Nothing but the deepest love shall induce me to matrimony. Or to write SV again.
It started with this story, Of Epistles and Epiphanies by nifra_idril, which is one of those heart-wrenching, gorgeous stories that pulls you back into fandoms you've washed your hands of. I wound up with frameless idea that I had to bounce off of serialkarma because I had no idea what to do with it, and now, well, you leave fandoms not people.
Smallville
To All The Aliens I've Loved Before
A form letter should never be complicated, and yet, Lex has been working on the same e-mail for several hours now, and for some reason he can’t seem to make it say what it should.
Dear Claudia:
As always it was a pleasure to meet with you and the representatives from S.T.A.R Labs to discuss our mutual goals and plans for the new year. I hope that we will be able to come to some sort of agreement regarding the potential sharing of information, since at least you always pretended to be honest with LexCorp and we feel that you deserve the same in return, i.e. some pretense at honesty. Of course we both know that you were lying to my face, but I have never been the sort to stand on ceremony should it turn the tides in my direction.
Coincidentally, I know that you’ve been fucking Bruce, and I would just like to point out that I was there when you were still wearing braces.
Yours truly,
Lex Luthor
Again, the message is completely unacceptable to send, and Lex has to close out the window and start over again.
Dear Claudia...
Dear Bruce...
Dear Clark...
It feels strange to type the ‘k’ of Clark’s name, because Lex can’t remember the last time he’s written Clark’s name or typed it or even said it aloud -- wet dreams and nightmares don’t count. Clark and Claudia aren’t necessarily that far apart in a dictionary of names, and the slip-up could happen to anyone, but Lex.
He powers down the laptop rather than sticking around for what might come next.
*
He makes another attempt at the post-meeting note six hours later after dinner at Le Monde, an hour of Jon Stewart, half a piece of leftover cheesecake and one triple whiskey, neat.
He sets the laptop down on the coffee table, and waits for the proper window to open up.
Dear Claudia...
Dear Bruce...
Dear self-righteous twenty-one year old, whose birthday I have never forgotten...
Dear entirely too well-built excuse for jail time, who doesn’t love me let alone think of me... How dare you throw me away as though I were dirty laundry? How dare you end our friendship as though it were something that could just be cast aside lightly? How dare you choose someone, something, anything else over me... What sort of principles are those? Were you raised in a barn? I believe I know the answers already...
The migraine sneaks up on Lex in ways that nothing has in a very long time, and he closes his eyes and palms the whiskey glass in his hand thoughtfully for before hurtling it against the nearest wall. He can’t be bothered to call an escort service. He doesn’t feel the urge to go out and fuck another nameless body for yet another too long night.
He closes the window, but leaves the laptop running.
He hasn’t gone to bed this early in a very long time.
*
His feet pad noiselessly through the penthouse in the dark. There’s a waning moon casting pale light through the balcony doors and the leather sofa creaks when he sits down and runs his fingers over the mousepad to wake the computer up.
He types blindly, as though if he doesn’t look at what he’s saying then it doesn’t really exist.
I find it rather amusing that you cast me aside based on what you’d seen in a room, when you had me so convinced that looks didn’t count. You touched me without hesitation... You assured me that my eyes were playing tricks on me every time you ran a little too fast or appeared somewhere a little too soon, and yet you couldn’t overlook this one flaw...
Perhaps it is true that beautiful people are blind to the rest of the world, you always were a little too selective in what you saw. A little too self-obsessed to be as a righteous as you were. You were always too pretty to be believed; I’m sure that hasn’t changed at all... You could dish it out, Clark, but not accept it in turn. Did your own hypocrisy drive you away? Is that what it was?
I tried so hard for you, why didn’t you try for me, too?
Lex wakes up on the floor next to the sofa the next morning with a crick in his neck, and the rug imprinted on the side of his face. He powers down the computer with a quick glance to make sure he’s not erasing anything important.
*
He’s taking notes during his weekly teleconference call with the Tokyo office, not because he has to but because he doesn’t trust anyone else to translate things properly.
His slanted scrawl reaches the edges of the margins and never runs off the side of the page until Yoshiro begins talking about supply and demand, and giving and taking, and Lex’s pen goes where his mind wants and not where his ears need to be.
I would’ve given you anything. Everything. But you never wanted any of that, did you? You never wanted what I tried to give you, and even when I gave you everything it *still* wasn’t enough... You know I still have that eyesore of a truck. I haven’t had the heart sold it yet. It’s too old now anyway. It’s your truck. I thought about getting you something newer for graduation, but you would never take anything from me now...
Maybe it’s you. You couldn’t do it could you? Trust anybody. Not Lana or Chloe, certainly not me, the heir of Satan-incarnate… Maybe it really is you. Maybe it’s not a can’t as much as a won’t. You won’t will you? You never would…
You could never really love me, could you?
You like to *think* you could. I like liked to think you could, too - I used to. Could, would. Maybe you just can’t do it Clark, love someone else who’s not family. I know you. You're pretty sure you could, would, because it's been what you've been looking for your entire life, right? It's what you're *supposed* to be looking for at any rate. It's like the Holy Grail in Indiana Jones, and yet... it doesn't seem like a good idea at all. Being with me doesn't seem smart or advisable, does it? Your father wouldn’t approve. Martha Your mother probably wouldn’t either, which - I’ve always liked your mother... she reminded me of my mother...
I think that if Chloe or Pete or Lana told you that they were going to run away with someone like me you'd have them committed (do you remember that lie? that trip? that time you didn't save me?) or at the very least, from on top of your pedestal, you'd give them all thousands of reasons that it was wrong. That I was wrong. You used to be the only one who believed in me... I remember when you never listened to your own advice, not that it matters now since you won’t have me... not that you deserve me.
I’m too good for you.
You’re too sanctimonious for me...
When Lex looks up Deanna, his secretary, is glancing at him out the corner of her eye and on the plasma screen Yoshiro is waiting.
*
He dictates to his answering machine from the back of the town car and jots things down on his handheld because he wants to know now. At least he thinks he does.
He needs to figure this out after all this time.
...What does it mean to give yourself to somebody anyway, Clark? It sounds like a kind of ritual sacrifice, doesn’t it? Very Grecian, like someone's going on a trip to Troy and doesn’t think they're going to be coming back ever.... that's not what love is supposed to be about, am I correct? Love isn't supposed to be about being eaten alive or assimilating yourself like the Borg. That’s like giving up, isn’t it?
...Are you giving yourself or are you giving up? I equivocate giving up with surrender and that's not what love is, right? Except maybe it is because that must be how love breaks apart. It starts off with something small, like putting your socks in the hamper because you're lover is a neat freak or telling your lover that maybe the red and blue is too much overkill, and then it degenerates to visiting people you don't like and wearing sweaters your hate. Soon you're agreeing to go out with couples you can't stand and you've got your in-laws sleeping next door.
The man you love is lying to your face with every breath and all you want to do is scream.
Wait. Let's not put the horse *in* the cart...
...So what exactly is this giving business, again? Is it giving up smoking because your lover berates you incessantly about not killing yourself slowly? Is it not taking over the world on a Tuesday because your lover has a deadline and can't deal with your petulance when you've been thwarted again? Is the giving up in becoming 'we' where it was always 'I'? If you become ‘we’ instead of 'I' does everyone suddenly think you don't exist anymore? Is that what love really is, is that what love's all about?
Giving and giving until you have nothing left...
*
Computers have ruined Lex’s life, because he remembers a time when if you wanted to break someone apart you had to write them a letter or call them on the phone or at least wait until you saw them in person, but now, all Lex does is compose paragraphs of this endless epistle in his head.
Dear Clark:
Today you had your first front page byline. I’m proud of you considering that the entire story was an ill-disguised attempt to rip me apart -- very touching. I wasn’t sure if you still cared, but apparently you do. Just to fill you in on my life, I still put my pants on one leg at a time, and I still eat my eggs before anything else. My coffee still has to have two sugars.
I thought of you today, again, but that seems to be a daily occurrence, and I’ve accepted that you and I aren’t meant to be in that traditional sense that we used to talk about.
I’m not that angry anymore; everyone must do what needs to be done.
I loved you once, but maybe it wasn’t in the right way, so I’ve decided to look at it from another direction. I think that love is about being selfless and giving your lover a purpose.
You used to be my purpose and now I want to be yours, because after the sex wears out and the euphoria wears off, what then? After you've grown accustomed to everything about this other person, then what? What happens when you accept the lies as truth just to be with the one you love?
Sabotage. Cheating. Lying. Staying out all night. Picking fights. Not because you want to, but because you don't know what else to do because you're afraid. You're horribly fucking afraid that this person might leave you and you’re now a part of this ‘we’, and you don’t know what to do without it.
I thought I wanted Desiree to be my ‘we’, Clark. I thought I wanted the same thing with Helen, but it was never them.
You were my ‘we,’ Clark, and I used to hate you for that, but I’ve finally accepted that this is our lot in life, and Superman if you want a purpose in your life I can make one for you.
I can give you myself.
I love you enough to ruin you if that’s what you want.
Just give me a sign.
All my best,
The maniac in the Porsche
-end-
All my love and adoration for serialkarma who betas on-demand and always manages to assure me something doesn’t suck.
Smallville
To All The Aliens I've Loved Before
A form letter should never be complicated, and yet, Lex has been working on the same e-mail for several hours now, and for some reason he can’t seem to make it say what it should.
Dear Claudia:
As always it was a pleasure to meet with you and the representatives from S.T.A.R Labs to discuss our mutual goals and plans for the new year. I hope that we will be able to come to some sort of agreement regarding the potential sharing of information, since at least you always pretended to be honest with LexCorp and we feel that you deserve the same in return, i.e. some pretense at honesty. Of course we both know that you were lying to my face, but I have never been the sort to stand on ceremony should it turn the tides in my direction.
Coincidentally, I know that you’ve been fucking Bruce, and I would just like to point out that I was there when you were still wearing braces.
Yours truly,
Lex Luthor
Again, the message is completely unacceptable to send, and Lex has to close out the window and start over again.
Dear Claudia...
Dear Bruce...
Dear Clark...
It feels strange to type the ‘k’ of Clark’s name, because Lex can’t remember the last time he’s written Clark’s name or typed it or even said it aloud -- wet dreams and nightmares don’t count. Clark and Claudia aren’t necessarily that far apart in a dictionary of names, and the slip-up could happen to anyone, but Lex.
He powers down the laptop rather than sticking around for what might come next.
*
He makes another attempt at the post-meeting note six hours later after dinner at Le Monde, an hour of Jon Stewart, half a piece of leftover cheesecake and one triple whiskey, neat.
He sets the laptop down on the coffee table, and waits for the proper window to open up.
Dear Claudia...
Dear Bruce...
Dear self-righteous twenty-one year old, whose birthday I have never forgotten...
Dear entirely too well-built excuse for jail time, who doesn’t love me let alone think of me... How dare you throw me away as though I were dirty laundry? How dare you end our friendship as though it were something that could just be cast aside lightly? How dare you choose someone, something, anything else over me... What sort of principles are those? Were you raised in a barn? I believe I know the answers already...
The migraine sneaks up on Lex in ways that nothing has in a very long time, and he closes his eyes and palms the whiskey glass in his hand thoughtfully for before hurtling it against the nearest wall. He can’t be bothered to call an escort service. He doesn’t feel the urge to go out and fuck another nameless body for yet another too long night.
He closes the window, but leaves the laptop running.
He hasn’t gone to bed this early in a very long time.
*
His feet pad noiselessly through the penthouse in the dark. There’s a waning moon casting pale light through the balcony doors and the leather sofa creaks when he sits down and runs his fingers over the mousepad to wake the computer up.
He types blindly, as though if he doesn’t look at what he’s saying then it doesn’t really exist.
I find it rather amusing that you cast me aside based on what you’d seen in a room, when you had me so convinced that looks didn’t count. You touched me without hesitation... You assured me that my eyes were playing tricks on me every time you ran a little too fast or appeared somewhere a little too soon, and yet you couldn’t overlook this one flaw...
Perhaps it is true that beautiful people are blind to the rest of the world, you always were a little too selective in what you saw. A little too self-obsessed to be as a righteous as you were. You were always too pretty to be believed; I’m sure that hasn’t changed at all... You could dish it out, Clark, but not accept it in turn. Did your own hypocrisy drive you away? Is that what it was?
I tried so hard for you, why didn’t you try for me, too?
Lex wakes up on the floor next to the sofa the next morning with a crick in his neck, and the rug imprinted on the side of his face. He powers down the computer with a quick glance to make sure he’s not erasing anything important.
*
He’s taking notes during his weekly teleconference call with the Tokyo office, not because he has to but because he doesn’t trust anyone else to translate things properly.
His slanted scrawl reaches the edges of the margins and never runs off the side of the page until Yoshiro begins talking about supply and demand, and giving and taking, and Lex’s pen goes where his mind wants and not where his ears need to be.
I would’ve given you anything. Everything. But you never wanted any of that, did you? You never wanted what I tried to give you, and even when I gave you everything it *still* wasn’t enough... You know I still have that eyesore of a truck. I haven’t had the heart sold it yet. It’s too old now anyway. It’s your truck. I thought about getting you something newer for graduation, but you would never take anything from me now...
Maybe it’s you. You couldn’t do it could you? Trust anybody. Not Lana or Chloe, certainly not me, the heir of Satan-incarnate… Maybe it really is you. Maybe it’s not a can’t as much as a won’t. You won’t will you? You never would…
You could never really love me, could you?
You like to *think* you could. I like liked to think you could, too - I used to. Could, would. Maybe you just can’t do it Clark, love someone else who’s not family. I know you. You're pretty sure you could, would, because it's been what you've been looking for your entire life, right? It's what you're *supposed* to be looking for at any rate. It's like the Holy Grail in Indiana Jones, and yet... it doesn't seem like a good idea at all. Being with me doesn't seem smart or advisable, does it? Your father wouldn’t approve. Martha Your mother probably wouldn’t either, which - I’ve always liked your mother... she reminded me of my mother...
I think that if Chloe or Pete or Lana told you that they were going to run away with someone like me you'd have them committed (do you remember that lie? that trip? that time you didn't save me?) or at the very least, from on top of your pedestal, you'd give them all thousands of reasons that it was wrong. That I was wrong. You used to be the only one who believed in me... I remember when you never listened to your own advice, not that it matters now since you won’t have me... not that you deserve me.
I’m too good for you.
You’re too sanctimonious for me...
When Lex looks up Deanna, his secretary, is glancing at him out the corner of her eye and on the plasma screen Yoshiro is waiting.
*
He dictates to his answering machine from the back of the town car and jots things down on his handheld because he wants to know now. At least he thinks he does.
He needs to figure this out after all this time.
...What does it mean to give yourself to somebody anyway, Clark? It sounds like a kind of ritual sacrifice, doesn’t it? Very Grecian, like someone's going on a trip to Troy and doesn’t think they're going to be coming back ever.... that's not what love is supposed to be about, am I correct? Love isn't supposed to be about being eaten alive or assimilating yourself like the Borg. That’s like giving up, isn’t it?
...Are you giving yourself or are you giving up? I equivocate giving up with surrender and that's not what love is, right? Except maybe it is because that must be how love breaks apart. It starts off with something small, like putting your socks in the hamper because you're lover is a neat freak or telling your lover that maybe the red and blue is too much overkill, and then it degenerates to visiting people you don't like and wearing sweaters your hate. Soon you're agreeing to go out with couples you can't stand and you've got your in-laws sleeping next door.
The man you love is lying to your face with every breath and all you want to do is scream.
Wait. Let's not put the horse *in* the cart...
...So what exactly is this giving business, again? Is it giving up smoking because your lover berates you incessantly about not killing yourself slowly? Is it not taking over the world on a Tuesday because your lover has a deadline and can't deal with your petulance when you've been thwarted again? Is the giving up in becoming 'we' where it was always 'I'? If you become ‘we’ instead of 'I' does everyone suddenly think you don't exist anymore? Is that what love really is, is that what love's all about?
Giving and giving until you have nothing left...
*
Computers have ruined Lex’s life, because he remembers a time when if you wanted to break someone apart you had to write them a letter or call them on the phone or at least wait until you saw them in person, but now, all Lex does is compose paragraphs of this endless epistle in his head.
Dear Clark:
Today you had your first front page byline. I’m proud of you considering that the entire story was an ill-disguised attempt to rip me apart -- very touching. I wasn’t sure if you still cared, but apparently you do. Just to fill you in on my life, I still put my pants on one leg at a time, and I still eat my eggs before anything else. My coffee still has to have two sugars.
I thought of you today, again, but that seems to be a daily occurrence, and I’ve accepted that you and I aren’t meant to be in that traditional sense that we used to talk about.
I’m not that angry anymore; everyone must do what needs to be done.
I loved you once, but maybe it wasn’t in the right way, so I’ve decided to look at it from another direction. I think that love is about being selfless and giving your lover a purpose.
You used to be my purpose and now I want to be yours, because after the sex wears out and the euphoria wears off, what then? After you've grown accustomed to everything about this other person, then what? What happens when you accept the lies as truth just to be with the one you love?
Sabotage. Cheating. Lying. Staying out all night. Picking fights. Not because you want to, but because you don't know what else to do because you're afraid. You're horribly fucking afraid that this person might leave you and you’re now a part of this ‘we’, and you don’t know what to do without it.
I thought I wanted Desiree to be my ‘we’, Clark. I thought I wanted the same thing with Helen, but it was never them.
You were my ‘we,’ Clark, and I used to hate you for that, but I’ve finally accepted that this is our lot in life, and Superman if you want a purpose in your life I can make one for you.
I can give you myself.
I love you enough to ruin you if that’s what you want.
Just give me a sign.
All my best,
The maniac in the Porsche
-end-
All my love and adoration for serialkarma who betas on-demand and always manages to assure me something doesn’t suck.