it on earth. If Superman wished it, Luthor would destroy it all or send it hurtling through space to hassle someone else's galaxy. All for a little compromise. A little trade-off, for peace. "I know you see yourself as a neutral party in terran politics, but as Clark Kent, you are American, and judging from the articles you write I find it hypocritical that you're not doing more for humanity than simple police work. Think of the scientific breakthroughs LeXcorp has made using Kryptonite alone--we've cured AIDS, Alzheimer's, ALS, 25 of all known cancers. We've improved treatments for many widely-suffered incurable diseases, cured a number of "incurable" diseases...hell, we've isolated the source of Ebola. Imagine what we could do if we figured out what makes you invulnerable, or precisely how your body reacts to yellow suns--"
"Luthor, you've already used me for a pet project."
"What, Superboy? Kon-El? That was as much yours as mine, Superman, and I signed a contract not to use any information on him in other projects. Gave my word, even. Do you doubt my word?"
No answer was required; they'd played this game too long.
"I won't," Luthor said in a softer voice, and Superman was reminded of the young man his nemesis used to be: the man-child who was still ultimately good, before the tornado of events which blew out that light and swept away even the candlestick. "I won't," he said again.
Clark almost believed him.
Almost, because something would inevitably happen. And when Lex Luthor was pushed, in the end he always chose himself. Superman could never stop blaming him for that. Clark would never stop being disappointed.
Outside somewhere, Conner was frowning at a sky that couldn't hurt him, and laughing about it with another man-child in Gotham. Flying overhead while his friend swung like an acrobat and leapt like a dancer and took down the vilest of the vile with the grace of a serpent strike.
Clark wondered if Conner thought about the possibility of outliving generations of such friends, not because they died young, but because Kon-El would still be young when they were old and proselytizing. When he thought about that, about how painful and frustrating it was to live on, he considered giving in to the deceptively simple request. Let Lex geek out the way he used to. Give him something new and literally out-of-this-world to play with. Make his blue eyes light up with innocent excitement rather than jaded, twisted glee.
Superman knew Luthor, though. Some ways, better than he knew himself. Knew the simple terms would never be enough. Knew that giving in now meant losing more than he bargained for--and with Luthor, Superman always estimated high.
Luthor was talking again. Superman stared silently at the ceiling, up through stepping feet and cement and brick. Up. Into a sky the color of death. Into the color that always drew the line between him and humanity, him and Lex. Him and death. It was the color that started everything, catalyzed everything, and would inevitably end everything.
"What do you say, Superman?" Alien. "Do we have a deal?"