(no subject)
And the next installment, hot off the editing desk, before I cross the Hellespont to Troy and certain doom...
Parallel
Perry White, editor in chief, is less than thrilled when half of his best reporting team walks into his office without knocking and announces that he's taking another week off. Perry White, recovering alcoholic with a broken marriage and a son in jail, just pats Clark on the shoulder sympathetically and tells him to take two. He seldom admits it, but he's very fond of Clark, fish out of water as he still is in Metropolis after all these years, and he likes Lex too, for all that he's a slippery son of a bitch and impossible to pin down. He knows a lot more about Lionel Luthor than most Metropolitans, and he knows where the bulk of the skeletons lie. And it isn't in Lex's closet, though Perry still can't, for the life of him, figure out what Clark's Nikes and work boots are doing in there with Lex's Gucci loafers. Still. He clears his throat, but for a new age guy he makes a good caveman, so he settles for shaking Clark's hand and sending Lex his best. The newsman in him is irritated that he can't ask what the hell is going on, but he's a man of his word, and that was the deal they made when Clark started here. Clark seems thrown by his acquiescence, mouth opening and closing on the speech he'd obviously had planned, and leaves quickly before he can change his mind. Perry cracks his knuckles and yells for Jimmy.
*****
Clark *is* thrown. He knows the Chief's fond of him, almost as fond as he is of Lois, who he regards as a daughter, but the last time he got in and out of the office this easily Jonathan had had a heart attack and been rushed to hospital. He reflexively brushes a finger across his desk, hoping wood veneer counts, stuffs his laptop into its case, and ducks into the elevator before the doors can close. The columnist who's just got out shakes her head, but doesn't ask.
Having budgeted more time for the confrontation, Clark's momentarily at a loss for what to do. Lionel Luthor is unavailable, according to his personal assistant, and a flyover on the way to the paper has confirmed that he's not in the Luthorcorp building or at the townhouse. A quick scan of the assistant's diary reveals a meeting scheduled for midday, but that's still two hours away. Clark lets his feet guide him, and regrets the impulse when he finds himself drinking bitter coffee in Lex's favourite cafe. Christ it's been a shitty day. And it's barely started. Staring at the menu, and avoiding the waitress' concerned look, he remembers the last time he was in here, and everything else that happened that day. The coffee had been bitter then too, far stronger than he liked it, but he'd come to pick something up for Lex, to make up for missing dinner, those crazy tarts he likes so much with the sour lemon filling. He'd been staring into space then too, long enough to worry the waitress who always serves them, the one Lex always says is flirting with him, just to see him blush.
Christ it's been a shitty day. Called into Perry's office four and a half minutes after he walked in the door, yelled at for what seems like an hour, and how does Perry do that, he must have the lung capacity of a blue whale. Clark can hold his breath for thirty-seven minutes, he timed himself once, but he can't call someone an idiot, insult their hometown, question their masculinity, impugn their ability to be objective, *and* demand they admit to knowing the whereabouts of missing colleagues, all in one go. It's just impossible. Perry, though, can do it easily, and probably could have gone further, had the errant Lois not sauntered in with a big smile and a handful of copy guaranteed to make the front page. Which ended the discussion, but got Clark neither an apology nor an explanation.
Things had progressed downhill from there, what with the "all hands on deck, special edition to get out" flag going up; and getting called on the carpet by Legal, who really should be talking to Lois, but let's face it, they're afraid of her so better by far to pummel the partner and hope he passes the message on; and then getting the snide secretary at Lexcorp when he called to cancel dinner - the one who's old money herself, and went to Smith, and still privately refers to Clark as "that hayseed from Smallville", and no, Clark doesn't use his hearing to make sure the secretaries don't have inappropriate crushes on Lex, he just checks occasionally for Luthorcorp spies, and Miranda could definitely be one of those - and really, ill will to no man and all that, but he hates the way she looks at Lex, and he wishes Lex would just fire her. After all that, Jimmy finally let slip that the real reason Perry's so mad is that Luthorcorp has threatened to pull its advertising if the Planet's pro-Lexcorp bias isn't straightened out, and that's just ridiculous because it's a good paper but it's an old one, and it's always supported the status quo, and just last week there was a scathing op-ed piece about research run dangerously amok at Lexlabs, and Clark hadn't said a word. And maybe that's what Perry's sneer was for this morning, maybe he's just Southern gentleman enough that he thinks Clark *should* have defended Lex. But Clark's brain is starting to hurt trying to figure it out, and goddammit, he wants this day to end. He wants to get home, get under the covers, and have Lex make it all better. It's been weeks since they've had sex, too busy, too tired, too everything but together. But that's all about to change. He doesn't care how tired Lex is, or whether he's got an early meeting tomorrow, he's going to feed him lemon tarts, drag him into the bedroom, and have his wicked way, just like Lex used to do, back in the day, when Clark still thought you weren't allowed to have fun the night before a test.
Lex isn't in evidence when Clark walks in though. Which is... odd. Because the stereo is on. Very loud. Playing some godawful cd Clark doesn't recognise, all throbbing bass and pounding drums, and the penthouse might have really good sound-proofing, but Lex never leaves anything on when he goes out, he's pedantic about it. And anyway, his cellphone and keys are lying on the coffee table, and while he could conceivably have forgotten the keys, Lex Luthor without his cellphone would have to be a sign of the impending apocalypse. Lex isn't in his office though, or in their bedroom, and Clark feels vaguely silly checking the kitchen, but all of that goes out of his head when he opens the door to the main bathroom.
Lex is sprawled on the black and white marble floor, body convulsing, gasping for breath. He's burning up when Clark touches him, sweat dripping off him, but his teeth are chattering and his lips are blue. His eyes open suddenly, pupils so dilated there's only a rim of colour round the black, and he clutches at Clark like a drowning man. He can't answer when Clark asks him what's wrong though, and Clark can't think what to do. The thought flits through his mind that once he would have known, but he doesn't have time to process it. Pulling Lex into his arms he races down the hall, grabbing a blanket off the sofa and wrapping Lex in it, and in another heartbeat he's crashing into the ER at Metropolis General, shouting for someone to help him.
The doctors act as though unconscious half-dressed men are brought in every Friday night, and maybe they are, but Clark resents their questions anyway. "He's your boyfriend?" Yes. "Do you use drugs together?" No. "Were you together when this happened?" No. "So you don't know if he took anything?" No. I mean, he didn't. "We can't help him if you lie to us." And then, of course, one of the older nurses recognises Lex. "It's the Luthor boy, he's OD'd before." And that's the last straw - he starts yelling, and they threaten to call security, and before he knows it he's out in the waiting room, surrounded by distraught mothers with crying babies and drunk night clubbers and gang members barely old enough to shave, and a little voice in his head that sounds like Lionel tells him it's his own fault for coming here, and doesn't he know the Luthors always go to Holy Cross?
An eternity of anxious waiting till the nurse comes back out, and says in a quiet, oddly gentle voice that the doctors had been right, it was an amphetamine overdose, and had he really not known? You're wrong, he replies automatically. You must be wrong. He doesn't do drugs anymore, he hasn't for years. The nurse is quietly insistent but he refuses to believe her, adamant as he's ever been, defending Lex to all comers. He knows Lex better than anyone. She sighs, and takes him through to the recovery room.
Lex is as pale as the sheets he's lying on, tubes coming out of his nose, needles in his forearm and the back of his hand, pumps wheezing and monitors beeping all around him. His eyes are open, and as Clark reaches for him they fill with tears. Clark kisses him, and Lex whispers against his lips, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Clark shushes him, but it's unnecessary, his eyes are already closing. Clark holds his free hand until he's sure he's asleep, listening to the steady beat of his heart, no longer the racing triphammer of before, kisses him again, and leaves. The nurse hands him an envelope without saying anything, and he takes it without meeting her eyes.
He takes the subway home, skimming the pamphlets: Narcotics Anonymous chapters, support groups for friends and family of addicts, a chart of symptoms and warning signs to be on the lookout for. Hyperactivity, insomnia, headaches. Feelings of power or superiority. Nothing new then. He tosses the packet into the trash, gets out and walks the rest of the way.
He smiles woodenly as the doorman tells him he should be wearing a coat, taps his foot the whole ride up, and barely waits for the doors to close behind him before he starts scanning the apartment. It doesn't take long. There are a couple of tiny packets of a crystalline powder in Lex's desk, and hiding in plain sight in Lex's dressing room an enamel box stuffed full of bottles, jars and cartons. Some have genuine prescription labels, some have brightly coloured stickers with Toby's distinctive chicken scratch on them, and others have no identification at all. He flings the lot into the sink, sets it on fire, and leaves the smouldering mess for Lex to clean up when he gets home. There's also a loaded Glock pistol under Lex's side of the bed, and another in his desk. Clark doesn't know what to do with those.
The waitress ignores his red eyes, and whisks away the barely touched coffee, bringing him instead a hot chocolate and a custard square. Arguing about whether it's really custard, or actually creme anglaise, is one of the things Lex always identifies as flirting, but in this moment Clark's just grateful for the silent solidarity. She doesn't charge him for the coffee when he leaves, and the smile when he tells her to keep the change from twenty is almost enough to get one in return.
*****
Quarter to eleven finds Clark alighting on the roof of the Luthorcorp building, right in the security cameras' blind spot. He knows where it is because he and Lex have been up here before, just fooling around, when Lex still had the office next to Lionel's, and access to all areas. He's into the emergency stairwell and down in seconds, past the assistant's desk, and into Lionel's office. It's the same museum piece monstrosity it always was, ancient weapons and old masters mingled incongruously with glass and chrome, and the hideous black obsidian desk Clark's always hated. Lex used to liken being in here to being called before the headmaster, and, while it's nothing like Principal Reynolds' office, Clark agrees.
Lionel sweeps in a moment later, and on any other day Clark would have laughed to have a cherished suspicion confirmed - the man really is incapable of opening a door without theatrics. He jumps when he sees Clark, and tries to call for his assistant, but Clark pulls him into the room and shuts the door behind him. Lionel recovers fast, sauntering over to his desk and pouring himself a glass of brandy. "I've been expecting you, Clark," he drawls, "though as usual your mode of entry is mysterious."
"I want to know where Lex is. I spoke to the police, they said he was released into your custody."
"Of course he was, Clark. He's my son. Who else's custody would he be released into?"
Clark restrains himself, with difficulty, and takes a breath. "I want to see him. He's not at the townhouse, where is he?"
Lionel laughs. "I thought you'd have outgrown your stalker tendencies by now Clark. Then again, I thought Lex would have outgrown you. I suppose I overestimated you both."
Restraint makes a valiant last stand, concedes defeat, and flees the field. Clark grabs Lionel by his lapels and hoists him off the ground. Brandy splashes over both of them, and Lionel looks shocked. Clark follows through quickly, before his temper can cool, or Lionel's hauteur reassert itself. "I can break your neck before security gets in here, and we both know it. Now tell me what I want to know."
"Put me down!"
"Answer the question!"
"He's in a psychiatric facility, and you obviously belong there too. You're as bad as each other."
"You put him in a mental hospital?" Clark staggers back, horrified, letting Lionel go. "How could you?"
Lionel sinks down into one of the armchairs, motioning for Clark to take the other. His voice, when he speaks, is old and tired. "He's sick, Clark. He needs help, and neither of us can give it to him."
"You're lying!" This, at least, Clark can count on.
"I'm not. He's had a psychotic break. He's completely delusional."
"You're lying." Pleading now.
"It's not the first time Clark. But the hallucinations are much worse this time. I've never seen him so bad. He arrived at the house on Christmas Day, almost hysterical, shouting about how I'd tried to kill his mother."
"Did you?"
"Of course not!" For a fleeting second Clark sees a crack in the Luthor armour. "I wasn't a model husband by any means, but I loved Lillian very much. I love Lex too, more than anything." And in his own sick way, Clark thinks he probably does. "He never told you?"
"No." The fight's gone out of Clark, and he sits down. "He never said anything."
"I'm not surprised. Of all his secrets, this is the one he was most ashamed of."
"He didn't have to be ashamed, if he's sick I'd help him, I'd do anything to… Wait." Clark looks up at Lionel. "I've never heard *anything* like that. From anyone. Ever. You couldn't keep it quiet if it was true."
"Lex has lived his whole life under a microscope, but there are some things we managed to keep private. It cost a *lot* Clark, but as you know, I'm a very wealthy man."
"And you covered this up? Why?"
"Don't be naive." Lionel's self possession is returning, and with it his scorn for those who will not understand. "He's my *heir*. He will *be* Luthorcorp when I'm gone. If my competitors knew, they'd destroy him."
"You're ashamed of him. *You're* the one who's ashamed. He's not your company; he's your son. Did you even try to help him?"
"I tried everything Clark. Counsellors, psychiatrists, a dozen drug regimens, nothing made a difference. In the end I had to have him admitted to a facility where they could take care of him. And where he couldn't do himself *or* my company any more damage."
"I want to see him. Today."
"I'm afraid that's impossible. He can't have visitors, Dr Gregory is very strict on that point. I don't enquire into his methods, all I need to know is that they work. I just hope lightning can strike twice."
"You can't stop me from seeing him. I don't care who this quack is, I don't care who *you* are. Lex is my partner, and I'm the one who should get to decide what treatment he needs. I'll get a lawyer if I have to." Control of the situation is slipping away from Clark, and he knows it.
"I wouldn't recommend that Clark, I wouldn't recommend it all." Lionel stands up, smiling, and as he escorts Clark across the room it's like the mansion, and being fifteen years old, all over again. "Lex is a voluntary patient at the moment, but if you get lawyers involved I'll have to have him formally committed. He won't thank you. He hates it there, Clark. Since he was nineteen years old, just the *threat* of it has been enough to bring him to heel. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting with my board of directors."
*****
They stride past him, masters of the universe in tailored suits, and Clark numbly allows Lionel's assistant to take him down in the elevator and put him into a cab. The cabbie asks him four times where he wants to go before he summons the strength to answer, but Lex's platinum Amex silences any objection there might have been to his request to go to Smallville. It'd be a hideous extravagance in any case, never mind that he could run there in minutes, but he needs the time to get himself together, and Lex hates it when he runs around in broad daylight. Hates it when he does it at night too.
Lex sits meekly on the couch while Clark fusses, arranging cushions, tucking the blanket round him more securely. "I'm okay, Clark," he says at last. "Stop worrying."
"You need to rest, you should have stayed in hospital."
"I need to go to the office. God knows what's happened the last few days, I was in the middle of..." Lex breaks off suddenly. "Who else knows I was in the hospital? Gabe? Oh god, my father?"
"Of course not. Noone knows."
"Did you call an ambulance?"
"No, I took you myself. Stop stressing."
"Which car did you take?"
"I didn't take a car Lex, will you…" Clark realises his mistake before he finishes, but it's already too late.
"You took me *yourself*? On a Friday night? What the hell is the matter with you?"
"What's the matter with me?" This is just like Lex, going on the offensive rather than be forced to explain himself. "What's the matter with *you*? You're the one who nearly died."
"I didn't nearly die. You overreacted as usual. It takes a lot more than that to put me down."
"Your heart stopped, Lex. They said if I hadn't found you when I did you would have died for certain."
"I don't know how you're not in a fucking lab!"
"What?" Clark recoils as though slapped.
"I spoke to the doorman on the way up, and so, I bet, did you. What are you going to say if he ever asks how we got out without him seeing us? Just because noone ever *has* asked, doesn't mean noone ever will. And what about the hundreds of people in the streets last night? Are you willing to bet your life on the fact that noone saw us? It's no wonder your species is extinct, if they all had survival instincts as good as yours."
"I did it for you!"
"Why? Couldn't you put your own safety first for once? Why does it always have to be about me? You saved me once, a million years ago, and you've never left me alone since. What makes you think I need you to save me every single time? Do you think you own me now?"
"The Chinese would say that I do."
"Don't give me that red string bullshit. Fuck the Chinese, and fuck destiny too."
"You're the one who always talked about it, and what a great one we had."
"Yeah. Well it took a long time, I'm not proud, but I finally realised what a hypocrite I am. Embrace destiny and I have to accept fate, don't I? And I've seen my fate. I don't like it."
"Lex, please."
"If destiny's the price I have to pay, so be it."
Standing in the loft window where Lex promised him the world, Clark gives in and cries. His parents aren't home, and he doesn't have the heart to go into town and find them. A creak of the stairs behind him makes him jump, but it's just the cabbie.
"Come on kid," he says gently. "I've got to get home before my wife gives my dinner to the dogs. I may as well take you back too."
Clark follows him without a word. Lionel would find a way to make it sinister, Lex would be looking for a motive too, but like the waitress this morning, there's comfort in the random kindness of strangers.
*****
Lois is sitting up waiting when Clark gets home. She's still in her work clothes, crumpled blouse pulled out of her skirt, jacket flung over the back of the couch. Pizza boxes and coke cans compete with her laptop and several piles of paper for space on the coffee table. The papers are losing, spilling off one end, and bearing numerous coffee cup rings. He stalks right past her into the kitchen to get a glass of milk. She follows, of course.
"Clark, we need to talk."
"No Lois," he says quietly, mindful of the thin walls, and the fact that Jimmy's asleep just down the hall. The kid had likely copped the full force of Perry's temper this afternoon, and while he hadn't been expecting any awards for his latest spread, it hadn't been *that* bad. "I need to go to bed, and you need to go home."
She barges past him to flick the oven on. "You may need sleep, Clark, but you need to eat something first. And I do need to get home; I've got a breakfast meeting in... Jesus… but I'm not leaving till you let me apologise."
"Lois..."
"No Clark. We've worked together for what, four years? And been friends for at least two of them."
He smiles a little at that. "Three, Lois. Since I covered for you on the Scaleri piece, remember."
She smiles back. "Right. And in that time have you ever heard me apologise? Don't answer, we both know you haven't. But I was wrong this morning. Horribly wrong. I want to say I don't know where it came from, but we both know I do. I saw a story and I went for it. I didn't stop to think about you at all. And I wish I had. I've spent the whole day wishing it. You're my friend Clark, you're my best friend, and God, I never thought I'd say it, but that means a lot more to me than a story. Please forgive me, and let me help you."
It's too much, and like a dam riddled with cracks, Clark just gives way. Sliding down the cabinets like a boneless mass, and Lois is there with her wiry strength, to catch him before he falls. He's twice her size, but somehow she manages to wrap herself around him anyway, rubbing his back and stroking his hair and murmuring nonsense into his ear.
"Please help," he forces out, through a throat too swollen for coherent speech. "Please help me, I don't know what to do."
She hugs him tighter, and he thinks he hears her bones creak with the exertion. "Of course I'll help you. I know what to do. Everything will be all right." She keeps repeating it until he believes it, falling asleep in her arms, right there on the cracked lino. When he wakes up hours later it's to an exasperated Jimmy turning off the oven, and Lois is still sitting there, arms clenched just as tight around him. It's after seven, but she doesn't mention her meeting, just asks what he wants to do first. And he knows that together they can figure it out. They can figure it out, because Lois may be abrasive, but she's the best investigative reporter in the state, and noone has ever kept *anything* she wanted to know a secret from her. Lex used to joke about how lucky Clark was that she'd never turned her full attention on *him*. But then, why would she? Romance had never been a possibility between them, and by the time his case of hero worship and her annoyance at getting stuck with the new kid had worn off, she'd gotten used to his idiosyncrasies and accepted them as part of the package. Besides, four years in the MU dorms and as many again at the Planet, all of them in the spotlight afforded Lex Luthor's chosen partner, and he's a lot more circumspect about using his abilities than he had been in Smallville, despite what Lex thinks. He still helps people when he can, but mostly it's as a journalist that Clark Kent has made a difference. And it's investigation that's needed now, not superpowers. He hugs her back, then tells her to make breakfast while he has a shower. That earns him a familiar scowl, and it warms his heart to see it. She may be insensitive, but she's also brave, and strong, and loyal. And she'll do anything to help her friends. In another world he thinks he could probably love her.
chapter three
Parallel
Perry White, editor in chief, is less than thrilled when half of his best reporting team walks into his office without knocking and announces that he's taking another week off. Perry White, recovering alcoholic with a broken marriage and a son in jail, just pats Clark on the shoulder sympathetically and tells him to take two. He seldom admits it, but he's very fond of Clark, fish out of water as he still is in Metropolis after all these years, and he likes Lex too, for all that he's a slippery son of a bitch and impossible to pin down. He knows a lot more about Lionel Luthor than most Metropolitans, and he knows where the bulk of the skeletons lie. And it isn't in Lex's closet, though Perry still can't, for the life of him, figure out what Clark's Nikes and work boots are doing in there with Lex's Gucci loafers. Still. He clears his throat, but for a new age guy he makes a good caveman, so he settles for shaking Clark's hand and sending Lex his best. The newsman in him is irritated that he can't ask what the hell is going on, but he's a man of his word, and that was the deal they made when Clark started here. Clark seems thrown by his acquiescence, mouth opening and closing on the speech he'd obviously had planned, and leaves quickly before he can change his mind. Perry cracks his knuckles and yells for Jimmy.
*****
Clark *is* thrown. He knows the Chief's fond of him, almost as fond as he is of Lois, who he regards as a daughter, but the last time he got in and out of the office this easily Jonathan had had a heart attack and been rushed to hospital. He reflexively brushes a finger across his desk, hoping wood veneer counts, stuffs his laptop into its case, and ducks into the elevator before the doors can close. The columnist who's just got out shakes her head, but doesn't ask.
Having budgeted more time for the confrontation, Clark's momentarily at a loss for what to do. Lionel Luthor is unavailable, according to his personal assistant, and a flyover on the way to the paper has confirmed that he's not in the Luthorcorp building or at the townhouse. A quick scan of the assistant's diary reveals a meeting scheduled for midday, but that's still two hours away. Clark lets his feet guide him, and regrets the impulse when he finds himself drinking bitter coffee in Lex's favourite cafe. Christ it's been a shitty day. And it's barely started. Staring at the menu, and avoiding the waitress' concerned look, he remembers the last time he was in here, and everything else that happened that day. The coffee had been bitter then too, far stronger than he liked it, but he'd come to pick something up for Lex, to make up for missing dinner, those crazy tarts he likes so much with the sour lemon filling. He'd been staring into space then too, long enough to worry the waitress who always serves them, the one Lex always says is flirting with him, just to see him blush.
Christ it's been a shitty day. Called into Perry's office four and a half minutes after he walked in the door, yelled at for what seems like an hour, and how does Perry do that, he must have the lung capacity of a blue whale. Clark can hold his breath for thirty-seven minutes, he timed himself once, but he can't call someone an idiot, insult their hometown, question their masculinity, impugn their ability to be objective, *and* demand they admit to knowing the whereabouts of missing colleagues, all in one go. It's just impossible. Perry, though, can do it easily, and probably could have gone further, had the errant Lois not sauntered in with a big smile and a handful of copy guaranteed to make the front page. Which ended the discussion, but got Clark neither an apology nor an explanation.
Things had progressed downhill from there, what with the "all hands on deck, special edition to get out" flag going up; and getting called on the carpet by Legal, who really should be talking to Lois, but let's face it, they're afraid of her so better by far to pummel the partner and hope he passes the message on; and then getting the snide secretary at Lexcorp when he called to cancel dinner - the one who's old money herself, and went to Smith, and still privately refers to Clark as "that hayseed from Smallville", and no, Clark doesn't use his hearing to make sure the secretaries don't have inappropriate crushes on Lex, he just checks occasionally for Luthorcorp spies, and Miranda could definitely be one of those - and really, ill will to no man and all that, but he hates the way she looks at Lex, and he wishes Lex would just fire her. After all that, Jimmy finally let slip that the real reason Perry's so mad is that Luthorcorp has threatened to pull its advertising if the Planet's pro-Lexcorp bias isn't straightened out, and that's just ridiculous because it's a good paper but it's an old one, and it's always supported the status quo, and just last week there was a scathing op-ed piece about research run dangerously amok at Lexlabs, and Clark hadn't said a word. And maybe that's what Perry's sneer was for this morning, maybe he's just Southern gentleman enough that he thinks Clark *should* have defended Lex. But Clark's brain is starting to hurt trying to figure it out, and goddammit, he wants this day to end. He wants to get home, get under the covers, and have Lex make it all better. It's been weeks since they've had sex, too busy, too tired, too everything but together. But that's all about to change. He doesn't care how tired Lex is, or whether he's got an early meeting tomorrow, he's going to feed him lemon tarts, drag him into the bedroom, and have his wicked way, just like Lex used to do, back in the day, when Clark still thought you weren't allowed to have fun the night before a test.
Lex isn't in evidence when Clark walks in though. Which is... odd. Because the stereo is on. Very loud. Playing some godawful cd Clark doesn't recognise, all throbbing bass and pounding drums, and the penthouse might have really good sound-proofing, but Lex never leaves anything on when he goes out, he's pedantic about it. And anyway, his cellphone and keys are lying on the coffee table, and while he could conceivably have forgotten the keys, Lex Luthor without his cellphone would have to be a sign of the impending apocalypse. Lex isn't in his office though, or in their bedroom, and Clark feels vaguely silly checking the kitchen, but all of that goes out of his head when he opens the door to the main bathroom.
Lex is sprawled on the black and white marble floor, body convulsing, gasping for breath. He's burning up when Clark touches him, sweat dripping off him, but his teeth are chattering and his lips are blue. His eyes open suddenly, pupils so dilated there's only a rim of colour round the black, and he clutches at Clark like a drowning man. He can't answer when Clark asks him what's wrong though, and Clark can't think what to do. The thought flits through his mind that once he would have known, but he doesn't have time to process it. Pulling Lex into his arms he races down the hall, grabbing a blanket off the sofa and wrapping Lex in it, and in another heartbeat he's crashing into the ER at Metropolis General, shouting for someone to help him.
The doctors act as though unconscious half-dressed men are brought in every Friday night, and maybe they are, but Clark resents their questions anyway. "He's your boyfriend?" Yes. "Do you use drugs together?" No. "Were you together when this happened?" No. "So you don't know if he took anything?" No. I mean, he didn't. "We can't help him if you lie to us." And then, of course, one of the older nurses recognises Lex. "It's the Luthor boy, he's OD'd before." And that's the last straw - he starts yelling, and they threaten to call security, and before he knows it he's out in the waiting room, surrounded by distraught mothers with crying babies and drunk night clubbers and gang members barely old enough to shave, and a little voice in his head that sounds like Lionel tells him it's his own fault for coming here, and doesn't he know the Luthors always go to Holy Cross?
An eternity of anxious waiting till the nurse comes back out, and says in a quiet, oddly gentle voice that the doctors had been right, it was an amphetamine overdose, and had he really not known? You're wrong, he replies automatically. You must be wrong. He doesn't do drugs anymore, he hasn't for years. The nurse is quietly insistent but he refuses to believe her, adamant as he's ever been, defending Lex to all comers. He knows Lex better than anyone. She sighs, and takes him through to the recovery room.
Lex is as pale as the sheets he's lying on, tubes coming out of his nose, needles in his forearm and the back of his hand, pumps wheezing and monitors beeping all around him. His eyes are open, and as Clark reaches for him they fill with tears. Clark kisses him, and Lex whispers against his lips, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Clark shushes him, but it's unnecessary, his eyes are already closing. Clark holds his free hand until he's sure he's asleep, listening to the steady beat of his heart, no longer the racing triphammer of before, kisses him again, and leaves. The nurse hands him an envelope without saying anything, and he takes it without meeting her eyes.
He takes the subway home, skimming the pamphlets: Narcotics Anonymous chapters, support groups for friends and family of addicts, a chart of symptoms and warning signs to be on the lookout for. Hyperactivity, insomnia, headaches. Feelings of power or superiority. Nothing new then. He tosses the packet into the trash, gets out and walks the rest of the way.
He smiles woodenly as the doorman tells him he should be wearing a coat, taps his foot the whole ride up, and barely waits for the doors to close behind him before he starts scanning the apartment. It doesn't take long. There are a couple of tiny packets of a crystalline powder in Lex's desk, and hiding in plain sight in Lex's dressing room an enamel box stuffed full of bottles, jars and cartons. Some have genuine prescription labels, some have brightly coloured stickers with Toby's distinctive chicken scratch on them, and others have no identification at all. He flings the lot into the sink, sets it on fire, and leaves the smouldering mess for Lex to clean up when he gets home. There's also a loaded Glock pistol under Lex's side of the bed, and another in his desk. Clark doesn't know what to do with those.
The waitress ignores his red eyes, and whisks away the barely touched coffee, bringing him instead a hot chocolate and a custard square. Arguing about whether it's really custard, or actually creme anglaise, is one of the things Lex always identifies as flirting, but in this moment Clark's just grateful for the silent solidarity. She doesn't charge him for the coffee when he leaves, and the smile when he tells her to keep the change from twenty is almost enough to get one in return.
*****
Quarter to eleven finds Clark alighting on the roof of the Luthorcorp building, right in the security cameras' blind spot. He knows where it is because he and Lex have been up here before, just fooling around, when Lex still had the office next to Lionel's, and access to all areas. He's into the emergency stairwell and down in seconds, past the assistant's desk, and into Lionel's office. It's the same museum piece monstrosity it always was, ancient weapons and old masters mingled incongruously with glass and chrome, and the hideous black obsidian desk Clark's always hated. Lex used to liken being in here to being called before the headmaster, and, while it's nothing like Principal Reynolds' office, Clark agrees.
Lionel sweeps in a moment later, and on any other day Clark would have laughed to have a cherished suspicion confirmed - the man really is incapable of opening a door without theatrics. He jumps when he sees Clark, and tries to call for his assistant, but Clark pulls him into the room and shuts the door behind him. Lionel recovers fast, sauntering over to his desk and pouring himself a glass of brandy. "I've been expecting you, Clark," he drawls, "though as usual your mode of entry is mysterious."
"I want to know where Lex is. I spoke to the police, they said he was released into your custody."
"Of course he was, Clark. He's my son. Who else's custody would he be released into?"
Clark restrains himself, with difficulty, and takes a breath. "I want to see him. He's not at the townhouse, where is he?"
Lionel laughs. "I thought you'd have outgrown your stalker tendencies by now Clark. Then again, I thought Lex would have outgrown you. I suppose I overestimated you both."
Restraint makes a valiant last stand, concedes defeat, and flees the field. Clark grabs Lionel by his lapels and hoists him off the ground. Brandy splashes over both of them, and Lionel looks shocked. Clark follows through quickly, before his temper can cool, or Lionel's hauteur reassert itself. "I can break your neck before security gets in here, and we both know it. Now tell me what I want to know."
"Put me down!"
"Answer the question!"
"He's in a psychiatric facility, and you obviously belong there too. You're as bad as each other."
"You put him in a mental hospital?" Clark staggers back, horrified, letting Lionel go. "How could you?"
Lionel sinks down into one of the armchairs, motioning for Clark to take the other. His voice, when he speaks, is old and tired. "He's sick, Clark. He needs help, and neither of us can give it to him."
"You're lying!" This, at least, Clark can count on.
"I'm not. He's had a psychotic break. He's completely delusional."
"You're lying." Pleading now.
"It's not the first time Clark. But the hallucinations are much worse this time. I've never seen him so bad. He arrived at the house on Christmas Day, almost hysterical, shouting about how I'd tried to kill his mother."
"Did you?"
"Of course not!" For a fleeting second Clark sees a crack in the Luthor armour. "I wasn't a model husband by any means, but I loved Lillian very much. I love Lex too, more than anything." And in his own sick way, Clark thinks he probably does. "He never told you?"
"No." The fight's gone out of Clark, and he sits down. "He never said anything."
"I'm not surprised. Of all his secrets, this is the one he was most ashamed of."
"He didn't have to be ashamed, if he's sick I'd help him, I'd do anything to… Wait." Clark looks up at Lionel. "I've never heard *anything* like that. From anyone. Ever. You couldn't keep it quiet if it was true."
"Lex has lived his whole life under a microscope, but there are some things we managed to keep private. It cost a *lot* Clark, but as you know, I'm a very wealthy man."
"And you covered this up? Why?"
"Don't be naive." Lionel's self possession is returning, and with it his scorn for those who will not understand. "He's my *heir*. He will *be* Luthorcorp when I'm gone. If my competitors knew, they'd destroy him."
"You're ashamed of him. *You're* the one who's ashamed. He's not your company; he's your son. Did you even try to help him?"
"I tried everything Clark. Counsellors, psychiatrists, a dozen drug regimens, nothing made a difference. In the end I had to have him admitted to a facility where they could take care of him. And where he couldn't do himself *or* my company any more damage."
"I want to see him. Today."
"I'm afraid that's impossible. He can't have visitors, Dr Gregory is very strict on that point. I don't enquire into his methods, all I need to know is that they work. I just hope lightning can strike twice."
"You can't stop me from seeing him. I don't care who this quack is, I don't care who *you* are. Lex is my partner, and I'm the one who should get to decide what treatment he needs. I'll get a lawyer if I have to." Control of the situation is slipping away from Clark, and he knows it.
"I wouldn't recommend that Clark, I wouldn't recommend it all." Lionel stands up, smiling, and as he escorts Clark across the room it's like the mansion, and being fifteen years old, all over again. "Lex is a voluntary patient at the moment, but if you get lawyers involved I'll have to have him formally committed. He won't thank you. He hates it there, Clark. Since he was nineteen years old, just the *threat* of it has been enough to bring him to heel. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting with my board of directors."
*****
They stride past him, masters of the universe in tailored suits, and Clark numbly allows Lionel's assistant to take him down in the elevator and put him into a cab. The cabbie asks him four times where he wants to go before he summons the strength to answer, but Lex's platinum Amex silences any objection there might have been to his request to go to Smallville. It'd be a hideous extravagance in any case, never mind that he could run there in minutes, but he needs the time to get himself together, and Lex hates it when he runs around in broad daylight. Hates it when he does it at night too.
Lex sits meekly on the couch while Clark fusses, arranging cushions, tucking the blanket round him more securely. "I'm okay, Clark," he says at last. "Stop worrying."
"You need to rest, you should have stayed in hospital."
"I need to go to the office. God knows what's happened the last few days, I was in the middle of..." Lex breaks off suddenly. "Who else knows I was in the hospital? Gabe? Oh god, my father?"
"Of course not. Noone knows."
"Did you call an ambulance?"
"No, I took you myself. Stop stressing."
"Which car did you take?"
"I didn't take a car Lex, will you…" Clark realises his mistake before he finishes, but it's already too late.
"You took me *yourself*? On a Friday night? What the hell is the matter with you?"
"What's the matter with me?" This is just like Lex, going on the offensive rather than be forced to explain himself. "What's the matter with *you*? You're the one who nearly died."
"I didn't nearly die. You overreacted as usual. It takes a lot more than that to put me down."
"Your heart stopped, Lex. They said if I hadn't found you when I did you would have died for certain."
"I don't know how you're not in a fucking lab!"
"What?" Clark recoils as though slapped.
"I spoke to the doorman on the way up, and so, I bet, did you. What are you going to say if he ever asks how we got out without him seeing us? Just because noone ever *has* asked, doesn't mean noone ever will. And what about the hundreds of people in the streets last night? Are you willing to bet your life on the fact that noone saw us? It's no wonder your species is extinct, if they all had survival instincts as good as yours."
"I did it for you!"
"Why? Couldn't you put your own safety first for once? Why does it always have to be about me? You saved me once, a million years ago, and you've never left me alone since. What makes you think I need you to save me every single time? Do you think you own me now?"
"The Chinese would say that I do."
"Don't give me that red string bullshit. Fuck the Chinese, and fuck destiny too."
"You're the one who always talked about it, and what a great one we had."
"Yeah. Well it took a long time, I'm not proud, but I finally realised what a hypocrite I am. Embrace destiny and I have to accept fate, don't I? And I've seen my fate. I don't like it."
"Lex, please."
"If destiny's the price I have to pay, so be it."
Standing in the loft window where Lex promised him the world, Clark gives in and cries. His parents aren't home, and he doesn't have the heart to go into town and find them. A creak of the stairs behind him makes him jump, but it's just the cabbie.
"Come on kid," he says gently. "I've got to get home before my wife gives my dinner to the dogs. I may as well take you back too."
Clark follows him without a word. Lionel would find a way to make it sinister, Lex would be looking for a motive too, but like the waitress this morning, there's comfort in the random kindness of strangers.
*****
Lois is sitting up waiting when Clark gets home. She's still in her work clothes, crumpled blouse pulled out of her skirt, jacket flung over the back of the couch. Pizza boxes and coke cans compete with her laptop and several piles of paper for space on the coffee table. The papers are losing, spilling off one end, and bearing numerous coffee cup rings. He stalks right past her into the kitchen to get a glass of milk. She follows, of course.
"Clark, we need to talk."
"No Lois," he says quietly, mindful of the thin walls, and the fact that Jimmy's asleep just down the hall. The kid had likely copped the full force of Perry's temper this afternoon, and while he hadn't been expecting any awards for his latest spread, it hadn't been *that* bad. "I need to go to bed, and you need to go home."
She barges past him to flick the oven on. "You may need sleep, Clark, but you need to eat something first. And I do need to get home; I've got a breakfast meeting in... Jesus… but I'm not leaving till you let me apologise."
"Lois..."
"No Clark. We've worked together for what, four years? And been friends for at least two of them."
He smiles a little at that. "Three, Lois. Since I covered for you on the Scaleri piece, remember."
She smiles back. "Right. And in that time have you ever heard me apologise? Don't answer, we both know you haven't. But I was wrong this morning. Horribly wrong. I want to say I don't know where it came from, but we both know I do. I saw a story and I went for it. I didn't stop to think about you at all. And I wish I had. I've spent the whole day wishing it. You're my friend Clark, you're my best friend, and God, I never thought I'd say it, but that means a lot more to me than a story. Please forgive me, and let me help you."
It's too much, and like a dam riddled with cracks, Clark just gives way. Sliding down the cabinets like a boneless mass, and Lois is there with her wiry strength, to catch him before he falls. He's twice her size, but somehow she manages to wrap herself around him anyway, rubbing his back and stroking his hair and murmuring nonsense into his ear.
"Please help," he forces out, through a throat too swollen for coherent speech. "Please help me, I don't know what to do."
She hugs him tighter, and he thinks he hears her bones creak with the exertion. "Of course I'll help you. I know what to do. Everything will be all right." She keeps repeating it until he believes it, falling asleep in her arms, right there on the cracked lino. When he wakes up hours later it's to an exasperated Jimmy turning off the oven, and Lois is still sitting there, arms clenched just as tight around him. It's after seven, but she doesn't mention her meeting, just asks what he wants to do first. And he knows that together they can figure it out. They can figure it out, because Lois may be abrasive, but she's the best investigative reporter in the state, and noone has ever kept *anything* she wanted to know a secret from her. Lex used to joke about how lucky Clark was that she'd never turned her full attention on *him*. But then, why would she? Romance had never been a possibility between them, and by the time his case of hero worship and her annoyance at getting stuck with the new kid had worn off, she'd gotten used to his idiosyncrasies and accepted them as part of the package. Besides, four years in the MU dorms and as many again at the Planet, all of them in the spotlight afforded Lex Luthor's chosen partner, and he's a lot more circumspect about using his abilities than he had been in Smallville, despite what Lex thinks. He still helps people when he can, but mostly it's as a journalist that Clark Kent has made a difference. And it's investigation that's needed now, not superpowers. He hugs her back, then tells her to make breakfast while he has a shower. That earns him a familiar scowl, and it warms his heart to see it. She may be insensitive, but she's also brave, and strong, and loyal. And she'll do anything to help her friends. In another world he thinks he could probably love her.
chapter three