Hey, sorry this update's a bit later than usual, my excuse is that I've been snooping around the art galleries in London! It was amazing:D
Mega thank you to htbthomas for beta-ing!
Diverse
Part Five: Deprecation
No sound other then the occasional slam of a locker permeated the hallway. The school was unusually devoid of students, though perhaps that could be accounted for by the early hour. Still, Clark had no doubt that he would find Chloe busily holed away in the Torch office, working on her latest big story.
Trying his best to ignore a few sniggers in his direction from a group of four or five boys wearing matching Crows jackets, Clark let them pass through the doorway before stepping through in the opposite direction.
"Was that him?"
"Course it was, looked like 'im didn't it?"
"Wonder what he'll do…"
"Come on, let's get out of here."
Their comments drifted after him as he set foot in the main corridor of the school. The revving of their car engine was cut off as the door drifted closed behind Clark.
The hallway was dark and cold, the lighting system and the heating yet to kick in. Chloe would be freezing, he thought absently. A smile came to his lips of its own accord as he thought back to a few days ago when Chloe had just dropped by to visit him in his 'natural habitat.' She'd caught him and his Dad working out in the yard, and she'd insisted on joining in on their new project, Clark's 'Fortress of Solitude.' After about an hour of hard labour she'd left, much dirtier than when she'd arrived and with a few dozen splinters to show for her effort.
His smile grew into a grin as he made his way along the corridor, peering through the darkness. Even with his abnormally good eyesight, it took a moment for him to spot and register what he'd seen through the dim blackness.
His eyes darted over the poster, not taking in the words or details until his brain finally received the message and he stopped cold.
Fear gripped his muscles, such fear and shock and anger that he hadn't felt in a long, long time that he couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe.
In one decisive move he whirled round and faced the poster, stepping close to it before the panicky adrenaline failed him and he fled.
No. What he'd thought he'd seen had been true. His secret was exposed.
There, tacked innocently next to a poster advertising the next school dance, was his face staring back at him. Taken five years ago without his consent, the image of his past had come back to haunt him. Next to eleven year old Clark was a photo of him now, also apparently taken without his consent because he couldn't remember having had his picture taken in a very long time.
And there, above the photographs, was a detailed description of his life in small print, beneath a much larger headline that screamed:
"CLARK 'KENT' AKA CLARK BOSWELL!"
He didn't think about it. He just ripped the poster from the wall roughly, tearing it down the middle but not caring, spun on his heel and fled. As he sprinted for the door, out of the corner of his eye he could see hundreds of carbon copies of the poster clutched tightly in his hand, one great blur of his worst fear flashing past at high speed.
---
Not too far away but much later, Pete nudged Chloe in the ribs. She promptly let out a grunt and a scowl in his direction.
"What?"
Pete motioned to a tall guy hanging around at the back of the crowd, strangely not looking interested or shaking his head sadly in time with the rest of the onlookers as the ambulance carted away the third victim of electrical mishaps that week. "Who's the weirdo?"
"I don't know," Chloe replied, a little irritated that Pete expected her to know everything. That irritation turned to curiosity, however, as a small smirk surfaced on the guy's face, and he dropped back as if to walk away. "Let's check him out."
She raised the small digital camera to her face and snapped off a couple of shots before he could turn away and skulk off to wherever it was that weirdoes skulked off to.
---
How many years had it been since he'd come here? Six, at least, Clark guessed as he ran his hand over the worn stone. A shining sword glimmered in a glass case next to the stone archway. Multicoloured jewels embedded in the extravagant hilt flashed at him as he stepped in front of the case to get a better look.
Six long years this sword had haunted him. He considered this sword to be his undoing, his downfall. If only he hadn't laughingly agreed to a game with his friend, if only he'd thought to move out of the way in time, if only Lex could have seen that his Father was not to be trusted… too many 'ifs.'
"If I didn't believe you could win, I wouldn't you be asking you to play me, would I?"
Clark tilted his head as a question. "What do you mean?"
"There's no point in playing if I know I will win. Therefore, I must believe you capable of winning," Lex supplied smoothly, looking at the blades in his hands all the while, as if mesmerised by their sharp edges. At length he snapped his gaze up to Clark and tossed him one of the identical swords.
He caught it clumsily, and turning it over in his hands he replied, "Even though I've never played before?"
"Even though you've never played before," his friend confirmed, smiling an encouraging smile at the eleven year old. Then he quickly shoved the desk to one side and stepped back, bringing the sword up in front of him protectively. A challenge lurked in his eyes.
Clark took a deep breath and accepted it, grasping the sword firmly by the handle.
Seconds passed slowly, each daring the other to begin. Lex made the first move. He darted forward and aimed a sweeping blow at Clark's legs, which he jumped over, landing heavily before directing a wobbly blow at Lex's right arm. The move was badly aimed and even worse thought out, and before Clark knew it Lex's blade had sliced through his left hand.
Except for that it didn't slice clean through the tendons and ligaments and bone, it shattered with a horrifying crash on the tanned skin.
Time seemed to slow for Clark. He could easily have run that instant, turned tail and fled and never set foot in Smallville again. Start a new life, leave this wretched town and his drunken dad and his dead mother and his horrified best friend. But something compelled him to stay.
As time returned to normal speed Clark caught Lex's eye. He'd expected to see shock, horror, even fear. Instead he saw… confirmation? Satisfaction, even?
Lex straightened and wiped the back of his hand across his brow, never breaking eye contact. Then he strolled over to the drinks cabinet and tossed a bottle of Tynant at a shocked Clark. The bottle bounced off his dumbstruck chest and fell to the ground, rolling to a stop when it hit the hilt of Lex's smashed sword.
Lex himself took a swig and then a seat, gesturing for Clark to do the same as he rolled up his sleeves.
Clark did so slowly, every move telling of his puzzlement.
"So," Lex said brightly when Clark was seated awkwardly. "How long have you been from another planet?"
If the question was meant to catch Clark off guard, it fulfilled its purpose spectacularly.
"What!" Clark spat, eyes widening.
"Relax, Clark. There's no need to look so worried. I've known, or a at least suspected, for quite a while. This was just confirmation."
Still Clark didn't relax, if anything he became more tense. "What… how… how did you…?"
Lex took pity on him and answered for him. "A car hits an eleven year old at sixty miles an hour and both driver and eleven year old miraculously survive?" He paused and smiled a little. "You're a bright kid, Clark. You do the math. The question now is, what do we do about it?"
"Do about it?" Clark repeated faintly. He looked positively sick now.
"I knew you would want to know more about your real parents. What adopted kid wouldn't? And with my help, you can." Lex proceeded to explain his plan to learn more about Clark's heritage and developing powers, and for a few hours they discussed what they would do next.
"So what do you say?" Lex offered him his hand, leaning forward so that Clark could reach it should he want to accept his deal.
Clark considered Lex for a long minute, going through all the pros and cons of agreeing. Lex was his friend, he knew that, he knew for sure that he would never hurt him on purpose…
Clark took the proffered hand and shook it, sealing their deal, and ignoring the little voice at the back of his mind that told him it was a very bad idea.
"Long time ago, wasn't it?"
Clark very nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled around back to the present only to see Lex again before him, a wistful sort of expression on his face. Clark forced his heart rate back to normal.
Lex motioned to the case behind Clark and strolled forward so they were looking at it side by side. Eventually Lex spoke as if to the sword.
"I know you're wondering why I kept it."
Clark shot Lex a sideways glance, at the precise moment Lex did likewise and their eyes met. "How do you know that?" Clark said instead.
Lex smiled mirthlessly and moved away, leading his friend away from that ominous artifact of their past. "It's a talent prized in a Luthor. And I kept the sword because it's a reminder, a reminder of my inability to see the truth."
Clark shut the huge office door behind them and frowned at his friend, misunderstanding his meaning. "But you knew about… me… before you even hit me with that sword…"
"I meant my inability to see the truth where it really matters," Lex corrected him sharply, hitting a red ball viciously into a pocket with the cue stick simultaneously, and Clark knew he was referring to his father.
Lex abruptly stood up and leaned the cue stick to one side, surveying Clark with a determining gaze that made him squirm. He hated it when Lex did that.
"Why are you here, Clark?" Lex asked when Clark looked away uncomfortably.
Sighing quietly, he scratched the back of his neck nervously before replying. "I… don't really know." They both knew it was a lie the instant the words crossed his lips. The silence settled tightly around them like a wet blanket.
"Yes, I do know," Clark suddenly said decisively. He looked up to see Lex's face. "Why did you tell your father about me?"
There. He'd said it. Six long years of wondering why, why his best friend had felt the need to betray his confidence. There was no taking it back now, Lex's expression had lost its placid mask and his emotions were playing freely across his face. Trepidation. Anger. Guilt.
"I was a fool," he said in a low voice.
Clark hesitated, then realised he'd come this far, why stop now? "That's not a reason."
"No, it's not," Lex agreed with a heavy sigh. "And I can't give you a reason, because I don't have one. All I have are excuses. I'm pretty sure you don't want to hear another one of those."
Still Clark didn't look satisfied, as he stood there with his hands thrust in his pockets awkwardly. Lex knew this was a great breakthrough for him, he'd never been so forthcoming in his whole life. Ever since Lex's father's researchers had stripped Clark of his innocence, Clark felt he didn't have the right to demand explanations, ask questions, to fit in with humanity because he just wasn't human.
Lex sighed again and strode across to his drinks cabinet, once more tossing Clark a bottle of Tynant. This time he caught it deftly in one hand.
"Have a seat and tell me the real reason why you came all this way to talk to me," Lex said, sinking into the black leather behind his desk.
Clark shot him a quizzical look but sat down anyway, unscrewing the lid off his water. He took a few sips to give him some time to think about what he wanted to say, then blurted out, "Someone knows I'm from another planet."
For his part Lex did take this news very well. He only raised an eyebrow and choked on his drink a little bit. Leaning forward he set his drink down quickly, "What?"
Clark took a deep breath. "There're posters all over the school."
Lex sat back again heavily. "How?"
"I don't know." Clark spread his hands helplessly. "You told me before Mom and Dad adopted me, there would always be a chance that someone would recognise me."
Lex nodded distractedly, running one hand over his smooth head. "Yes, but I took several measures to ensure this wouldn't…" He suddenly stopped and looked intently at Clark. "And it's only now that somebody's recognised you? You've been at school for a week."
"It's not that small a school, Lex," Clark reminded him. Lex grimaced.
"Don't worry, Clark, I'll clean it up." Lex said quietly, still with the grimace on his face. Clark nodded mutely, but his eyes were troubled.
There was a long pause, then, "Alright, so when did this happen?"
"Just now. I went in early because…" Clark paused. "I was supposed to meet Chloe at the Torch. I'd better go." He started to get up, heading hastily to the door.
Lex's introspective voice called him back. "Chloe Sullivan?"
His hand on the door handle, Clark looked back. "Yeah. Why?"
"She's that reporter who's interested in all things weird and wonderful?" Lex continued slowly.
"Yeah," Clark repeated, faint lines of confusion appearing on his forehead. "Chloe's the editor of the school paper. What's this about, Lex?"
Jerking out of his trance, Lex focused on his friend and smiled reassuringly. "Nothing."
Clark nodded and smiled back tightly before opening the door.
"Just watch your back, Clark."
---
Clark was shaking with repressed fear by the time he'd walked all the way back from Lex's mansion to the outer gates of Smallville High. He'd taken Lex's advice against his better judgment and decided to weather the storm, ride it out, just go back in there, be himself and let the comments roll off him like water off a duck's back. He didn't feel remotely like a duck as he stood there trembling all over. More like a chicken, if he had to be some form of poultry. A scared chicken at that.
He shuffled his feet nervously. He checked his watch. The bell signaling first period was about to ring. He had to get in there now unless he wanted lunchtime detention for tardiness.
Taking a deep breath, he propelled himself through the gates, up the steps, through the doors and into the quickly emptying hallway as the bell rang in synchronisation with the doors shutting behind him.
Students were filing into their respective classrooms, talking in low whispers amongst themselves. A teacher was at the other end of the corridor, Clark recognised her as Mrs. Taylor, his English teacher, as she frowned over her small square spectacles and continued ripping down posters from the wall. The posters.
Clark sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth. Mrs. Taylor seemed to have heard, for she looked up and shot him a pitying smile that Clark supposed was meant to be sympathetic. The last thing he wanted at that moment was sympathy, let alone pity.
He turned and ducked through a corridor he couldn't recall seeing before to avoid her. Almost ten minutes later he found himself lost but surprisingly calm. Undoubtedly he'd receive a detention for bursting in on history so late, but that didn't seem to be much of a problem at the moment as he faced two doors, neither of which he'd seen before.
After some deliberation he chose the left door, a vague idea in his mind that it might lead to the Torch office. He was just about to push the door open when it opened from the other side, and Chloe burst through in a terrible state. Her normally perfectly styled blonde hair was plastered about her face which had tears dripping down from her distressed eyes.
"Chloe!"
She bumped into his chest, looked up at him dazedly then leaned her head back on his chest, wrapping her arms around his midriff. The human contact felt strange at first, having gone so long without a friendly kiss on the cheek or pat on the back, but soon Clark relaxed and sank into the hug. Something felt wholly right about the gesture, as if Chloe's small body had been made to fit next to his. He momentarily forgot the troubles of the morning and closed his eyes, resting his head on top of hers and feeling her shake with repressed sobs. Chloe's hurt was more important than his own right now.
At length, once the shaking had lessened she stepped back, wiping her eyes furiously with the back of her hand before looking warily up at her friend. "I'm sorry, Clark," she whispered, sounding nasal.
"It's ok," he said quietly, thinking she was referring to the way she'd broken the unspoken rule about not getting too close to him. "It was… fine. I actually kinda… liked it..."
He slowed down as he saw her face grow paler by the second. Chloe shook her head adamantly, fresh tears streaming forth.
"No," she said, then her face crumpled and she sunk weakly to the floor, her knees buckling as if she didn't possess the energy to keep herself upright any longer. Clark was instantly at her side, kneeling next to her, and if she'd been in her right mind she would have made a note of the speed at which he seemed to appear.
"I'm sorry…" she repeated brokenly. Clark stared at her for a second then reached out and laid one hesitant hand on her shoulder. It trembled then stayed still.
"Don't worry about it," he said, frankly puzzled at her overreaction.
"No, I mean… I don't mean that…" she choked out before a sob. Clark frowned in utter confusion.
"Chloe? What's wrong? What happened? Did I do something wrong?" he asked her worriedly, beginning to think that he'd done something to offend her. That was what happened at the Labs, he reflected, if something went wrong then the scientists always had a scapegoat, namely him.
Sucking in some much-needed oxygen, she managed to calm her breathing somewhat. "I… I'm the one responsible for those posters."
The silence rang with a horrifying finality. Chloe had stopped sobbing the second the words escaped her lips, as if confessing had removed a great weight off her chest. Clark sagged back onto his heels, a new weight weighing him down. His hand slipped unnoticed from her shoulder.
Silent tears now coursed rapidly down Chloe's cheeks, tears that collected under her chin then fell gently to her lap. She stared at Clark so intently anyone would have thought her life depended on it, studying his expression, the look in his eyes when he heard those words. She knew, not through his telling her as one would to a close friend, but through her own insatiable curiosity and means as a reporter, that he'd been betrayed in the past. She knew practically every detail of his removal from his home in Grandville to a cold, sterile laboratory in Metropolis, but could only imagine the pain she'd just put him through - again.
She'd considered him a friend, a close friend, and she liked to think he had considered her in the same light too, and liked to fantasize about even more. The look on his face told her her former assumption had been mutual, if not the latter.
Clark stared at no particular spot on the floor for a long, long minute. Then he slowly raised his eyes to hers, and pleaded with her silently to tell him she was joking, just fooling around, having a laugh at his expense, because though the joke would be cruel, it would be a million times better than the truth.
She could only hold his gaze for a few seconds, then she looked away.
He stood up, again as slow as if he was wading through molasses, then moved to the door in a trance. She made no move to stop him, and offered no explanation or excuse for her actions.
He didn't ask.
End of Part Five
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