Summary: Being forced to revisit his life before Smallville is nothing new to Lex, but this time an unwitting victim is brought along for the ride.

Disclaimer: Last time I checked, these guys still ain't mine!

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 shortly after Season 1's finale (which would probably alter something somewhere in the episodes that aired, but it's all good).


I: World-Weary


Where did that come from?

Lex Luthor frowned as he threw the light switch to his walk-in closet, peering closer at the object in question. It looked to be an old dress shirt of his, but for some reason he couldn't quite place it. While Lex realized the peculiarity of someone so wealthy being discriminating enough to notice one odd piece of clothing in such an extensive wardrobe, he couldn't help feeling surprised that he hadn't come across it sooner.

Reminding himself that there was no time for even the smallest distraction, Lex resumed his search for something appropriate to wear for the evening. Tonight was his much dreaded dinner with Lionel, and Lex was not about to give the old man the vindication of showing up late.

It was still hard to believe Lionel was actually blind.

A few weeks had passed since the twisters touched down, but most people in Smallville were still reeling from the disaster. Truth be told, Lex didn't feel all that guilty about his father's situation. In some ways he did, but it was complicated. After all, if he had to go through life bald, it was only fair that Lionel had to bear some kind of cross at one point or another—especially given his less than stellar track record as responsible caretaker and moral guardian.

Lex's hesitation to save Lionel that day, however, was something else entirely to wrap his brain around. When Lex had confessed to Clark that he had very nearly left him there, Clark simply said, "You saved him. That's the important part." Was it, though? Try as he might, Lex could not imagine Clark doing a remotely similar thing in a million years. Then again, Lex was reasonably sure Jonathan Kent had never grabbed Clark by the skull and vowed to bury him along with anyone else who dared side with him, either. In the annals of Most Fucked-Up Father-Son Relationships, Lex knew it was a safe bet he and Lionel had the competition beat.

Switching the closet back into darkness, Lex emerged from it with his chosen attire.

Tonight's definitely going to be a long one, he decided with a world-weary sigh.

»»««

It was 4:00, and Calvin Redgrave was in serious need of a hit. Reclining on the sofa, he considered his messy surroundings with indifference. Too bad he had no motivation for anything whatsoever at the moment. Just then the front door opened, followed by a spirited albeit unconventional greeting.

"Hey Redgrave, you here? Hope your day was as miserable as mine."

Calvin looked up as the visitor entered the room, shedding his blazer and schoolbag in one fluid motion. Plopping his lanky frame onto the opposite couch, the teenager raised his eyebrows expectantly as he began loosening his tie.

"Yeah, you could say that," Calvin replied with a neutral shrug.

The youth grinned with satisfaction as he proceeded to work the buttons on his cuffs. "Perfect. One of the more reliable ways to guarantee a productive night."

Calvin smiled back. If not always completely infectious, his friend's undying pursuit of escapism was at least refreshing. "So what exactly did you have in mind?" he asked, lacing his fingers behind his head.

"Metropolis, of course," came the almost indignant response. "As always, I am your agent provocateur."

"Yeah, with the all-important distinction you won't turn me over to the authorities once I give in to those criminal urges," Calvin amended with a smirk. "What's the scene look like tonight, anyway."

"Promising, my man, promising. That's all you need to know." The teen stuck a cigarette between his lips and began fishing around his discarded blazer for a lighter.

Nodding slowly, Calvin gave another apathetic shrug. "Yeah man, sounds good to me; count me in."

Watching his friend light up, Calvin's lips suddenly quirked into a smile as though he were noticing the academic attire for the first time. "How you can wear that shit all day long with a straight face is beyond me," he mused, shaking his head.

The boy's features puckered enigmatically as he took a deep drag off the cigarette—the effect would have been very James Dean, were it not for the conspicuous lack of hair above his corrugated brow.

"You're telling me," he said finally, blowing out a long plume of white smoke. "Consider yourself extremely lucky."


END 1/?


It is a very dangerous thing to know one's friends.

~ oscar wilde