Devil's Deal, part two
Christmas was pretty busy this year, I celebrated with my family on the 24th (notable was only the unbelievably ugly pink-brown-grey-white bed linen I got from my grandma and the fact that my three-year old niece gets more presents than Dudley Dursley.) and with my friends on the 25th. Other than that, I gave my extensive manga collection to the local comic shop for free (they sell them second-hand) and studied a lot of English and Biology for the upcoming end-of-term exams.
Here's the second part of Devil's Deal!
Rating: PG
Length: 5667
Continuity: SV - JLU - DC comics
Summary: Lex sells his soul to the devil to bring his son back from the dead.
Dedicated to talitha78. Betaed by averaird. You're both awesome!
Part One: The Deal
In the first moments after waking, Lex feels groggy and confused. The light's not right, it's low and rich with colour, an early evening light, and there was no alarm rousing him.
Lex isn't used to sleeping through the day. He lived a very ordered life the last year. The year before that, when the world almost went to hell again, he was on the run and never knew if he'd get sleep at all, but this last year has been so regular that he has fallen into a rigid rhythm of work and sleep. He has no social life to speak of - except that which is part of his work - and he cut all the ties he made in his political career. Considering that he was one of the most infamous presidents the US ever had, Lex is now surprisingly low profile, back in his old role as LexCorp's CEO.
It's almost a bit like that first year in Smallville, when Lex sometimes felt like he was nobody, living right in the middle of nowhere, except that now, it doesn't bother him in the least. He has had his taste of fame and power and it'll be a while until he craves it again.
However, sleeping through the day has thrown him off his rhythm. That must be why he has such a hard time waking. On most days he probably wouldn't have gone to bed in the first place, working through the exhaustion instead. But this morning when he lay down, it somehow didn't feel necessary.
Lex can't remember the last time he had to force himself to get out of bed.
But as he stands in the shower, Lex's reason kicks in and he realizes what is so wrong. Sleep was pitch black with oblivion.
Oblivion. That word sticks to the back of his eyelids, unwilling to let go. He goes over it again and again and then there's a moment when the walls creep closer, and the water runs cold down his back, stifling him with trepidation.
He has forgotten something.
He recalls this morning, his conversation with Clark, and he recalls the night before. He recalls the strange visitor and his offer.
Lex clenches his teeth and gets out of the shower. He puts on his stiffest white shirt and one of the suits that make his slight frame look bulky and muscular. Lex hasn't aged since he turned thirty, but he puts all his fashion skill into creating an illusion of age. He chooses a severe charcoal tie, and then, finally, makes his way down.
All the way down LexCorp tower, into the basement. This tower was built five years ago, when Lex returned from his stint as president. It's the fourth iteration of the LexCorp building. All earlier ones have been destroyed in the never-ending titanic battle that is Metropolis.
The room where Lex is heading isn't on any of the plans. Only he has the key for it. It isn't lead-lined, or in any other way fortified, and Lex keeps no kryptonite there, because he isn't guarding the room from Superman. There's very little in the room that Clark doesn't know about, in fact, much of what is in there concerns Clark - incidentally, because the room is about Lex, and anything that is about Lex will in some way be shaped by Clark.
The room is small. Information doesn't take up a lot of space. This isn't a museum, it's an ark, so there are no pictures and artefacts on display, just empty white walls. An ark for Lex's memory, for he has learned to guard himself against the tides of oblivion. People keep messing with his mind and his memory, and Lex saves back-up copies of his life more religiously than his employees save copies of their hard-drives. There are dead man switches that activate if he doesn't update regularly, to remind him of the existence of this room. Automatic mail is sent whenever he returns after being kidnapped, arrested or checked into a hospital.
The latest file has been added two days ago, and it denotes that there was nothing of interest to add. Lex closes it and opens the big checklist instead. In there are the turning-points, the traumata, the pivotal moments of Lex Luthor.
He goes through it item by item. Meteor shower 1989. Mom killed Julian. I killed Duncan.
It goes on like this, until there's the first entry for Clark, followed by many others. Lex stares at it for a moment, the words right there, so plain.
I hit Clark with my car. He saved my life. Clark is an alien, and he can't be hurt by anything but kryptonite and magic.
Lex has written and rewritten this entry, until it became as sparse as it is now. He suddenly can't remember why he bothered at all.
There's the little and the big tragedies of his Smallville years on the list. Helen, the island, Belle Reve, Zod, Lana… followed by the impersonal conquests and defeats of his Metropolis years. Superman, the Justice League, the secret identities and weaknesses of almost any notable superhero and villain, each have their own entries. Lex skims every item and calls up the appropriate memory. Nothing is missing in his inventory.
Except the hours in which he made the deal. Dimly he remembers agreeing, but everything before or after blurs the more he tries to recall it. He can't remember the conditions he must have negotiated. He can't remember what happened after he agreed.
Lex closes down the room and goes back to the elevator, ascending once more into the lofty heights of the penthouse. He numbly goes through the routine motions of checking that LexCorp still stands and has survived the day without him, and then forces himself to drink a coffee and eat an apple.
Lex sold his soul, but he doesn't remember it.
Beyond the arrival of his visitor, there are only fragments, intangible as fog, turning to nothing whenever he tries to touch them. Echoes of conversation, of a familiar voice, like the memory of a dream. The after-taste of firm resolve, sweet and bitter like sugared coffee. Lex doesn't doubt that he has made this decision. He has sold his soul.
Lex forces himself to stop staring into space and moves into his study. He hasn't had to deal with this sort of aimlessness since his early twenties. Probably it's best to draw a line, to have a look at Kon and finally get over this strange obsession and move on to more productive things.
There are a couple of places Kon is most likely to be found - the Teen Titans tower in San Francisco, the farm in Smallville, where he lived with Mrs Kent the two years before he died, or if he is in a sulk, Hawaii, where the boy spent the first months of his life after escaping from Cadmus Labs where he was created.
Lex has surveillance equipment in all these places. The farm is the trickiest, because Clark is very careful in places where his secret identity might be discovered. But Lex has access to the most modern of equipment. The cameras are fully organic, and to Clark's x-ray vision, they will look like ordinary flies and spiders.
But except for Martha Kent, who looks more cheerful and sprightly than she has in a while, the farm is deserted. Mrs Kent has become a frail old woman. She's one of the few tangible reminders of how old Clark and Lex have gotten, because it sure as hell doesn't show on their own, ageless faces. Lionel, if he still lived, would look positively ancient by now and it's a never-ending source of joy for Lex to imagine him weak and senile in some nursing home.
The Titans tower looks like a bomb hit the common room, which is usually a sign of either an epic battle or a party having taken place, but there's no sign of Kon, Tim Drake or any of their other teenage friends except for the psychic and the green shape-shifter, who, as far as Lex knows, aren't very close to his son.
It's night in Hawaii and people are partying on the beaches, but Kon isn't visible in any of his usual hiding places.
There's Clark's apartment in Metropolis, but Kon never goes there. He and Clark have a strange relationship. It took Clark years to trust his clone and those were Kon's formative years. By the time he accepted Kon into his family and gave him his name it was too late for Kon to ever consider Clark a real parent.
But Lex cannot blame Clark. It isn't as if he offered Kon a family, or a name, for that matter. All Lex did was create him, eleven years ago, when Clark was dead for the second time.
Lex leans back in his chair, gazing thoughtfully at the laptop, fingers steepled. Calls up the list of bugs and cameras in his Kon file. An older one catches his eye, and he accesses it.
It shows a cave in the inanely named little town of Happy Harbour.
The cave is still full of the traces of inhabitation by a group of teenagers. Graffiti on the walls, discarded toys, fast food wrappers and all the other debris children leave behind when not forced to tidy up behind them. Before watching Kon, Lex never realised how messy kids are. Compared to these children, Lex was never a child at all.
His intuition has served him well. There they are: Kon, in his well-worn old T-shirt with the crest of the House of El and a newer looking pair of jeans, sits on the floor with his back leant against the wall. With him are Cassie Sandsmark, Bart Allen and Tim Drake.
Lex fixes his eyes on Kon. His son looks a lot like Clark. He has the same dark, tousled hair, even though he cuts it shorter than Clark ever has. His face is strong, angular, handsome, but he has Lex's lips, his chin, his blue eyes. Physically, he looks like a teenager, sixteen maybe, not much older than Clark when Lex first met him. Actually Kon is only eleven, ten if you don't count the year he was dead, but mentally, he is far more… well, not mature than Clark, because Clark was always so terribly earnest, but he's more experienced than either Clark or Lex were when they were eleven. He has none of that wide-eyed, fresh faced innocence that seemed to coat Clark like a suit of armour, making it impossible for Lex to get as close as he wanted to. Kon had to take care of himself ever since he fled Cadmus Labs - or at least, he must have felt that he took care of himself, even though Lex has been subtly influencing his life all these years. Kon is far from virginal, and has probably seen more crime and violence than Lex had when he was twenty-one.
But unlike either Lex or Clark, Kon is full of careless, youthful spirit. Secrets and subterfuge are alien to him. And Lex might not have given him a sheltered childhood, but he didn't make him a Luthor, either.
It's one of the few things of which Lex has ever been truly proud.
Lex switches on the sound to hear what they're saying.
" - sucked. All funerals suck," says Bart Allen, who seems unable to stay in one place, flitting about the room as furtive as an electron. Named after the first Flash, he's another scrawny, red-headed speedster and one of Kon's closest associates. Friends, Lex amends. Kon doesn't have associates.
Kon grins at them. It's almost believably nonchalant. "So, who cried?"
Cassie's pretty face goes stony. "That's not funny," she says in a tight voice. Wonder Girl was Kon's girlfriend before he died, but now she sits at a curious distance on an old couch, stiff and tense with her hands in her lap and her blond hair in a tight ponytail, staring at him like he'll vanish any second.
Lex knows why she looks guilty. He wonders if she's happy that her boyfriend's back or if she's only thinking about how to keep her misadventures a secret from him. Most people prefer romance to be easy and straightforward and let it drop as soon as it becomes tainted with complication.
Lex, who has never loved without complication, sometimes wonder if other people love at all, or if they just chase some ideal, always missing the real thing. And it's the same with Kon. He's back, and they should be so glad, but people seem more shocked than happy to have Kon back. Clark certainly considered it a problem.
Lex isn't sure about Robin. Drake's face is inscrutable behind the black domino mask. He's the only of the four who's in costume, leaning against the wall at Kon's side, shrouded in his cape and subtly standing guard. But Lex believes that the boy must be as satisfied as he is by the outcome of this project, otherwise he wouldn't have pursued it so doggedly, wouldn't have thrown away all pretence of morals to get what he wanted.
"Sorry," Kon says, more embarrassed than contrite. "I'm back now. So where's the point in moping, guys?"
"It's not that easy. A lot happened while you were gone," Cassie explains.
"Hey!" Bart cocks his head to the side. "Maybe lots of stuff happened to Superboy, too. You haven't told us anything yet. What's it like, being dead? Wally said that the Green Arrow said that when he died he went to heaven and - "
"I don't remember anything," Kon shrugs, interrupting the staccato stream of chatter. "I guess it's like sleeping? Without, you know, weird dreams."
Bart looks immensely relieved. "So it's not like in season six of Wendy the Werewolf Stalker? Tim didn't rip you out of heaven and you're going to be all broody and angry at us?"
Kon stares at him, then bursts into laughter. "So you did finally watch those episodes?"
Bart nods, a blur of motion.
"So, what did happen while I was gone?" Kon asks them. "I can't believe it's been more than a year!"
Bart shrugs, then waves his hands about. "We recruited some new Titans because you were gone and I couldn't use my powers for a while. And Cassie tried to bring you back with this weird cult, but it didn't work."
Everyone stills, and Bart realizes his blunder. "Oh."
Cassie jumps up. "Do you ever think at all before you speak, Bart? Sometimes I really hate you!" She flies off so fast it rattles the old couch. Bart looks unhappy, vibrating with agitation. Kon frowns, then looks up at Tim, who still stands next to him.
"What was that about, Rob?"
"Some fanatics started a cult to bring you back with Kryptonian rituals," Tim reports calmly. "Cassie joined them for a while. She left them when it became clear that it was a hoax."
And just time in not to get in trouble when Lex eradicated the so-called Cult of Conner. Now that he has sold his soul to bring Kon back, the pseudo-Kryptonian magic seems uncomfortably less like nonsense.
Kon grimaces, then gets up to pace. "That sucks. Is she okay? I mean, she's not... ?"
"Crazy?" Tim asks, raising his brows under the mask.
Kon looks awkward. "Yeah."
"Cassie's not crazy!" Bart opines. "Everyone was just really sad. Tim cloned you. Even Luthor put up that giant statue of you in Metropolis!"
It's not a giant statue. It's a tasteful and dignified monument. And it was great PR when Lex put it up.
Clark's respectful article in the Planet was a real surprise, though.
Kon, however, looks appalled. "Luthor did what?"
"C'mon I'll show you!" Bart zips out of the cave, and Kon grabs Tim to follow him flying. A second later, the window on Lex's screen shows on a quiet, deserted cave. He leans back in his chair thoughtfully.
It's no surprise that Kon doesn't like the idea of Lex putting up that statue. He doesn't like anything that implies a connection between him and his criminal father. Still, Lex likes to believe that Kon hates him less than he hated Lionel.
So far, Kon seems to be alright. He's his old self. Being dead doesn't seem to have damaged him.
And that, in Lex eyes, makes the bargain he made a good one.
*
About five minutes later, there's an intruder alert on the roof of the tower. For years that roof was lead-lined and armed with a defence system chock full with laser beams and kryptonite bullets, but these days there is a large pool, a gurgling fountain, some greenery and some very comfortable lounge chairs. The heavy fortifications are far less visible than they used to be. It is quite certainly the nicest roof of Metropolis, especially around this time of year, when the evenings are long and the air is balmy.
Lex gives Grace and Deliverance a call to keep them from storming the roof and goes up himself. Either it's Clark, or it's someone from whom Clark is going to save him. Lex's own security is mostly for show these days, to the point where he picks them by looks and by name. Mercy, god bless her, would be appalled, but Mercy is in well-deserved retirement.
It's Clark. Superman stands, with his arms crossed over the S-shield of the suit, on the other side of the pool. He's framed entirely by sky that is blushing in an aching sunset above, mirrored by the calm water below. All things have long shadows, but Clark has only his reflection.
Lex ambles over to the pool. He has never taken a swim there, but he might just do so one of these days.
"Batman examined the cloning technology Robin used," Clark begins without preamble. "None of it is LexCorp technology. What were you talking about when you said you supplied him with something?"
Lex smiles. "Did you consider that it was something less material I provided?"
It's entirely expected when Clark suddenly stands in front of him, vibrant with anger. "Quit lying to me, Lex! Tim swears that he hasn't been in contact with you!"
"What is the problem, Clark?" Lex asks. "Doesn't the result satisfy you?" He reaches up to straighten his collar and Clark seizes his wrist in a crushing grip. These little displays of violence have become habit for them, which must be the reason why Lex isn't thrilled even the tiniest bit. It's boring, he guesses, since he knows very well that the violence is merely symbolic, that Clark walks on tip-toes and speaks in whispers whatever he does.
"Tell me," Clark demands.
Lex tries to shrug him off, but Clark doesn't let him go. His face is stormy with worry.
Lex is tired of this dance. "It appears I made a deal with the devil. My soul for Kon's."
Clark's expression freezes, then hardens in anger. Lex feels the bones in his wrist grind.
"Stop bullshitting me, Lex!"
Lex leans closer and looks Clark in the eyes. It's been some time since they were this close to each other. But Clark's untouchable face tells him nothing new. "I sold my soul to get him back. He's healthy. The rest of it doesn't concern you."
Bit by bit, Clark's self-righteous anger crumbles to worry and confusion. He lets go of Lex's hand. "You're… you're speaking metaphorically, right? What did you do, Lex?"
Lex raises his brows at Clark's inability to just accept the facts. Clark has no less, rather more experience with the supernatural than Lex, so why has he such a hard time suspending his disbelief? "Metaphorically, I sold my soul a long time ago, wouldn't you agree? I'm being perfectly literal."
Clark backs away, but paradoxically straightens into Superman's resolved posture. "You can't have sold your soul to the devil."
There's the tiniest pause in which Lex waits for Clark's words to hurt because of their implicit meaning, but they don't. "Well, I was as surprised as you that my soul was still up for grabs," Lex replies coldly.
"Selling your soul is a myth, Lex." Now Clark sounds exasperated. "You had a dream. Probably you were drunk."
Again, nothing but the tiniest spark of indignation. "Personally, I stopped believing in myths some time between women made from clay and modern-day Christ figures rising from the dead, Clark. There's no such thing as myths in our world anymore. I can't confirm whether the being that visited me yesterday was a devil or not, but I did make a very clear deal with him."
Clark's disbelief is entirely irrational, but it is persistent. Now he starts to look desperate and not a small bit afraid.
Why doesn't he accept Lex's words? It must be because the deals Lex makes are so rarely to his benefit. He must be holding some record in betrayals…
"Lex? Did something happen to you? Do you feel alright?"
Lex has never figured out why, even in the times of their fiercest enmity, it took only the slightest sign of vulnerability, the smallest injury, for Clark immediately forget everything but his concern for Lex's safety. He would spend his every waking hour to bring Lex down, to ruin him, expose him, but as soon as Lex got hurt, all he did was protect him.
Even two decades later, Lex hasn't forgotten his abject humiliation that first time he broke down from the pain of his kryptonite-induced cancer and Superman carried him to the hospital, hovering anxiously around the doctors and nurses as if Lex hadn't moments before threatened his life.
"Apparently a man can do fine without a soul."
"Lex, you haven't sold your soul! I think you should see a doctor - "
Lex hates being called insane. He hates it.
"I don't think I care to go on with this conversation." A simple codeword, and the peaceful roof transforms into a living hell for Kryptonians. Tiny meteor rocks are released from their lead encasements everywhere, in the sculptures and the fountain, even in the ground they stand on. It's the first time Lex has tested the new system with Clark, and the result is rather satisfactory.
Clark blanches and collapses, slowly like a mighty tree felled at the base. He falls onto the cape and rolls to his side, groaning in agony. On of his hands hits the pool, splashing water over the warm marble tiles. Lex steps aside, evading Clark's thrashing feet and turns back to the staircase. "I'm going to turn the defence mechanism off in five minutes. I'd appreciate not to see you for some while."
Lex doesn't expect Clark to call reinforcements. Clark is notoriously self-reliant. It's almost as if he doesn't trust his fellow heroes not to get hurt - and besides, he's Superman. He can take it. He's the one who always gets up again.
But this time, Clark activates the Justice League communicator and says in his raspy, pain-filled whisper, "I need back-up."
The response is damn near immediate. Lex hasn't made it to the door before three more members of the Justice League transport onto his roof. Wonder Woman is at Clark's side immediately, checking for injuries, and Green Lantern uses his power ring to shield him from the effects of the kryptonite.
Hawkgirl corners Lex with her mighty mace raised threateningly. She gives him an exasperated scowl. "Again, Luthor?"
Lex raises his brows at her. He doesn't really mind having the Justice League on his roof from time to time. Wonder Woman is very much his type, although ambassador Diana of Themyscira usually gives Lex a cold shoulder at charity galas, even if he just tries to make polite conversation about ancient Greek culture. The new Green Lantern is a bit young, but he's got shiny dark hair and cheekbones.
Hawkgirl, though, is a bit of a brute. And she has wings and flaming red hair, which isn't very high on Lex lists of attractive traits, either.
"It's Superman who insists on breaking and entering," Lex replies.
Clark has recovered from the kryptonite inside the green force-field of Green Lantern's ring and is getting to his feet with Wonder Woman's help. "He's suffering from some sort of trauma," Clark warns them, all earnest concern for Lex. "Luthor isn't thinking straight. I think we should take him to the watchtower for his own safety."
Lex glares at Hawkgirl. "For your own safety I strongly advise you not to - "
But it's not Hawkgirl who attacks him. Instead it's Green Lantern who wraps a second force-field bubble around Lex, lifting him off the ground. Hawkgirl smirks up at Lex and puts the mace back on her belt, then flaps her wings and jumps into the air as well.
"Five back to the watchtower," Green Lantern commands, and the transporter turns their atoms into energy patterns.
*
The last time Lex visited the watchtower, it was in his role as President, with camera's running while he politely let himself be led through the monitor room, pretending he didn't know its specifications better than his guide.
It was first built twenty years ago, but even so it is impressive, larger than any other space station ever built by mankind. It orbits the Earth at a majestic distance, a silver gleaming ivory tower, a Camelot in the sky with its masked knights convening at a round table.
As soon as Green Lantern removes the power ring's force-field, Lex puts up a token struggle. After years of training, he's not bad at martial arts himself, and he manages to surprise Hawkgirl with a vicious punch to the chin, but he regrets it a moment later, because Wonder Woman throws her golden lasso of truth around him. It pulls tight around Lex's middle, pressing his arms to his side and stealing his balance, and he stumbles back onto one of the benches of the holding cell they're in. The magic of the lasso is a rush of warm honey, coaxing, softening, even as Wonder Woman gives it a harsh pull.
"No more nonsense, Luthor," she warns. "What is going on?"
The lasso takes the truth from him with nimble fingers. "I sold my soul," Lex hisses furiously.
She looks taken aback and then Clark is there with a big hand on her shoulder. "Diana. Let him go."
She tugs softly at the golden rope and it slips from Lex like a snake to coil at her hips. Lex clenches his teeth, wanting to spit out the sweetish after-taste of magic, and pulls himself up to his feet.
"Are you satisfied now, Superman? I'm not lying."
Clark looks so terribly sorry. "I didn't think you were, Lex. We'll take care of this, I promise."
He and Wonder Woman step out of the cell and the force-field goes up behind them, locking Lex inside. "I want J'onn to have a look at him," Clark says.
"J'onn is on sabbatical," Hawkgirl objects.
"He still has his communicator," is all Clark replies as he walks off.
*
Not much later, Clark returns alone. He doesn't enter the cell, just stands behind the electric blue of the force-field.
"I'm not mad," Lex says.
"I know you aren't." Clark looks at him sadly. "But you've got bad luck when it comes to your mind."
"And other things." With a tired sigh, Lex sits down on the hard bench that serves as a cot. This reminds him entirely too much of his first stint in prison. It had been a phase of particularly bad luck for Lex: he'd been diagnosed with terminal cancer and at the same time the Justice League finally been able to prove his crimes. But the worst had been Clark's pity, his constant visits, when he would use his privilege as Superman and come directly into Lex's cell, his large frame looming in the tiny room, the bright colours of the suit bursting the grey confinements of Lex's narrowing life. There'd been no escape for Lex and he had to listen to Clark's endless, selfish attempts at reconcilement with a dying man.
And no matter how hard Lex tried to resist, they did in the end reconcile, at least a little. His luck changed, and he survived, got out of prison, cleansed his reputation, was on top of his game again, but his hatred for Clark had been subverted, complicated.
Lex prefers his hatred to be simple and straightforward. Hatred is as powerful an idea as a faith when it is pure, and it is a formidable tool when unrestrained.
"Why can't you accept that I'd do this for Kon?" Lex asks.
Clark looks away. His eyes burn blue with intensity, but maybe it is just the blue of the energy field separating them. "I know you'd do something like that, Lex. But a man can't live without a soul. It's just not possible."
Lex frowns. He hates it when people presume things they don't know anything about. Everyone thinks they're able to judge, even though they're fools. "You have no idea what a soul even is," he throws at Clark's receding back. "You just believe what you want to believe!"
But Clark leaves, and Lex finds that he doesn't care very much anymore.
Unfounded presumptions, after all, are an old habit between them.
*
Hours later, Clark comes back to the cell with the Martian. J'onn J'onnz has nearly as many ridiculous powers as Clark, and one of them makes Lex profoundly uncomfortable.
"This violates my rights," Lex says as they enter the cell. He faces them upright, arms crossed, defiance in every line.
The Martian turns to Clark. "Luthor doesn't sound confused, Superman."
"He believes he sold his soul," Clark answers. "Please, J'onn, just find out what's wrong with him."
The Martian doesn't need to touch him, but he advances a step towards Lex and Lex knows that he will lose this struggle. But it is a matter of principle that he calls up all his mental discipline. He wipes his mind blank, builds sky-high walls around his self. Lex's mantras are mathematical equations that he can lose himself in entirely if he needs to - but the Martian is faster, his shadowy thoughts weaving through Lex's like a wispy veil of fog. Then he redraws and Lex is alone in his body once more and feels a sheen of sweat cooling on his skin. Clark is staring at Lex like a martyr, like it was his mind that was violated.
"I am not a mystic," the Martian says in his deep, even rumble. "I cannot tell whether he has a soul or not. He is sane, but there have been… changes."
"It's been a while since you invaded my mind," Lex spits out acidly.
"What kinds of changes?" Clark demands.
The Martian remains quiet for a moment. "They do not concern the Justice League. It's not my place to reveal them to you, Superman."
Now it's Lex who is puzzled and worried. He doesn't feel any different, but suddenly paranoia creeps like a chill up his back. What if Clark is right? What if someone has messed with Lex?
They leave him alone with his doubts and his traitorous, changed mind. Everything becomes questionable in the cool quiet of the cell. The confusion after Lex woke this evening - was it more than just sleep making him groggy? The strange indecisiveness, the numbness - is he lacking something?
And he can feel it now, the questions circumscribing it, a hole a mile wide inside his chest, a muddy swamp of idleness where there used to be iron constructions of will, a thick feeling of overabundance where there used to be ravenous hunger, and where he was always alert, driven, he's now numb and hollow and tired…
*
"Lex?"
Lex wakes with a jolt at the gentle voice. Clark is standing over him. That, more than anything, is proof that something is wrong with Lex. He shouldn't be able to sleep like a stone through Clark's presence.
Behind Clark, there's Dr Fate in his sky blue cloak and golden helmet. He gives Lex a nod. Politeness is anchoring, so Lex returns the gesture as he sits up.
"I brought Dr Fate," Clark says unnecessarily. "He can at least confirm that you still have a soul."
Lex gives Fate a look, then waves his hand. "Do it."
Fate makes Superman step aside, then lays his hands on Lex's temples. Only his fingertips touch skin, and they're so cool and vibrant with energy that Lex has to force himself not to lean into the touch. The lasso's magic was slick like old oil, the Martian's telepathy furtive and chilling, but Fate's mind is the firm, calming grasp of destiny taking Lex by the hand. For the blink of an eye, everything is wonderfully clear, just long enough for Lex to understand, to think, oh, that's what I am missing - and then he is gone.
The helmet obscures Fate's face as he gives Lex a long look. "You of all people should have known how dangerous a deal you made."
This is something Lex can counter easily. "It was worth it," he replies with the full arrogance of conviction.
Clark looks from one of them to the other, horror dawning on his face. Fate turns to him. "He has signed over his soul to a third party. It is a common mystical contract, but such beings usually don't take the whole of one's soul - they trick the contractor with semantics, and the effects are often unpredictable."
Lex rises, brushing off his pants. "I got what I bargained for, Fate. We're done here. Take me back to Metropolis."
Clark looks shaken as he stares off into space, but then he steels himself and steps forward. Fate defers to him.
"I'll take you there," Clark says.
[I'm not sure if these are helpful, or more interesting to people who know DCU canon, or just amusing for me.]
Happy Harbour: The cave in Happy Harbour used to be the headquarters of Young Justice, the teen hero team Kon, Tim, Bart and Cassie were part of before they became members of the Teen Titans.
Bart Allen: Is obviously not the Bart Allen of SV. (Unless this Bart travelled in time... but let's not make it more complicated than need be).
The Cult of Conner: Is part of recent comics continuity. I'm not kidding.
Green Lantern: This one is intended to be Kyle Rayner.
Hawkgirl, Wonder Woman: Hawkgirl is totally hotter than Wonder Woman, but Diana is a tall, gorgeous brunette, and a walking talking ancient Greek, who also is as strong as Clark. She'd *so* be Smallville!Lex's type.
Here's the second part of Devil's Deal!
Rating: PG
Length: 5667
Continuity: SV - JLU - DC comics
Summary: Lex sells his soul to the devil to bring his son back from the dead.
Dedicated to talitha78. Betaed by averaird. You're both awesome!
Part One: The Deal
In the first moments after waking, Lex feels groggy and confused. The light's not right, it's low and rich with colour, an early evening light, and there was no alarm rousing him.
Lex isn't used to sleeping through the day. He lived a very ordered life the last year. The year before that, when the world almost went to hell again, he was on the run and never knew if he'd get sleep at all, but this last year has been so regular that he has fallen into a rigid rhythm of work and sleep. He has no social life to speak of - except that which is part of his work - and he cut all the ties he made in his political career. Considering that he was one of the most infamous presidents the US ever had, Lex is now surprisingly low profile, back in his old role as LexCorp's CEO.
It's almost a bit like that first year in Smallville, when Lex sometimes felt like he was nobody, living right in the middle of nowhere, except that now, it doesn't bother him in the least. He has had his taste of fame and power and it'll be a while until he craves it again.
However, sleeping through the day has thrown him off his rhythm. That must be why he has such a hard time waking. On most days he probably wouldn't have gone to bed in the first place, working through the exhaustion instead. But this morning when he lay down, it somehow didn't feel necessary.
Lex can't remember the last time he had to force himself to get out of bed.
But as he stands in the shower, Lex's reason kicks in and he realizes what is so wrong. Sleep was pitch black with oblivion.
Oblivion. That word sticks to the back of his eyelids, unwilling to let go. He goes over it again and again and then there's a moment when the walls creep closer, and the water runs cold down his back, stifling him with trepidation.
He has forgotten something.
He recalls this morning, his conversation with Clark, and he recalls the night before. He recalls the strange visitor and his offer.
Lex clenches his teeth and gets out of the shower. He puts on his stiffest white shirt and one of the suits that make his slight frame look bulky and muscular. Lex hasn't aged since he turned thirty, but he puts all his fashion skill into creating an illusion of age. He chooses a severe charcoal tie, and then, finally, makes his way down.
All the way down LexCorp tower, into the basement. This tower was built five years ago, when Lex returned from his stint as president. It's the fourth iteration of the LexCorp building. All earlier ones have been destroyed in the never-ending titanic battle that is Metropolis.
The room where Lex is heading isn't on any of the plans. Only he has the key for it. It isn't lead-lined, or in any other way fortified, and Lex keeps no kryptonite there, because he isn't guarding the room from Superman. There's very little in the room that Clark doesn't know about, in fact, much of what is in there concerns Clark - incidentally, because the room is about Lex, and anything that is about Lex will in some way be shaped by Clark.
The room is small. Information doesn't take up a lot of space. This isn't a museum, it's an ark, so there are no pictures and artefacts on display, just empty white walls. An ark for Lex's memory, for he has learned to guard himself against the tides of oblivion. People keep messing with his mind and his memory, and Lex saves back-up copies of his life more religiously than his employees save copies of their hard-drives. There are dead man switches that activate if he doesn't update regularly, to remind him of the existence of this room. Automatic mail is sent whenever he returns after being kidnapped, arrested or checked into a hospital.
The latest file has been added two days ago, and it denotes that there was nothing of interest to add. Lex closes it and opens the big checklist instead. In there are the turning-points, the traumata, the pivotal moments of Lex Luthor.
He goes through it item by item. Meteor shower 1989. Mom killed Julian. I killed Duncan.
It goes on like this, until there's the first entry for Clark, followed by many others. Lex stares at it for a moment, the words right there, so plain.
I hit Clark with my car. He saved my life. Clark is an alien, and he can't be hurt by anything but kryptonite and magic.
Lex has written and rewritten this entry, until it became as sparse as it is now. He suddenly can't remember why he bothered at all.
There's the little and the big tragedies of his Smallville years on the list. Helen, the island, Belle Reve, Zod, Lana… followed by the impersonal conquests and defeats of his Metropolis years. Superman, the Justice League, the secret identities and weaknesses of almost any notable superhero and villain, each have their own entries. Lex skims every item and calls up the appropriate memory. Nothing is missing in his inventory.
Except the hours in which he made the deal. Dimly he remembers agreeing, but everything before or after blurs the more he tries to recall it. He can't remember the conditions he must have negotiated. He can't remember what happened after he agreed.
Lex closes down the room and goes back to the elevator, ascending once more into the lofty heights of the penthouse. He numbly goes through the routine motions of checking that LexCorp still stands and has survived the day without him, and then forces himself to drink a coffee and eat an apple.
Lex sold his soul, but he doesn't remember it.
Beyond the arrival of his visitor, there are only fragments, intangible as fog, turning to nothing whenever he tries to touch them. Echoes of conversation, of a familiar voice, like the memory of a dream. The after-taste of firm resolve, sweet and bitter like sugared coffee. Lex doesn't doubt that he has made this decision. He has sold his soul.
Lex forces himself to stop staring into space and moves into his study. He hasn't had to deal with this sort of aimlessness since his early twenties. Probably it's best to draw a line, to have a look at Kon and finally get over this strange obsession and move on to more productive things.
There are a couple of places Kon is most likely to be found - the Teen Titans tower in San Francisco, the farm in Smallville, where he lived with Mrs Kent the two years before he died, or if he is in a sulk, Hawaii, where the boy spent the first months of his life after escaping from Cadmus Labs where he was created.
Lex has surveillance equipment in all these places. The farm is the trickiest, because Clark is very careful in places where his secret identity might be discovered. But Lex has access to the most modern of equipment. The cameras are fully organic, and to Clark's x-ray vision, they will look like ordinary flies and spiders.
But except for Martha Kent, who looks more cheerful and sprightly than she has in a while, the farm is deserted. Mrs Kent has become a frail old woman. She's one of the few tangible reminders of how old Clark and Lex have gotten, because it sure as hell doesn't show on their own, ageless faces. Lionel, if he still lived, would look positively ancient by now and it's a never-ending source of joy for Lex to imagine him weak and senile in some nursing home.
The Titans tower looks like a bomb hit the common room, which is usually a sign of either an epic battle or a party having taken place, but there's no sign of Kon, Tim Drake or any of their other teenage friends except for the psychic and the green shape-shifter, who, as far as Lex knows, aren't very close to his son.
It's night in Hawaii and people are partying on the beaches, but Kon isn't visible in any of his usual hiding places.
There's Clark's apartment in Metropolis, but Kon never goes there. He and Clark have a strange relationship. It took Clark years to trust his clone and those were Kon's formative years. By the time he accepted Kon into his family and gave him his name it was too late for Kon to ever consider Clark a real parent.
But Lex cannot blame Clark. It isn't as if he offered Kon a family, or a name, for that matter. All Lex did was create him, eleven years ago, when Clark was dead for the second time.
Lex leans back in his chair, gazing thoughtfully at the laptop, fingers steepled. Calls up the list of bugs and cameras in his Kon file. An older one catches his eye, and he accesses it.
It shows a cave in the inanely named little town of Happy Harbour.
The cave is still full of the traces of inhabitation by a group of teenagers. Graffiti on the walls, discarded toys, fast food wrappers and all the other debris children leave behind when not forced to tidy up behind them. Before watching Kon, Lex never realised how messy kids are. Compared to these children, Lex was never a child at all.
His intuition has served him well. There they are: Kon, in his well-worn old T-shirt with the crest of the House of El and a newer looking pair of jeans, sits on the floor with his back leant against the wall. With him are Cassie Sandsmark, Bart Allen and Tim Drake.
Lex fixes his eyes on Kon. His son looks a lot like Clark. He has the same dark, tousled hair, even though he cuts it shorter than Clark ever has. His face is strong, angular, handsome, but he has Lex's lips, his chin, his blue eyes. Physically, he looks like a teenager, sixteen maybe, not much older than Clark when Lex first met him. Actually Kon is only eleven, ten if you don't count the year he was dead, but mentally, he is far more… well, not mature than Clark, because Clark was always so terribly earnest, but he's more experienced than either Clark or Lex were when they were eleven. He has none of that wide-eyed, fresh faced innocence that seemed to coat Clark like a suit of armour, making it impossible for Lex to get as close as he wanted to. Kon had to take care of himself ever since he fled Cadmus Labs - or at least, he must have felt that he took care of himself, even though Lex has been subtly influencing his life all these years. Kon is far from virginal, and has probably seen more crime and violence than Lex had when he was twenty-one.
But unlike either Lex or Clark, Kon is full of careless, youthful spirit. Secrets and subterfuge are alien to him. And Lex might not have given him a sheltered childhood, but he didn't make him a Luthor, either.
It's one of the few things of which Lex has ever been truly proud.
Lex switches on the sound to hear what they're saying.
" - sucked. All funerals suck," says Bart Allen, who seems unable to stay in one place, flitting about the room as furtive as an electron. Named after the first Flash, he's another scrawny, red-headed speedster and one of Kon's closest associates. Friends, Lex amends. Kon doesn't have associates.
Kon grins at them. It's almost believably nonchalant. "So, who cried?"
Cassie's pretty face goes stony. "That's not funny," she says in a tight voice. Wonder Girl was Kon's girlfriend before he died, but now she sits at a curious distance on an old couch, stiff and tense with her hands in her lap and her blond hair in a tight ponytail, staring at him like he'll vanish any second.
Lex knows why she looks guilty. He wonders if she's happy that her boyfriend's back or if she's only thinking about how to keep her misadventures a secret from him. Most people prefer romance to be easy and straightforward and let it drop as soon as it becomes tainted with complication.
Lex, who has never loved without complication, sometimes wonder if other people love at all, or if they just chase some ideal, always missing the real thing. And it's the same with Kon. He's back, and they should be so glad, but people seem more shocked than happy to have Kon back. Clark certainly considered it a problem.
Lex isn't sure about Robin. Drake's face is inscrutable behind the black domino mask. He's the only of the four who's in costume, leaning against the wall at Kon's side, shrouded in his cape and subtly standing guard. But Lex believes that the boy must be as satisfied as he is by the outcome of this project, otherwise he wouldn't have pursued it so doggedly, wouldn't have thrown away all pretence of morals to get what he wanted.
"Sorry," Kon says, more embarrassed than contrite. "I'm back now. So where's the point in moping, guys?"
"It's not that easy. A lot happened while you were gone," Cassie explains.
"Hey!" Bart cocks his head to the side. "Maybe lots of stuff happened to Superboy, too. You haven't told us anything yet. What's it like, being dead? Wally said that the Green Arrow said that when he died he went to heaven and - "
"I don't remember anything," Kon shrugs, interrupting the staccato stream of chatter. "I guess it's like sleeping? Without, you know, weird dreams."
Bart looks immensely relieved. "So it's not like in season six of Wendy the Werewolf Stalker? Tim didn't rip you out of heaven and you're going to be all broody and angry at us?"
Kon stares at him, then bursts into laughter. "So you did finally watch those episodes?"
Bart nods, a blur of motion.
"So, what did happen while I was gone?" Kon asks them. "I can't believe it's been more than a year!"
Bart shrugs, then waves his hands about. "We recruited some new Titans because you were gone and I couldn't use my powers for a while. And Cassie tried to bring you back with this weird cult, but it didn't work."
Everyone stills, and Bart realizes his blunder. "Oh."
Cassie jumps up. "Do you ever think at all before you speak, Bart? Sometimes I really hate you!" She flies off so fast it rattles the old couch. Bart looks unhappy, vibrating with agitation. Kon frowns, then looks up at Tim, who still stands next to him.
"What was that about, Rob?"
"Some fanatics started a cult to bring you back with Kryptonian rituals," Tim reports calmly. "Cassie joined them for a while. She left them when it became clear that it was a hoax."
And just time in not to get in trouble when Lex eradicated the so-called Cult of Conner. Now that he has sold his soul to bring Kon back, the pseudo-Kryptonian magic seems uncomfortably less like nonsense.
Kon grimaces, then gets up to pace. "That sucks. Is she okay? I mean, she's not... ?"
"Crazy?" Tim asks, raising his brows under the mask.
Kon looks awkward. "Yeah."
"Cassie's not crazy!" Bart opines. "Everyone was just really sad. Tim cloned you. Even Luthor put up that giant statue of you in Metropolis!"
It's not a giant statue. It's a tasteful and dignified monument. And it was great PR when Lex put it up.
Clark's respectful article in the Planet was a real surprise, though.
Kon, however, looks appalled. "Luthor did what?"
"C'mon I'll show you!" Bart zips out of the cave, and Kon grabs Tim to follow him flying. A second later, the window on Lex's screen shows on a quiet, deserted cave. He leans back in his chair thoughtfully.
It's no surprise that Kon doesn't like the idea of Lex putting up that statue. He doesn't like anything that implies a connection between him and his criminal father. Still, Lex likes to believe that Kon hates him less than he hated Lionel.
So far, Kon seems to be alright. He's his old self. Being dead doesn't seem to have damaged him.
And that, in Lex eyes, makes the bargain he made a good one.
*
About five minutes later, there's an intruder alert on the roof of the tower. For years that roof was lead-lined and armed with a defence system chock full with laser beams and kryptonite bullets, but these days there is a large pool, a gurgling fountain, some greenery and some very comfortable lounge chairs. The heavy fortifications are far less visible than they used to be. It is quite certainly the nicest roof of Metropolis, especially around this time of year, when the evenings are long and the air is balmy.
Lex gives Grace and Deliverance a call to keep them from storming the roof and goes up himself. Either it's Clark, or it's someone from whom Clark is going to save him. Lex's own security is mostly for show these days, to the point where he picks them by looks and by name. Mercy, god bless her, would be appalled, but Mercy is in well-deserved retirement.
It's Clark. Superman stands, with his arms crossed over the S-shield of the suit, on the other side of the pool. He's framed entirely by sky that is blushing in an aching sunset above, mirrored by the calm water below. All things have long shadows, but Clark has only his reflection.
Lex ambles over to the pool. He has never taken a swim there, but he might just do so one of these days.
"Batman examined the cloning technology Robin used," Clark begins without preamble. "None of it is LexCorp technology. What were you talking about when you said you supplied him with something?"
Lex smiles. "Did you consider that it was something less material I provided?"
It's entirely expected when Clark suddenly stands in front of him, vibrant with anger. "Quit lying to me, Lex! Tim swears that he hasn't been in contact with you!"
"What is the problem, Clark?" Lex asks. "Doesn't the result satisfy you?" He reaches up to straighten his collar and Clark seizes his wrist in a crushing grip. These little displays of violence have become habit for them, which must be the reason why Lex isn't thrilled even the tiniest bit. It's boring, he guesses, since he knows very well that the violence is merely symbolic, that Clark walks on tip-toes and speaks in whispers whatever he does.
"Tell me," Clark demands.
Lex tries to shrug him off, but Clark doesn't let him go. His face is stormy with worry.
Lex is tired of this dance. "It appears I made a deal with the devil. My soul for Kon's."
Clark's expression freezes, then hardens in anger. Lex feels the bones in his wrist grind.
"Stop bullshitting me, Lex!"
Lex leans closer and looks Clark in the eyes. It's been some time since they were this close to each other. But Clark's untouchable face tells him nothing new. "I sold my soul to get him back. He's healthy. The rest of it doesn't concern you."
Bit by bit, Clark's self-righteous anger crumbles to worry and confusion. He lets go of Lex's hand. "You're… you're speaking metaphorically, right? What did you do, Lex?"
Lex raises his brows at Clark's inability to just accept the facts. Clark has no less, rather more experience with the supernatural than Lex, so why has he such a hard time suspending his disbelief? "Metaphorically, I sold my soul a long time ago, wouldn't you agree? I'm being perfectly literal."
Clark backs away, but paradoxically straightens into Superman's resolved posture. "You can't have sold your soul to the devil."
There's the tiniest pause in which Lex waits for Clark's words to hurt because of their implicit meaning, but they don't. "Well, I was as surprised as you that my soul was still up for grabs," Lex replies coldly.
"Selling your soul is a myth, Lex." Now Clark sounds exasperated. "You had a dream. Probably you were drunk."
Again, nothing but the tiniest spark of indignation. "Personally, I stopped believing in myths some time between women made from clay and modern-day Christ figures rising from the dead, Clark. There's no such thing as myths in our world anymore. I can't confirm whether the being that visited me yesterday was a devil or not, but I did make a very clear deal with him."
Clark's disbelief is entirely irrational, but it is persistent. Now he starts to look desperate and not a small bit afraid.
Why doesn't he accept Lex's words? It must be because the deals Lex makes are so rarely to his benefit. He must be holding some record in betrayals…
"Lex? Did something happen to you? Do you feel alright?"
Lex has never figured out why, even in the times of their fiercest enmity, it took only the slightest sign of vulnerability, the smallest injury, for Clark immediately forget everything but his concern for Lex's safety. He would spend his every waking hour to bring Lex down, to ruin him, expose him, but as soon as Lex got hurt, all he did was protect him.
Even two decades later, Lex hasn't forgotten his abject humiliation that first time he broke down from the pain of his kryptonite-induced cancer and Superman carried him to the hospital, hovering anxiously around the doctors and nurses as if Lex hadn't moments before threatened his life.
"Apparently a man can do fine without a soul."
"Lex, you haven't sold your soul! I think you should see a doctor - "
Lex hates being called insane. He hates it.
"I don't think I care to go on with this conversation." A simple codeword, and the peaceful roof transforms into a living hell for Kryptonians. Tiny meteor rocks are released from their lead encasements everywhere, in the sculptures and the fountain, even in the ground they stand on. It's the first time Lex has tested the new system with Clark, and the result is rather satisfactory.
Clark blanches and collapses, slowly like a mighty tree felled at the base. He falls onto the cape and rolls to his side, groaning in agony. On of his hands hits the pool, splashing water over the warm marble tiles. Lex steps aside, evading Clark's thrashing feet and turns back to the staircase. "I'm going to turn the defence mechanism off in five minutes. I'd appreciate not to see you for some while."
Lex doesn't expect Clark to call reinforcements. Clark is notoriously self-reliant. It's almost as if he doesn't trust his fellow heroes not to get hurt - and besides, he's Superman. He can take it. He's the one who always gets up again.
But this time, Clark activates the Justice League communicator and says in his raspy, pain-filled whisper, "I need back-up."
The response is damn near immediate. Lex hasn't made it to the door before three more members of the Justice League transport onto his roof. Wonder Woman is at Clark's side immediately, checking for injuries, and Green Lantern uses his power ring to shield him from the effects of the kryptonite.
Hawkgirl corners Lex with her mighty mace raised threateningly. She gives him an exasperated scowl. "Again, Luthor?"
Lex raises his brows at her. He doesn't really mind having the Justice League on his roof from time to time. Wonder Woman is very much his type, although ambassador Diana of Themyscira usually gives Lex a cold shoulder at charity galas, even if he just tries to make polite conversation about ancient Greek culture. The new Green Lantern is a bit young, but he's got shiny dark hair and cheekbones.
Hawkgirl, though, is a bit of a brute. And she has wings and flaming red hair, which isn't very high on Lex lists of attractive traits, either.
"It's Superman who insists on breaking and entering," Lex replies.
Clark has recovered from the kryptonite inside the green force-field of Green Lantern's ring and is getting to his feet with Wonder Woman's help. "He's suffering from some sort of trauma," Clark warns them, all earnest concern for Lex. "Luthor isn't thinking straight. I think we should take him to the watchtower for his own safety."
Lex glares at Hawkgirl. "For your own safety I strongly advise you not to - "
But it's not Hawkgirl who attacks him. Instead it's Green Lantern who wraps a second force-field bubble around Lex, lifting him off the ground. Hawkgirl smirks up at Lex and puts the mace back on her belt, then flaps her wings and jumps into the air as well.
"Five back to the watchtower," Green Lantern commands, and the transporter turns their atoms into energy patterns.
*
The last time Lex visited the watchtower, it was in his role as President, with camera's running while he politely let himself be led through the monitor room, pretending he didn't know its specifications better than his guide.
It was first built twenty years ago, but even so it is impressive, larger than any other space station ever built by mankind. It orbits the Earth at a majestic distance, a silver gleaming ivory tower, a Camelot in the sky with its masked knights convening at a round table.
As soon as Green Lantern removes the power ring's force-field, Lex puts up a token struggle. After years of training, he's not bad at martial arts himself, and he manages to surprise Hawkgirl with a vicious punch to the chin, but he regrets it a moment later, because Wonder Woman throws her golden lasso of truth around him. It pulls tight around Lex's middle, pressing his arms to his side and stealing his balance, and he stumbles back onto one of the benches of the holding cell they're in. The magic of the lasso is a rush of warm honey, coaxing, softening, even as Wonder Woman gives it a harsh pull.
"No more nonsense, Luthor," she warns. "What is going on?"
The lasso takes the truth from him with nimble fingers. "I sold my soul," Lex hisses furiously.
She looks taken aback and then Clark is there with a big hand on her shoulder. "Diana. Let him go."
She tugs softly at the golden rope and it slips from Lex like a snake to coil at her hips. Lex clenches his teeth, wanting to spit out the sweetish after-taste of magic, and pulls himself up to his feet.
"Are you satisfied now, Superman? I'm not lying."
Clark looks so terribly sorry. "I didn't think you were, Lex. We'll take care of this, I promise."
He and Wonder Woman step out of the cell and the force-field goes up behind them, locking Lex inside. "I want J'onn to have a look at him," Clark says.
"J'onn is on sabbatical," Hawkgirl objects.
"He still has his communicator," is all Clark replies as he walks off.
*
Not much later, Clark returns alone. He doesn't enter the cell, just stands behind the electric blue of the force-field.
"I'm not mad," Lex says.
"I know you aren't." Clark looks at him sadly. "But you've got bad luck when it comes to your mind."
"And other things." With a tired sigh, Lex sits down on the hard bench that serves as a cot. This reminds him entirely too much of his first stint in prison. It had been a phase of particularly bad luck for Lex: he'd been diagnosed with terminal cancer and at the same time the Justice League finally been able to prove his crimes. But the worst had been Clark's pity, his constant visits, when he would use his privilege as Superman and come directly into Lex's cell, his large frame looming in the tiny room, the bright colours of the suit bursting the grey confinements of Lex's narrowing life. There'd been no escape for Lex and he had to listen to Clark's endless, selfish attempts at reconcilement with a dying man.
And no matter how hard Lex tried to resist, they did in the end reconcile, at least a little. His luck changed, and he survived, got out of prison, cleansed his reputation, was on top of his game again, but his hatred for Clark had been subverted, complicated.
Lex prefers his hatred to be simple and straightforward. Hatred is as powerful an idea as a faith when it is pure, and it is a formidable tool when unrestrained.
"Why can't you accept that I'd do this for Kon?" Lex asks.
Clark looks away. His eyes burn blue with intensity, but maybe it is just the blue of the energy field separating them. "I know you'd do something like that, Lex. But a man can't live without a soul. It's just not possible."
Lex frowns. He hates it when people presume things they don't know anything about. Everyone thinks they're able to judge, even though they're fools. "You have no idea what a soul even is," he throws at Clark's receding back. "You just believe what you want to believe!"
But Clark leaves, and Lex finds that he doesn't care very much anymore.
Unfounded presumptions, after all, are an old habit between them.
*
Hours later, Clark comes back to the cell with the Martian. J'onn J'onnz has nearly as many ridiculous powers as Clark, and one of them makes Lex profoundly uncomfortable.
"This violates my rights," Lex says as they enter the cell. He faces them upright, arms crossed, defiance in every line.
The Martian turns to Clark. "Luthor doesn't sound confused, Superman."
"He believes he sold his soul," Clark answers. "Please, J'onn, just find out what's wrong with him."
The Martian doesn't need to touch him, but he advances a step towards Lex and Lex knows that he will lose this struggle. But it is a matter of principle that he calls up all his mental discipline. He wipes his mind blank, builds sky-high walls around his self. Lex's mantras are mathematical equations that he can lose himself in entirely if he needs to - but the Martian is faster, his shadowy thoughts weaving through Lex's like a wispy veil of fog. Then he redraws and Lex is alone in his body once more and feels a sheen of sweat cooling on his skin. Clark is staring at Lex like a martyr, like it was his mind that was violated.
"I am not a mystic," the Martian says in his deep, even rumble. "I cannot tell whether he has a soul or not. He is sane, but there have been… changes."
"It's been a while since you invaded my mind," Lex spits out acidly.
"What kinds of changes?" Clark demands.
The Martian remains quiet for a moment. "They do not concern the Justice League. It's not my place to reveal them to you, Superman."
Now it's Lex who is puzzled and worried. He doesn't feel any different, but suddenly paranoia creeps like a chill up his back. What if Clark is right? What if someone has messed with Lex?
They leave him alone with his doubts and his traitorous, changed mind. Everything becomes questionable in the cool quiet of the cell. The confusion after Lex woke this evening - was it more than just sleep making him groggy? The strange indecisiveness, the numbness - is he lacking something?
And he can feel it now, the questions circumscribing it, a hole a mile wide inside his chest, a muddy swamp of idleness where there used to be iron constructions of will, a thick feeling of overabundance where there used to be ravenous hunger, and where he was always alert, driven, he's now numb and hollow and tired…
*
"Lex?"
Lex wakes with a jolt at the gentle voice. Clark is standing over him. That, more than anything, is proof that something is wrong with Lex. He shouldn't be able to sleep like a stone through Clark's presence.
Behind Clark, there's Dr Fate in his sky blue cloak and golden helmet. He gives Lex a nod. Politeness is anchoring, so Lex returns the gesture as he sits up.
"I brought Dr Fate," Clark says unnecessarily. "He can at least confirm that you still have a soul."
Lex gives Fate a look, then waves his hand. "Do it."
Fate makes Superman step aside, then lays his hands on Lex's temples. Only his fingertips touch skin, and they're so cool and vibrant with energy that Lex has to force himself not to lean into the touch. The lasso's magic was slick like old oil, the Martian's telepathy furtive and chilling, but Fate's mind is the firm, calming grasp of destiny taking Lex by the hand. For the blink of an eye, everything is wonderfully clear, just long enough for Lex to understand, to think, oh, that's what I am missing - and then he is gone.
The helmet obscures Fate's face as he gives Lex a long look. "You of all people should have known how dangerous a deal you made."
This is something Lex can counter easily. "It was worth it," he replies with the full arrogance of conviction.
Clark looks from one of them to the other, horror dawning on his face. Fate turns to him. "He has signed over his soul to a third party. It is a common mystical contract, but such beings usually don't take the whole of one's soul - they trick the contractor with semantics, and the effects are often unpredictable."
Lex rises, brushing off his pants. "I got what I bargained for, Fate. We're done here. Take me back to Metropolis."
Clark looks shaken as he stares off into space, but then he steels himself and steps forward. Fate defers to him.
"I'll take you there," Clark says.
[I'm not sure if these are helpful, or more interesting to people who know DCU canon, or just amusing for me.]
Happy Harbour: The cave in Happy Harbour used to be the headquarters of Young Justice, the teen hero team Kon, Tim, Bart and Cassie were part of before they became members of the Teen Titans.
Bart Allen: Is obviously not the Bart Allen of SV. (Unless this Bart travelled in time... but let's not make it more complicated than need be).
The Cult of Conner: Is part of recent comics continuity. I'm not kidding.
Green Lantern: This one is intended to be Kyle Rayner.
Hawkgirl, Wonder Woman: Hawkgirl is totally hotter than Wonder Woman, but Diana is a tall, gorgeous brunette, and a walking talking ancient Greek, who also is as strong as Clark. She'd *so* be Smallville!Lex's type.