Just because you know one thing about a person doesn't mean you know everything.
Clark may have agonized with worry about being recognized night after night, but he never considered the possibility that Smiley would be the one to recognize him. That she would stand there in the kitchen and say 'why didn't you tell me' with open eyes, eyes more open than anything.
And he can't say a word. He sees the betrayal in her eyes and no amount of pleading or reasoning or explaining will wipe it away. No amount of tears will clear the clouds from her brow. This moment will never end. They will stand like this forever, his hand frozen on her hip, her lips parted, both of them striking a perfectly dramatic pose.
But then it does end, and Clark wishes it never had because Smiley is asking him. Why? Why didn't you tell me? And she strokes his face like everything is going to be alright, and she even whispers it in his ear. Like he's some kind of spooked animal ready to run at a moment's notice.
Although he is. Ready to run, that is. At the first sign of danger he is outta here like he never existed. Thoughts are racing through his head: The apartment is in her name, she has enough money to last her until she gets a job, and even if she didn't he could still look after her without her knowledge.
But then she pulls him into a hug, and it's like she's squeezing the words right out of him. They begin inching out between his lips at a torturous pace, and the going isn't quick but it's unstoppable. He tells her everything.
Maybe it's the amount of drugs Smiley's ingested, but miraculously, she believes every word. She soaks it up and her eyes shine with some unknown flare and her body seems to crackle with excitement. When the words finally stop flowing Smiley just leads him to the bed and they lie there together. Everything's in the open now, and whether it crumbles or carries on regardless is up to Smiley now.
They don't lie in bed for long. Clark strokes Smiley's arm and then Smiley kisses Clark, and soon they are naked and breathless and all the wrong kind of drama is gone for a short while.
0
The streets are black glass under the shine of the streetlights and the pouring rain. Every so often lightning flashes across the sky, illuminating everything as though it were day. The trees that flank the road are old and tall, and their branches meet in the middle to form a shadowy arc over the road.
There is no thunder, or at least nothing audible. Clark can't hear any of the normal city sounds over the pounding of the rain and his own pounding heartbeat. He feels pinpricks of cold on his skin, sees the goose bumps slowly begin to rise on his arms and the fog of his breath all around him.
There are no people around, neither in the streets nor in the surrounding buildings. Clark doesn't even consider the fact that that's a little odd. He barely even notices the lack of life around him. He doesn't know what do so he just stands there, staring out between the monolithic skyscrapers at a muddied, blurred ocean.
Slowly, the ocean recedes, or his vision does. The rain falls harder, coming down in sheets, biting mercilessly into his body and eating away at the city. Steam rises from the streets as the water begins to grow acidic. Clark feels the burn to his arms and scalp, and thinks 'I have to get out of here!' He picks a direction and starts running, but his shoes and clothing begins to melt away until he is running naked through the deserted streets of Gotham city.
His super-speed won't kick in, and every raindrop feels like a tiny needle shoved into through skin and muscle to hit bone. His whole body aches but he keeps on running. The doors of all the building are locked, and the longer he can't get out of the rain the weaker he feels.
Clark hears something. He stops running and cocks his head and tries to ignore the aching in his body. He doesn't know how he can hear it over the pounding of the rain, but there it is: the sound of someone's panicked breathing. It seems like it's echoing off the walls of a small metal room.
The sound leads him to the First National Gotham City Bank. The door is wide open and shining with a warm and welcome light, almost as though it's drawing him in. Clark takes the invitation and is quickly inside.
Almost immediately after getting out of the rain he can feel his strength returning, and the strange breathing echoes off the walls of the cavernous, marbled monument, not louder, but clearer. He avoids the places where the rain has eaten through the granite and marble, slips between puddles and mini-downpours, and heads to the back of the bank.
He breaks through a door marked in bold 'EMPLOYEES ONLY' and knows he's going in the right direction. He's through the door and down the hall, moving through a seemingly endless maze of glaringly white corridors until he rounds a corner and stops short at what he sees.
Standing before him about halfway down the hall stand four men, shoulder to shoulder. Three of them wear a familiar uniform; black with a navy stripe up the leg and silver buttons on the jacket that reminds him of the doorman in the building where he lives. The last, standing on the far left, wears an expensive-looking suit and tie, and a maddening smirk on his face. He turns and walks down the hall in the direction of the breathing, leaving the three guards standing there, staring.
The men don't move, don't say a word as Clark approaches them, and the closer he gets, the more familiar they are. He can see the gaping holes where his bullets ripped through their bodies, and the bloody mess that he never really had the chance to examine where Smiley shot the third guard right in the face. He peers past them and sees pools of blood where he vaguely remembers they fell when they were shot. They look a little swirled about, and he can see footprints leading from the blood to where they stand now.
Clark falters for a moment, unable to look at any of them any longer. A tense pain wells up inside him, one he recognizes as guilt. It pounds in his chest stronger even than the beating of his own heart, and finally he can't take in anymore. He looks up and starts forward. He pushes past the guards with little resistance and shakes away their grasping hands as, at once, they fall to the floor. He braces himself for the mysterious fourth man, but he is nowhere to be seen.
The door to the vault is open a sliver, and the harsh breathing echoes inside. When Clark tries to open the thick metal door further, his strength is taxed to the limit, and he is barely ably to open it enough to slip through. When he finally squeezes himself through the small opening he has a chance to take in his surroundings and is surprised. The vault is much bigger than he remembers. There are several metal tables that fill most of the long room, safe deposit boxes that line two walls, and stacks of cash line the other two. Clark has no interest in any of this.
He walks to the corner or the room and looks down the length of the room between the table and the wall, and sees a body. Or rather, the edge of one. The breathing gets harsher and more erratic the closer he gets to it, but that doesn't stop him. He can see bare skin, blistered, burned and scarred.
It is Lex.
Lex, whose empty eyes shift up to Clark's and fill with relief and joy and so many things Clark can't keep track of them all. Who, despite the pain he is clearly in, breaks out an unstoppable grin upon sight. The one person in the world who will do anything for Clark. Lex, whose breathing immediately calms and regulates.
Suddenly exhausted, he sits down next to Lex, who pulls him into a desperate, tight embrace.
"I thought I had lost you." He says with a broken, unused voice, and Clark's heart fills at the pain that he's caused.
"I'm sorry." He whispers into Lex's shirt. "I'm so sorry."