Chapter 22 - Pact

Toby would have been all over Lex if he knew Lex was driving so soon after his accident. His right arm was in a sling, he was still dizzy from the pain meds, and he could barely turn his head to scan the road.

But Clark was in trouble. Nothing else mattered.

He pulled up to the apartment building. Clark sat on the concrete with his back against the wall, his forehead resting on his knees. Lex took a deep breath and got out of the car.

"Hey." He glanced down at what he was wearing to decide whether he was willing to sit on the concrete, then decided it didn't matter. He sat down next to Clark on the ground. "You want to talk about it?"

Clark looked up and took the disc out of his pocket. "I got you this."

Lex's eyes widened and he took the disc with his less injured hand. "You just saved over two thousand jobs."

"Good," Clark said, but his gaze was distant.

"What's on your mind?"

"Does it still hurt?"

Lex blinked. "Ah, it was a pretty serious fall, Clark, but I'm on some good pain meds—"

"Your face. Where I . . ." Clark looked away.

"Oh." Lex knew it looked bad. He didn't see that it would do any good to tell Clark that it was the most painful of his bruises. "Not really."

"Please don't lie to me."

Lex sighed. "It doesn't bother me when I don't think about it. It's sort of a dull ache when I do, and it's bad when I touch it."

"I don't know what that's like."

"You know what pain feels like."

"I can't imagine bruising. Like . . . the idea that something hurts to touch for days." Clark hung his head. "I'm sorry."

Lex didn't even know how to accept the apology without making Clark feel worse. "Hey. Want to come back to my place? We can talk more there."

"Okay." Clark stood slowly and climbed into the passenger's seat of Lex's car.

Lex drove back home as cautiously as he could. They were quiet on the drive, which was fine with him—he needed all of his energy and focus to get them both to the mansion safely.

They walked together from the garage up to the study. Lex lowered himself onto the couch as soon as he was there, and sighed in relief—even that short trip out had exhausted him. Clark sat on the couch across from him.

It was quiet for a long time, and Lex let it be. Clark would need time to process, and Lex needed time to rest. He knew he probably should have had someone drive him to pick up Clark, but he just didn't want to get anyone else involved. Clark wouldn't have wanted him to, either—he had made that abundantly clear.

"I was at Whitney's family's shop," Clark said after awhile. "There was a guy there with a tattoo that looked like the ones we saw last night. He gave Whitney his address, and I stole it and broke into the apartment to get your disc."

Lex didn't let himself smile, though on the inside he felt elated that Clark had been willing to do that for him.

"One of the thugs was there. He . . . he put his hand through my stomach and started tearing up my insides, and when he pulled his hand out, I sprayed it with the paint you gave me, and I knocked him out. The other two guys came back, and I knocked out one of them by throwing him against a wall, but I threw too hard, and . . ." Clark's face crumpled, and he buried it in his hands.

Lex's heart shredded as he watched his best friend suffer. He knew from experience that there was nothing he could say, but also that saying nothing was his worst option. So he took a deep breath. "Clark, listen to me."

Clark lowered his hands, though his eyes were red.

"When I was sixteen . . ." Lex winced. He'd never told anyone this story before, and now he was going to tell the person who was still probably mad at him for the mistakes he'd made over the past couple of days. The one person who had the power to make his life worth living, if only he could win his trust back. But if Clark needed to hear the story for his own healing . . . "I had a friend. Duncan Allenmeyer. We got in a fight, and I hit him."

Clark's eyes snapped up to meet Lex's, but there was no fear or judgement in his eyes, simply curiosity.

Lex swallowed. "I hit him over and over, and I drove him into the street. A car came by, and . . . Duncan is dead. And that's on me."

Clark winced.

"I've tried to do better since then, learn from my mistakes."

It all sounded so fake, so trite. Clark looked away again.

Lex tried for honesty: "I blamed myself. I still do. You never really get over that kind of guilt. You don't heal."

No, that wasn't what Clark needed to hear, either. Lex was failing at this. But he couldn't make Clark stew in silence any longer. That was what Lex's father had done to him when Duncan died.

"I think, over time, you learn to live with it. It's what makes you human. I mean—" He could have kicked himself for that last bit. Clark wasn't human. "Um . . ."

Clark dissolved into tears, sobbing into his open hands.

Lex had no idea what to do with that. Luthors didn't cry, weren't allowed to cry. His father had beaten him for crying more than once, beaten him until the sobbing became inconsolable and then refused to stop the blows until Lex stopped his tears. He could only guess at what he was supposed to do with a crying friend, based on what he'd seen in movies as a kid, and based on what his mother had done. He went over to the couch where Clark was sitting and awkwardly put a hand on his back.

It struck Lex then, what he usually forgot or pushed aside in his mind: Clark was a child. Lex had been a child when he'd killed Duncan at sixteen; Clark was only fourteen. As much as Lex might see him as a best friend, he would always be more like a little brother. Lex was fine with that—God knew how much he wanted a little brother—but it was hard to hold it in his mind. Clark didn't look his age, and most of the time, he didn't act it, either. But Lex had been so wrong to send Clark after those thugs. It might have been morally gray to send someone his own age after them; sending Clark was wrong.

Clark kept crying, but Lex didn't know anything else he could do, so he just stayed there, alternating between patting his back and gently rubbing circles. It occurred to Lex that if Clark did need to cry, he needed to do it here—he probably wasn't going to be willing to share what had happened with his parents or with any other kids.

When the crying had been reduced to sniffles, Clark softly asked, "Are you afraid of me?"

"Uh . . ." Lex took his hand away from Clark's back. Once again, the truth wouldn't help, but lying would be worse. There was no use lying when the listener knew it was a lie. "Sometimes. Are you afraid of me?"

"A little. You know my secrets."

"I know I broke your trust, Clark, but I'm truly sorry. I'm wondering if you'd be willing to give me a second chance. I don't want to be the person who kidnapped Eric and hired a mineralogist behind your back."

Clark's eyes shone. "Eric is alive."

"Clark—"

"I—I don't want to be the person who did this."

Lex sighed heavily. "You know what they say about power corrupting. I think both of us have too much of it for our own good. But we can keep each other in check. You're the only person who can hold me accountable for my . . . eccentricities, and I'm the only person who can stop you, if you . . ."

Clark raised his eyebrows. "Become like Eric?"

"The whole world can thank God you're you." A slight smile played with the corners of his lips.

Clark's face was dead serious. "Keep that meteor rock room. Just in case."

"I will," Lex said solemnly. "And Clark? I try to deny it, but my father's blood runs through my veins. If you ever have to use your strength to stop me from doing something . . . I forbid you to feel guilty about it."

"I never want to hit you again."

"And I never want to use meteor rock on you. But for better or for worse, we both have too much power, and we're the only ones who can balance each other."

"Doesn't that make us enemies?"

"No. It makes us friends." Lex raised his eyebrows. "If you're willing."

"I'm the one who hurt you."

"It's long forgiven."

Clark stood, and Lex pushed himself up as well. Clark wrapped his arms very gently around Lex, as though he was afraid of making Lex's injuries worse—and Lex appreciated that, since his back and arms were still sensitive. Lex hugged back as tightly as he could without hurting himself.

Lex patted his back a couple of times and let go. "You should be getting home. Your parents will worry."

"Can I come back Monday? For my . . . internship."

Lex smiled, his throat tightening. "Wouldn't miss it for the world," he said.

Clark took a few steps toward the door, but then he looked back at Lex. "Um. About . . . the things you said about your father, and your old nanny . . ."

Lex's cheeks felt warm. "I was delirious, Clark."

"You told me to tell him you were sorry. What are you sorry for?"

Even though Clark knew about Duncan, Lex wasn't ready to talk about Julian. "That's a story for another day," he said.

Clark's eyebrows knitted. "Okay. But if you have something to say to someone, you should say it."

"My father knows I'm sorry. He just doesn't care."

"You should find Pamela Jenkins."

"You think I haven't tried?"

"You don't have any leads?"

"Apparently she lived in Smallville for awhile, but as far as I know, she's not in the US anymore." Lex shook his head. "She doesn't want to be found. And even if she did . . . I don't know if what I said is true. I haven't really forgiven her for leaving me."

Clark frowned, but he didn't press the matter. He just said, "Thanks again for the ride," and left the room.