A/N: An extension of Clark and Lex's conversation in 7x16, Descent. For the record, I didn't change Clark's lines much for this (until the very ending).

Enmity

Lex shouldn't have been surprised to find Clark in his study before his father's body was cold. For years, there had been a little part of him that always still hoped, whenever Clark came to visit, that he might have something encouraging to say. Since his father's death, though, that part of his mind seemed to have been physically separated from his body. An eight-year-old version of himself was following him around everywhere, criticizing him.

He knew it was another hallucination, and he should probably do something about it. For now, though, he had to deal with Clark. "My father just died, and you're already breaking and entering."

"Lionel would never take his own life," Clark said.

"I thought you'd at least try to offer some words of comfort." That was a lie. Lex thought no such thing. "Get out."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Lex's eight-year-old conscience's voice piped up: "You can still be good, Lex. Tell Clark what you did. He's our friend."

Lex fought the urge to roll his eyes. His weaker side had always been annoying, but it hadn't always been stupid. Clark would absolutely kill him if he confessed.

"I'm not gonna debate my father's mental state with you. I'm grieving, Clark." It wasn't exactly a lie, even though the word was wrong. The mix of emotions in the wake of his father's death was an odd one, not dissimilar to what Lex had felt years before, when he watched his father's first arrest. Back then, there had been incredible pain, knowing he would never earn his father's love, but it was mixed with the freedom of knowing he didn't have to try to earn it anymore. Now, that feeling of freedom would have dominated if not for the terror of what he was becoming. "I think you know what it's like to lose a father."

"Don't bring my father into this," Clark said.

"Why not? Our fathers were a lot alike. Smart, strong-willed, and both died prematurely."

"You know, you're right, Lex. Lionel did die too soon. I wanna know the truth about how he died."

Always, with the accusations. At least this one was true. "The truth is, our dads were alike in another way. See, they both felt that you were the kind of son a father could be proud of."

"They would have felt the same way about you, Lex, if you would have tried. What happened to you?"

Something in Lex snapped.

"If I would have tried? No. Tell me that's not what you just said."

Clark's jaw stiffened.

Lex glanced over at his younger counterpart. The boy's eyes were wide, staring at Clark, tears filling his eyes. That side of him really did believe Clark was his friend. Lex felt something for his weaker that he hadn't felt in a long time—compassion.

And with that, the boy was gone. It was as if he'd rejoined with Lex again, working in tandem with him in his mind, the way they once did.

"That's what I said, Lex" Clark crossed his arms. "You didn't even try."

It was a challenge. Lex felt like he'd been waiting for this moment for years.

He was ready.

"Clark, I took every, and I mean every, opportunity to be a friend to your father."

"You tried to crush him in the state senate race."

"He tried to crush me. I was running long before he decided he was interested in politics."

"He was trying to protect the people from a tyrant like you."

"How exactly did I offend him? I offered to help with the farm, I went to war against anyone who threatened your family, I had helicopters and medical specialists at the ready for any time any of you got sick or injured. I bought him the farm when you disappeared for three months and left your family in ruins, and your father was back to hostility with me within two weeks."

"You can't buy friendship, Lex."

"Then you explain to me how friendship works, Clark. Your father was obviously the expert, seeing as he told me he wished my whole family was dead when I stopped by to make sure he was okay after an accident."

Rage filled Clark's eyes. Lex had learned to fear that look. "You don't know the first thing about my father," Clark spat.

"Then let's talk about mine. You wanna know why he never believed I was worthy to be his son when I was a kid? It's because I spent half the time taking blame for things my mother did so he wouldn't kill her. But please, by all means, go on telling me about how he wouldn't have have beaten me or shoved me into furniture if I had tried harder. Tell me I deserved that when I was eight."

That actually shut Clark up for a moment.

"God knows I've tried to earn his favor since then, but everything's a game to him. He's launched attack after attack—against me, against my employees, against this town, against you. I wasn't going to let him hurt anyone. So forgive me if I'm not weeping over his death."

"Your father was trying to change. He loved you."

"No. He told me he loved me when he wanted something. The first time he ever told me he loved me, he was trying to trick me into a body swap so I'd be left to die of a rare liver disease in a prison cell. And do you have any idea how many times my father has tried to kill me since then? I can't count on your protection anymore, Clark, so when I saw my opportunity—"

"I knew it."

Lex threw up his hands. "Are you listening to anything I'm saying?"

"I'm hearing you loud and clear. You killed your father. And you still dare to speak about him this way. Do you have no shame?"

Lex was getting nowhere with this. Clark could only hear what he wanted to hear. But Lex had to make him hear what he was saying. Everything depended on it. "Then let's talk about the living. Let's talk about you. You inspired me. I considered you my brother. I protected you, I gave you everything I had. All I wanted was to be your friend."

"How could I be friends with you after what you did to Lana?"

Lex swallowed hard. Clark had a point there, though that had been complicated, and Clark had hated him long before any of his accusations against Lex had any basis in reality. Lex didn't think it was worth arguing that point, though. "Believe me, Clark, I'm not claiming to be a good man. That's always been your claim to fame. But I'm talking about before Lana."

"Goodness is a choice you make, Lex. You've never made that choice."

"I tried. I told you about my inner demons. I begged you for your help. I once told you I thought the world would be better off without me—I was telling you I wished I was dead, and you responded by telling me I was worse than my father."

"You had lied to me!"

"Every other sentence that comes out of your mouth is a lie, Clark! Do you think anyone doesn't know that?"

Clark shook his head. "You've always seen things that weren't there. You investigated me."

"You were keeping secrets."

"Everyone keeps secrets! You ever think maybe those things were none of your business?"

"You know how many near-death experiences I've had because of things you declared were none of my business?"

Lex thought he had gone too far then. He thought Clark was going to attack him physically, like he had so many times before. But Clark just seethed.

Lex had gotten this far—he may as well push his luck. But for a moment, no words came to him. He was overwhelmed by everything Clark had done. He thought of the times Clark had berated him for asking questions, slammed his head into a wall when he'd come close to discovering something, tried to convince him he was crazy for believing the impossible evidence of his eyes, accused him of things he hadn't done, broken into his house and stolen from him and beaten him and strangled him and lied and lied and lied . . .

"I'm not a good man. I don't know if I ever was, but believe me. I tried." Lex dared to take a step closer. "My father never broke me, Clark. Twenty-five years of his abuse, and I still thought I could fight my inner demons. But you . . ."

"So you're the person you are today because of me." Sarcasm dripped from Clark's voice. "I tried to be your friend, Lex, but all you care about is power and control."

Clark was one to talk about power and control. "This is Smallville! Meteor freaks, alien ships, cryptic symbols. These threats are real. Someone had to take control. Someone has to protect the world."

"Listen to yourself, Lex. You're so caught up in your own delusions, you've lost track of reality."

"DELUSIONS?"

The silence following the word roared in the room.

"Which part of what I said is a delusion, Clark?"

"Come on, Lex. Mutants? Aliens? It sounds crazy."

Still using that same line, after all these years. "We've been running into mutants every week since we met. And I was possessed by an alien."

"You don't remember what happened."

"You think that makes it better? I spent months wracked with guilt over that day, and I tried to raise money to repair the damage, and you mocked me."

"There you go again. Thinking anything can be fixed with money."

His voice softened. "You're right. I have been deluding myself. I though you were my friend, but it's clear now." His voice rose a bit more with each word. "You've never stopped lying to me, you've never stopped seeing the worst in me, and you know what the worst part is—" he was shouting "—it's that it still hasn't stopped. It never stops. Because I never ever STOPPED LOVING YOU."

It was silent for a long time. Lex's heart pounded harder than it ever had in his entire life.

Clark half laughed and looked down. "Now I know you're living a delusion. You're not capable of love."

"You never listen," Lex whispered, then shook his head, pacing away. "He never listens. Never listens. Never—"

Lex whirled around and punched Clark square in the jaw.

He knew what was going to happen before it did. It was like punching a marble statue. Clark's face didn't move, while Lex's fist erupted in agony as the bones crunched.

Lex dropped to his knees, clutching his arm, screaming. Ironically, he'd never been good with pain.

But he had been right about Clark. Clark had been lying all these years. He wasn't human. He was strong, invulnerable.

Lex felt himself rising, lifted by his throat, then his back was slammed against the wall. As they had so many times before, Clark's fingers squeezed around his neck just hard enough to cut off the air, just tight enough that his lungs burned and pinpricks of panic broke out all over his body.

But if Clark had superhuman strength . . . he could snap Lex's neck like a toothpick, if he wanted to. Could crush him with a single punch. This—this was a delicate grip for him. All the times Clark had done this, he had never been trying to kill him, not really. He'd only ever been trying to make it hurt.

Somehow that was worse.

Lex's head felt like it was going to explode, and he struggled involuntarily. He might as well have struggled against concrete, for all it helped.

He pried his eyes open and stared into the eyes of the wrathful demigod he'd once called his best friend, and it hit him at once that he'd been wrong. Not wrong about anything he was saying, but wrong about the way he'd approached it. How could he have hoped to reason with someone who lied so often he didn't seem to notice he was lying? How could he have thought to fight the man from the stars, with the strength of ten men?

Lex had wanted to brave and stand up to the power he knew would become tyrannical. But he had been wrong. To fight wasn't heroic. To fight was senseless. Imbecilic. There was no hope, no point in fighting. Lex was a fragile, powerless human, a mere insect to be flicked away, barely an obstacle worth considering.

Faced with the promise of a slow, painful death, Lex wanted to beg. He wanted to appeal to compassion, not so that Clark wouldn't kill him, but so that he would kill him quickly. At the same time, he wanted to rage and shout. He wanted to keep arguing, keep imploring Clark to see reason . . .

But even if it had mattered, even if there had been anything he could do to regain his beloved brother's mercy, Lex couldn't speak. Couldn't make a sound against the strangling. The edges of his vision were going fuzzy. The pain had passed the point of being bearable long, long seconds ago.

Then, suddenly, it stopped. Lex dropped to the floor. He struggled to pull in a breath, grasping at his throat with his uninjured hand.

His eyes fell on Clark's shoes, then he looked up at his hero's face to see why he had stopped.

"You're not worth it," Clark said through clenched teeth, and finally, finally, he left the study.