FIC: Strange Love, Part 2
Title: Strange Love or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying (and Accept My Destiny), Part 2
Author: musexmoirai
Fandom: Smallville
Rating: R, for language
Series/WIP: WIP, Part 2
Genre: Humor, het, slash
Spoilers: Takes place after Season 4 finale, "Commencement."
Feedback: Suggestions and criticisms would be lovely.
Disclaimer: Main characters and situations belong to Al Gough, Miles Millar, and DC Comics. Various cameo characters come from Marvel and DC Comics.
Summary: It’s a long road down to destiny and the path’s filled with unexpected turns and twists. Clark and Lana are in love, Lois and Chloe have left Smallville, Lex is slowly turning evil. But nothing is as it appears to be.
Author's Notes: Despite title, fic has absolutely nothing to do with the Kubrick movie. I just didn’t know what else to call it. Suggestions would be good.
Dedicated to the posters of the Smallville forums on the Television Without Pity website, because most of the ideas and jokes could not have been if not for their comments and discussions.
Part 1 is here.
It was a dark and lightly drizzling night; the rain fell in intervals- except at occassional torrents, when it was checked by a light gust which swept up to stained glass windows (for it is at a Scottish castle that our scene lies), rattling along the rooftop and mildly vexing the scanty flames that struggled out in the darkness.
“Hell,” muttered Thomas Fitzpatrick, “it’s colder than the Devil’s tit out here.”
He stood naked in the thick of the trees surrounding Luthor mansion (which is our aforementioned Scottish castle), holding aloft a weakly burning branch. The last few hours were a dim blur of booze, but he suspected that the age-old homespun tradition of accepting drunken challenges had figured somewhere into his current predicament. Nonetheless, a moment of optimistic self-reflection prompted him to concede that this could never be more unpleasant than the time that he had been discovered by his mother whilst in the midst of an intimate encounter with Doug and a particularly exuberant sheep.
Yes, Thomas thought. It could be no worse than that. He carefully sat down on a large rock and waited for Luthor security to find him and kick him off the property.
Thomas’ ensuing adventures, while altogether being extremely exciting and no doubt titillating inappropriate, were nevertheless unbeknownst to the primary resident of the Luthor manor, and the man we must concern ourselves with.
Lex Luthor raised a long stemmed wineglass up to the level of his eyes in order to better examine the color of the vintage in it. Had it been in his control, he would have mandated hard rain or gusty drafts or lightning present to throw ominous shadows on the planes and crevices of his face and allow for a more menacing figure. But conditions were rarely optimal and one must often make do.
Lex’s eyes trained on a dark figure in the corner of the office and he gave a sardonic salute. “You always said I could never beat the beast of my base nature. That Luthor blood will out and my only legacy will be a blight upon the world. A toast to you, prophet, and to your predictions. If I heed them, lest I repeat the same mistake that felled far greater men, will you be satisfied then?”
He took a deep drink and, upon receiving no answer, said after a polite pause, “It is customary to answer when spoken to. Fine. Let’s make this easy for you. Blink once for yes and twice for no.”
There was still no response. Lex continued. “You haven’t won, though you may be right. I have labored under many misconceptions, been blind to many truths. It might be time for a change after all.”
There was the sound of a throat clearing and Lex turned to see his head of security standing in the doorway, wearing the kind of look one usually wears when one is faced with an employer prone to the periodic spewing of overindulgent soliloquies. Lex tried not to be too bothered by the man’s amusement. He only blamed himself for never cultivating a proper sense of respect in his employees (which would have bothered him a lot less in the past). He would have to do something about that soon.
“What is it, Mr. Raines?” He asked and stood up a little taller, trying to project a dignified air.
“Found a trespasser on the grounds while making the nightly rounds, Mr. Luthor,” the deep-voiced man replied. “One of the recent graduates of Smallville High. Seems a relatively harmless young man, if not too bright. Shall we deal with him in the usual manner?”
“No, no. Hold off on the hot chocolate.” If Lex was going to implement his new approach, the present would be a good time to start. “Bring him up to the sitting room. I’ll deal with him shortly.”
Raines exited. Lex turned to his silent addressee. Tilting in head in an almost wistful way, he murmured. “I will never be the son you wanted, because you were never proud of my methods. And you never will be, so it’s high time I stopped trying to impress you. But I will be a great man, I can assure you of that. Good night, father.”
Lionel Luthor didn’t say anything, only stared straight ahead. He had never fully recovered from the coma caused by the blast of light from the crystal. The specialists Lex had brought in surmised that the elder Luthor’s body had shut down completely. Bodily functions had come to a complete halt, cells had stopped both dividing and breaking down, and he no longer responded to outside stimulus. It was though Nature had irrationally taken plans to preserve Lionel, keeping him from either aging or dying. In his wilder speculations, Lex would say that Lionel looked as though he was listening or watching something no one else could hear or see, something so extraordinary that it rendered pointless the mechanics of living.
After he had seen his father lying in the bed motionless for the umpteenth time, Lex had decided that the sight depressed him. He had Lionel bathed and dressed in his finest suit, then tastefully displayed in a specially crafted glass case that Lex had set up in the office inside the mansion. Even comatose, Lionel’s domineering presence had the effect of making Lex work harder. Had they been any other family, such an act would have been considered insensitive at best and a downright insult at worst. As it was, this was the most considerate gesture Lex had shown Lionel in many a year, for he took care to dust off Lionel personally each night and speak to him often. Never had their conversations been so free from vitriol and hostility.
Lex studied his father’s face, cataloguing the familiar features and searching for any changes. Finding none, he set down the empty wineglass on a nearby table. He then left the room to see a man about a naked boy, and left Lionel to his own lonely inscrutable thoughts.
***
“Harleen,” said the energy bar display behind Chloe. Since she wasn’t in the habit of answering consumables, she paid it no mind.
“So the little shit,” Wally concluded admiringly, “goes and steals my wallet.”
“Which was your fault for leaving it out in the open and then provoking him. He’s your cousin. What did you expect?” Chloe shifted the pile of books in her arms. “I’ve no sympathy at all.”
“Cruel, cruel woman.” He cast a wary eye at Journalism: An Introduction to Procedure and Ethics, which was currently performing a precarious balancing act, and added chivalrously. “Let me carry those for you.”
“I’ve managed this long,” Chloe replied wryly. “I’ll survive until I reach the cashier.”
The vibrant pair- Wally wore his signature red and Chloe had skinned a rainbow - stood at the head of a long dour line of students. The scent of human sweat and fear lay in a thick patina over the bookstore. Wally carried no books, in contrast to Chloe’s full arms, and, when pressed, would answer that he didn’t believe in reading for education’s sake.
“Harleen.” That voice again and a manicured hand landed on Chloe’s shoulder and squeezed. She spun around, annoyed at the intrusion.
And stopped short when she looked straight into the wide eyes of a gorgeous redhead in a well-put together pale green ensemble.
The young woman, who looked to be about in her early twenties, dropped her hand from Chloe’s shoulder and apologized. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…you looked an awful lot like a friend of mine from the back.”
“It’s okay,” Chloe said hurriedly, “really…”
Chloe trailed off when she noted the full red lips, the long cascading hair, the peaches and cream complexion, and felt enormously overwhelmed. The feeling didn’t lessen any when the woman laughed throatily. “Harleen will just adore hearing about this. Of course, the story would be ever so much better if I could get a name to go with the face.”
“Chloe,” the teenager said hoarsely. “Chloe Sullivan.”
“Chloe,” the woman repeated and Chloe would have killed for a voice like that, husky enough to have come off of a telephone hotline number. Eyes the color of spring grass flickered to the textbooks clutched between Chloe’s arms. “First year journalism student?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it’s not my particular bed of roses, but any occupation that involves playing in the dirt has got my approval. Even if it’s metaphorically as opposed to figuratively, as in your case. It’s been a real pleasure, Chloe.” One corner of the red lips stretched into a coy smile. “I look forward to seeing you in class.”
Chloe blinked. Wally gaped. They both watched as the femme fatale sashayed away, with one last toss of scarlet hair and the amused comment. “You know, you don’t look that much like Harleen after all.”
“Wow.” Wally said, after the proper interval for awed lust had passed. “You’ve got better luck with women than I’ve ever had.”
“I wonder what class she was talking about,” mused Chloe, unable to let the cryptic lie.
“Next!” called out the student cashier. Wally sauntered up to the desk, looked discreetly at the dark-haired girl’s nametag (“Katherine Pryde” written in dark blue marker), and gave her his most charming smile (the one that Chloe thought made him look like a loon but was, admittedly, somewhat endearing).
“Hey,” he drawled.
The cashier turned a disdainful eye on him and picked up the first of Chloe’s books. She turned it over and scanned the back, all the while addressing Chloe. “So I see that you’ve met Ms. Isley, our new teaching assistant for the Department of Botanical Studies. She usually makes quite an impression.”
“So I noticed.” Chloe remarked, as Katherine scanned in Magnoliophyta: Not Just for the Birds and Bees, required textbook for Plant Evolution 312, a class which she had taken only to fulfill as many general requirements as humanly possible during her first year.
“Now I know which classes I’m definitely taking,” Wally grinned.
This time, Katherine’s glare was withering. She rang up the rest of Chloe’s purchases and announced the total, prompting a long low whistle from Wally.
Chloe accidentally dropped her credit card when she tried to pry it out of her overstuffed wallet. It tumbled happily downwards and hit the ground, sliding across the smooth linoleum and lodging itself right underneath the counter. “Shit.”
“I’ve got it.” Katherine said, and bent down, re-emerging moments later. She gave a crooked smile. “American Express. It goes where you go.”
Chloe could have sworn that the bottom of the counter was solid and that there was no way Katherine could have reached the card. Unless… Chloe shook her head. This was Metropolis, she had finally gotten away from the craziness of Smallville, and she was looking for things that weren’t there.
“It’s none of my business,” Katherine began as she slid the card through and checked the name on the back against Chloe’s ID, “but I have to say that I know a really nice single guy. He a perfect gentlemen and knows how to treat a girl.” At this last part, her eyes flickered to Wally, as if daring him to say something.
“Whu-” Chloe sputtered, once she figured out the insinuation. “We’re not…Wally’s not my boyfriend!”
“Not for lack of trying,” Wally added.
Katherine shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She printed out the receipt. “Sign here. Refunds and exchanges accepted up to two months after purchase.”
Wally said pointedly. “I told you to let me carry the books.”
Chloe sighed.
***
“Lana!” Martha smiled happily at the shorter brunette. “What a surprise! I never expected to see you here! Feeling nostalgic?”
The here in question was Smallville Elementary which, in addition to providing schooling for grades one through six, also had the flexibility to accept children of kindergarten and preschool ages.
Martha had wanted Jason to experience many of the things Clark hadn’t been able to during his childhood, one of which was the opportunity to build early friendships among other children his own age. When she remembered the wild-eyed ranting man that had attacked herself and Jonathan, she had come to the conclusion that Jason had been tied too close to his mother’s ermine-lined apron strings. Well, such character flaws like the tendency toward homicide and incest could be fixed, provided that one started early. And Martha Kent intended to.
Lana shifted uncomfortably. “I suppose so,” she answered, hoping Martha wouldn’t look too closely at her.
No luck. Martha took one glance to Lana’s left and squealed. “Oh, Lana, how adorable!”
There was a time when any comment of that nature would be addressed to Lana solely. Ah, she thought, those were pleasanter days.
Zod peered up at Martha with his deceptively guileless eyes. “Are you simply making a comment based solely on my physical appeal or will this be a precursor to your hastily formed assumptions about my intrinsic value?”
Lana buried her head in her hands and mumbled. “I’m so sorry about Zody, Mrs. Kent.”
“And so smart too!” Martha gushed. “And he looks just Clar- I mean, where did Zod , is he yours-“ she flailed about for a moment and then settled for, “I’m glad to meet you, Zody.”
“That ‘affectionate’ appellative,” muttered Zod sarcastically, “is one Zod finds to be immensely demeaning. Please refer to Zod as Your Supreme Overlord.”
Martha beamed at him sappily.
Lana laughed, high and shrill. “Don’t kids just say the darndest things? Oh ha ha! Zody Lang here is my cousin, on my father’s side. His parents, who really couldn’t spell, bless their souls, have just recently died. Isn’t that just the saddest? And here I am, the only family poor Zody has left, so of course I’m not going to throw the lovely boy to the wolves. I mean, who would? Just look at that face! So I decided to take him in and care for him and love him as though he were my own, which he totally is, in a way. And he’s going to grow up and love me and care for me in my old age and give me lots and lots of pretty little grandchildren to play with! Oh, isn’t life such a lark?”
Martha and Zod just looked at her as if she had finally snapped.
A little boy peeked out from behind Martha Kent’s legs and whispered, “Mommy, is the scary lady going to put down?”
“Jason Teague-Kent!” Martha snapped. “You will not be rude to strangers!”
“Well,” Jason said with childlike conviction, “that’s what Daddy did to Mr. Fordman’s crazy doggy. And Mother says that Isobel,” he glowered at Lana, “killed her.”
“Jason?” Lana choked out, the presence of an ex-boyfriend turned toddler enough to shake her out of her hysteria.
“I’m afraid your dead mother’s mistaken,” Martha said briskly. “This is Ms. Lang, or Aunt Lana. She’s our friend.”
“Call me Lana.” The girl corrected, because it gave her the willies to have a boyfriend, even an ex, address her as ‘Aunt.’
“Why’s Miss Lana have an alien?” Jason wanted to know.
Zod’s head swiveled around and he fixed Jason with an intent stare. “You’re quite perceptive.”
“Zap! Zap!” Jason darted close and poked him in the shoulder. “You’re dangerous to humans! I’m destroying you!”
“Very perceptive,” Zod muttered. “Among this detestable species, you have been the only one to correctly identify the threat Zod presents and have the inclination to act according. I am tired of being amongst fools. Jason Teague-Kent,” He proclaimed in a rather imperious tone while the other child eyed him quizzically, “despite the handicap of your years, Zod has decided upon confer upon you the honor of becoming General Zod’s second-in-command for the eventual invasion and takeover of the planet Earth.”
“Whazzat?” Jason asked and didn’t bother to listen before grabbing Zod’s hand and dragging the other boy along. “Let’s play in the sandbox, alien!”
“It’s so nice to see Jason get over his shyness. You won’t mind bringing Zody more often to our house, will you?” Martha asked, with an air of rather forced cheerfulness.
“Jason-” Lana sputtered, cursing whatever impulse that had insisted it was a good idea to bring Zod here in the first place. Then, her brain kicked in and pleaded for her to exert some control over the situation. “You didn’t believe a single word that Zod said, did you, Mrs. Kent?” She cringed at the desperation in her voice.
“Of course.” Martha soothed. “You know how kids are.”
“Great,” Lana said, relieved. “That’s great.”
They both watched Jason dump sand down the back of Zod’s shirt.
***
The statue of Christ the Redeemer was wearing an elaborate red headdress and a string of multicolored beads, clutching what looked like a sparkly feather duster in one outstretched hand.
The back of the postcard read:
Kent,
I know you miss me. I’ve been having the most fantastic time in Rio. Ah, last night at the Baixo Barra with pretty boys in eyeliner… I don’t want to give you a heart attack, Smallville, but you are aware that your white-bread, small town, hetero upbringing does not, in fact, reflect the rest of the world? What am I saying? There’s always been something not quite kosher about your ‘friendship’ with Kansas’ follicle-challenged answer to Mr. Rochester.
Oh damn. Sorry about that. Don’t be too offended with me, alright? I got you a souvenir. You’ll love it.
Lois
***
“Lex,” Clark uttered breathlessly once he was inside Lex’s home office.
“Hey, Clark.” Lex responded, then after a pause. “Electrified fence?”
“Was out of power.”
“Guard dogs?”
“Were sleeping.”
”Randomly stationed expert fighters carrying firepower?”
“Playing a game of poker.”
“Laser activated reinforced steel doors?”
“Don’t go down all the way.”
“Identification system requiring voice, thumb, and eye verifications?”
“Malfunctioned.” Clark brushed bits of dark fur, wire, and metal off his plaid shirt and ran a hand through his hair, wincing when it crackled with leftover electricity.
“Funny how the state of personal home technology continues to degrade even as we speak,” Lex noted. “What brings you by here today?”
“I wanted-” Clark suddenly reared back. “Lex, what’s your father doing in a glass case in the corner?”
“He matches the décor. Don’t worry, Clark, he’s comatose.”
“I’m not sure that makes it any better.” Clark said, a little unsettled by Lex’s blasé response.
“Trust me. He’d prefer looking decorative over being confined to a bed.” Lex said with enough firm conviction that Clark decided not to press the matter. After all, Lex had to be the one who knew his father best. “But I assume you’re not here to discuss the pater familia.”
“I wanted to talk to you,” Clark admitted and Lex watched with great surprise as the boy looked down, blushed, looked back up at Lex through the fringe of his eyelashes, and then scuffed his toe on the expensive carpeting.
But Lex was not one to remain flummoxed. He gathered his cool and reached over to the stack of papers on his desk. After shuffling through a few, he pulled one out. “Lucky I’m prepared,” he commented to Clark as he handed the latter a sheet.
Clark took it, baffled. “Lex, what is this?”
“Read the top.”
Request for Monetary and Material Acquisitions
1. Applicant Name:
2. Date of Request:
3. Relationship of Applicant to Provider (Lex Luthor):
4. Nature of Request:
Money (if so, amount ___________)
Connections (please specify ___________)
Access to LuthorCorp Facility
Vehicle or Other Personal Position
Illegal Activity (please state nature of _________)
Time (start ________ stop _________)
Other __________
5. Reason for Request:
6. Request Approved: Y/N Date: ___________ Signature: ___________
“Lex,” Clark said. “I repeat: WHAT is this?”
“I realize that I’ve been pretty lax in my accounting. One minute I’m talking to you and, the next, I’m missing fifty thousand from my bank account and I can’t remember why. This is a time-saving maneuver I designed to help me keep track of such expenses. What you’re currently holding is, admittedly, a rough draft and not the most complete. I thought a simpler format would be more accessible but I’d love your input on-”
“Lex, I’m not filling this out.”
“Oh, that’s alright. I have another form,” Lex said and went back to his desk. “Request for Cease and Desist of Current LuthorCorp Action. I know it’s here…somewhere…”
“This is stupid,” Clark declared, scanning the paper in his hand and then ripping it into tiny pieces with decisive motions. “I’m not filling out some form just so I can talk to my friend. Besides, you’ve got ‘time’ listed on there. That’s neither monetary nor material.”
“Don’t make me repeat the adage about time and money, Clark. And your concept of friend has always been like mine, very loosely defined with flexible parameters.” There was that awful blankness in Lex’s voice at those last few words.
“Please don’t-”Clark sighed, hating it when Lex made him feel guilty. “I’m tired of the insinuations and the veiled hostility.” He stared fixedly at a point over Lex’s right shoulder, twitching a little and unable to meet Lex’s eyes. “I know it’s partially my fault because I told you that I would be a friend to you and it’s not a promise I’ve kept. I don’t want to continue on like this. I’m sorry.”
It was a small thing, that apology, but it was strong enough to breach a gulf that had taken years to create. An odd feeling came over Lex, the same rush of exhilaration a drowning man experiences when his head breaks the surface and he takes a new breath of air. “There’s plenty of blame to go around on both sides,” he admitted gruffly. “I’ve let you down too, haven’t I? You can’t wait forever for me to become a better man.”
Clark’s smile was bright and infectious. Lex couldn’t help but offer one back in return.
Neither of them could think of what to say next. The silence became a little uncomfortable after a few minutes. Clark worked his mouth around and Lex coughed politely twice.
“Start over?” Clark finally asked in a hopeful voice.
Lex grinned. “Hello. My name is Lex Luthor and I hit you with my car.”
Clark tensed, then put on a sickly smile. He hadn’t expected Lex to start hinting at his secret again (though he should have anticipated) and his first instinct was to deny it. “Hello. My name is Clark Kent and if you did, I’d be dead.”
A year ago, Lex wouldn’t have pressed his advantage like that, would have been more content with Clark’s friendship than elusive knowledge.
Lex’s eyes became shuttered and his chin rose a fraction higher. He opened his mouth to say something and Clark couldn’t stand it anymore. He grabbed Lex by the arm and pulled him out of the office.
“Clark, wha-?”
“Just trust me.” Finding the room he wanted, he entered and pulled a pool cue off the wall. “Grab a stick.”
“What?”
“We’re playing pool, Lex, and we’re going to play by some new rules I’ve made up. For every ball you sink, I’ll forgive you for something you’ve done. And for every ball I sink, I’m hoping you’ll forgive me for something stupid I did. What do you say?”
Lex’s voice was soft. “I think I like it, Clark.”
Clark let go of Lex’s arm and indicated that he should take a cue and break.
“Stripes,” Lex said, as the seven ball rolled into the upper left pocket.
“The room,” Clark said and both knew which one. “Everything you had in the room, I forgive you for it.”
The lame excuses, the Kryptonite experiments, the lies and the accusations, everything. The slate was blank by the third game ended with the eight ball rolling into the last pocket. Lex looked happier than he had for a long time and Clark was glad.
“Lex,” he said as he watched the other man get out a bottle of blue Ty Nant. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.” There had been a warm feeling curling low in stomach throughout the last few hours, distracting enough to almost cost him shots that he needed to make. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt like that before, but it was the first time he had while knowing the cause.
It’s funny how it took an extraterrestrial A.I. to show him what had been under his nose the entire time.
Lex grew very alert and fixed keen eyes on Clark. He nodded to show that Clark should continue, but Clark felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny and blurted out something else altogether. “Are you in love with Lana?”
A furrow appeared between Lex’s brows and, for a heart-stopping moment, he considered the question. “No.” he smiled, relaxing. “I’m afraid that’s your specialty, Clark.”
Clark bit his lip. “You’re not just saying that to, um, mollify me?”
Lex relaxed even more and intoned in a faux serious voice. “Well, when a man has multiple personalities, Clark…” he trailed and chuckled at the confused expression on Clark’s face. “Never mind. Just be assured that I don’t have romantic intentions toward the lovely Ms. Lang.”
Which was mostly true, but it wasn’t as though the thought had never crossed Lex’s head. Alexander was, after all, a part of him. But Lex couldn’t bring himself to be that honest just yet.
“Oh, that’s good.” Clark breathed. “I’m bisexual.”
“I see,” Lex replied.
Clark had never felt like a bigger geek, a geek who couldn’t even handle his own sexual revelation with the savoir faire it deserved. He hoped this didn’t bug Lex. What if it bugged Lex? Lex was giving him a calm look, but was it the calm look he gave when taking Clark seriously and ready to give advice or was it the calm look he gave before he began brandishing nine irons in a threatening manner. Clark was too nervous to distinguish. “You’re cool with this, right? The bisexual thing? I mean, you and all those women…”
“What women?” Lex responded automatically, an answer that had been conditioned into him by some of Metropolis’ finest lawyers.
Clark gave him a dark look. “Victoria. Desiree. Helen. The baker’s dozen you sent earrings to this past year. Don’t tell me you don’t remember.” He grimaced. “Geez, you have horrible taste.”
“What brought about this sudden change?” Lex asked, mostly to deflect the conversation from his romantic preferences but also because he was genuinely interested in the answer. As soon as he thought he had Clark Kent figured out, the boy threw him a curveball. Lex picked out the most likely scenario and tried to run with it. “There’s someone, isn’t there?” he queried, gently as not to scare the Clark off. “A guy you’ve just realized you’re attracted to.”
Clark flushed, giving Lex all the answer he needed. “You’re not homophobic, are you?”
Lex refrained from rolling his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. Considering the state of the world, it’s a petty man that picks homosexuality as his vice to condemn.”
“Say you have a, and this is totally a hypothetical situation…say you have this person and he’s attracted to his friend but he never told the- I’m no good at this.”
“Which means you probably spent all your time with him talking about Lana and now you’re thinking he has no idea how you feel.” Lex fell silent for a long moment, considering. “Relax. He probably already knows. You never were able to hide your feelings for Lana. You also have the most expressive face.”
A faraway look stole over Lex’s face, as if he were trying to remember the words to a song. “From thine eyes my knowledge I derive, and, constant stars, in them I read such art as truth…” he trailed off, explaining. “Well, the rest of it gives the wrong impression, but the sentiment’s true nonetheless.”
“Really?” Clark’s heart pounded in his chest. Lex had just quoted poetry at him. Poetry about him. Lex knew.
Lex had figured everything out with typical perceptiveness, even if Clark hadn’t named names. He didn’t have to. Clark didn’t get why Lex would refer to himself in the third person, but then, Lex had lots of quirks. Continuing the conversation in the same vein, Clark asked. “What would he do then? Since he knows?”
“If you really want an honest opinion,” Lex frowned. “I’d say that he’d have, declared his intentions, so to speak, by now if he has any interest in you.” Then, seeing the way Clark’s face fell and, wow, that hurt even by proxy, he hastily added. “But there’s always still a chance that he will. You’re a great guy, Clark. One of those rare people I know who’s actually worth knowing.”
“Whatever.” Clark returned morosely, knowing that ‘you’re a great guy’ was, as compliments went, the verbal equivalent of winning the consolation prize instead of the jackpot. Still, there was a flare of hope in him that simply wouldn’t die. He looked sideways at Lex, took a deep breath to steel himself, and phrased his question carefully. “Do you think I’d have a chance if I wooed him? Showed him how much I cared about him?”
“More than a chance,” Lex replied sincerely, registering the way Clark seemed to perk up at his words. The teenager certainly was mercurial and he must have it bad if the thought of the other man had him all tangled up. Lex shifted through his memory, trying to pinpoint potential candidates for this newest object of Clark’s affections. Since Clark had joined the football team this last year, presumably around the time he met his mystery man (or, at least, discovered his attraction to other men), then the pool of possibilities were wide indeed. With a wistful poignancy, Lex realized that there was a time when he wouldn’t have needed to speculate, because Clark would have told him. They had grown apart.
Trying to dispel his sudden melancholy, Lex joked. “Even if you do fail, you’ll be in good company. Cyrano de Bergerac, Medea, Dido of Carthage, Leroux’s Phantom, Jay Gatsby, Pedrolino of commedia dell’ arte fame, the Lady of Shalott, myself and countless others.”
Clark didn’t recognize all the references, but smirked at the one he did. Medea. Witch. Heh. Lana.
Lex mistook the smirk as an indication of good mood. He allowed himself to reach around and pat Clark on the back, knowing that the other was more tactile than he. It came out a little awkward, as he didn’t know what to do with his hand after (leave it there or not?). He decided to drop it down by his side and wondered if he was supposed to say something encouraging like Jonathan would. He didn’t get a chance to.
“Thank you, Lex. For this opportunity, for everything.” Clark had reached out and snagged Lex’s hand between his bigger ones, was fixing him with a warm gaze, and seemed to be radiating eagerness from every pore. Lex forced himself to pay attention, because he had the uneasy feeling that he was missing something. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good luck.” Lex said, poleaxed and even annoyed by Clark’s sincerity (the two emotions were not exclusive, as Lex often became irritable when confused). Clark was looking at Lex the way he did back when they first knew each other, like Lex knew all the answers and could do no wrong. An estimation that could be no further from the truth, especially in light of Lex’s newest resolution.
Really, couldn’t the boy have picked a different time to play friends forever? Or, at least, stayed stern and disapproving of Lex’s every slightest movement? Lied about sundry and all Smallville paranormal activity? Made disparaging insinuations about Lex’s lack of morals and sexual discretion? It was incredibly rude of Clark to suddenly upend the status quo on a whim’s notice, when Lex had finally figured out how to deal with an increasingly distant Clark.
It was vindictive, he knew, but Lex had the sudden urge to knock some sense back into Clark. Neither of them were the same people as they were years before and, consequentially, their friendship couldn’t return back to the way it had been, not even after a soppingly sentimental game of pool.
“Clark, I appreciate all the honesty you’ve shown this night.” Lex allowed himself a thin smile. “I have some revelations of my own to disclose, pertaining to a new resolution I’ve recently reached.”
Clark wiggled happily. Lex was confiding in him, like he used to do. And it didn’t even matter if Lex was going to talk about Clark’s secret, because any confidence would be better than the non-confidence that they’d already suffered through. In this case, sharing was definitely caring.
“Have you ever noticed,” Lex asked, “how hideously inept I am?”
Or not. “Well, I wouldn’t call it hideously-” Clark began.
“Generous of you, but the empirical begs to differ. I constantly allow my father to get the better of me, not only playing his game, but playing it five steps behind and with pieces missing. I routinely fail to protect the people that I place under my protection. In fact, I routinely defy Darwin, social or otherwise, and fail to protect myself in my own house.”
“I don’t even think your dad knows what game he’s playing.” Clark responded valiantly. “Someone needs to tell him the Roman Empire’s already fallen and he seriously needs to update his allusions to people, places, and things more recent than A Long Time Ago B.C.”
Lex shot Clark a pointed look, but there wasn’t any real hostility behind it. Warming to his subject, Lex continued his litany of personal shortcomings. “I have had enough hallucinations and concussions that my judgment is suspect. I’ve investigated you for years, come up with some glaringly incriminating evidence, and still been unable to reach a definite conclusion. I have never had a satisfactory relationship with another person and my romantic trysts tend toward the embarrassingly homicidal.”
Clark opened his mouth to protest again, then clicked it shut when he realized that there was no part of that statement that he was willing to refute (though he really wanted to apologize for the concussions).
“I make hasty business decisions based on endorsements made by high schoolers. I have initiated experiments with dangerous chemicals intended to yield beneficial results, yet each and every one manages to go awry and eventually endangers Smallville. I have failed to make an significant headway in my public image, meaning that said town still hates me, your father more so than most. These are not the hallmarks of a capable man,” Lex concluded with a self-satisfied nod.
“Since you’re such a great inept failure, o successful young businessman,” Clark drawled (more than a little sarcastic because that comment about hasty high-school business endorsements had stung, since he was usually the one doing the endorsing), “what do you plan to do about it?”
“Ah, the crux of the matter. I can’t continue the way I have been, it’s no way to cultivate respect. Some radical changes are necessary. Where I was once generous, I intend to be ruthless. Where I was once governed by conscience, self-interest will be my new modus operandi.”
Lex tried to gauge Clark’s response but couldn’t see a readable reaction on that demonstrative face. Unlike most Smallville denizens, he was not one to usually underestimate Clark’s intellect, but he had to make sure that Clark understood all the implications of his words. “What I’m trying to say is that there is a good chance that, ah, my future actions may not be morally defensible,” he clarified.
Lex stuck his hands in his pockets and walked forward, staring as if fascinated at one of the ancient tapestries hanging on the wall. It was a pose so casual it hurt. He raised his chin and slitted his eyes, ready for the words that signaled the end of this freshly-resuscitated friendship.
Finally, Clark’s voice came from behind him. “Okay. Let me get this straight. Lex, so you’re going to turn evil?”
“Don’t be absurd. I am not turning evi-” Lex stopped himself from continuing what would no doubt lead to a very juvenile argument. “Evil is a vague concept and a misleading epithet open to interpretation. In any case, I hope we will be able to part on amiable terms and, despite my future misdeeds, we will be able to remember this idyllic time together with much fondness.”
Clark refrained from smiling. Lex had the tendency to pepper every conversation with grandiose melodramatic claims. It was endearing. “If you’re waiting for me to stomp off in a righteous huff, you’ll be standing there a while. Besides, what makes you think I’ll turn against you for this? ”
This wasn’t going the way Lex had planned at all and he was getting a bit flummoxed. “Clark, I wouldn’t ask you to go against your basic philosophy. By your estimation, I’m turning evil.”
Clark nodded. “I know and I totally accept that. You support my alternative lifestyle, I’ll support yours.”
“Evil is not an alternative lifestyle.” And Lex was not getting huffy, because Luthors were above that.
“Well, despite Hobbes whining about the state of nature and man against man, evil isn’t exactly the normal lifestyle either.”
“Serves me right for arguing with an idealist,” Lex snorted, but it was only a perfunctory attempt to regain control of the conversation.
Clark ignored the jibe- only Lex would consider ‘idealist’ to be an insult- and focused instead on a thought that had just occurred to him. “You’re not doing this because of your father, are you? Because, and though you probably know more about psychology than I ever will, that’s called projection.”
“I’m aware of that and, no, I don’t intend to pass my life as a pale imitation.” Lex was getting irritated. Clark could be notoriously hard to get through to at times, but this was getting ridiculous. “There is a natural depravity in me, Clark,” he insisted, “and once I give in to that, I will become more twisted than he has ever been.”
“Natural depravity, huh? I suppose you also have inner violent desires? A moral blindness that doesn’t allow you to care about other people?” The words came out perfectly devoid of sarcasm and even managed to be curiously sincere.
“Still willing to be my friend, Clark?”
“Even if you’ll probably end up hurting me and I’ll come to rue the day we ever met?” Again, there was no trace of mockery.
“Even then?”
“Why don’t I stick around a while and, if I lose too much sleep over the state of your soul, then I’ll bail?”
Lex spun around and Clark gave him a sunny smile.
“You don’t think I can do it, can you?” Lex accused. “That’s why you’re so flippant.”
“I happen to take your morality crises seriously, Lex. Got the memo: you’re the Big Bad now. Ruthless, heartless, merciless, shameless and all those other -lesses.” Clark stepped closer to Lex and put his hands on the billionaire’s shoulders. He gave a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll still come over to raid your fridge and we can discuss your world domination schemes.”
The evil thing would complicate matters, but Clark was nothing if not adaptable. If he could stop a meteor shower, what was a little amorality between friends? Now, he just had to figure out exactly how highly Lex thought of him and there was only one sure way to get an accurate reading.
“Evil One, can I still borrow the Jaguar?”
Lex frowned. “If you’re not too partial, take the Porsche. I’ve just got it checked up so the transmission’s smoother.”
“Thanks.” Clark cheated and allowed himself to superspeed a touch onto Lex’s cheek. He watched as Lex’s brows drew up in confusion and decided to beat a hasty retreat. Making a show of looking at his watch, Clark said ruefully. “I’ve got to go now. I promise to call tonight.”
Another shy smile and he was out the door and headed for the garage.
It wasn’t until Clark had left the Luthor grounds that Lex realized he hadn’t even gotten his friend to fill out a form. He sighed and wrote it himself.
***
At some point in their life, the average human will suffer from existential angst. They will wonder, among many other questions, about the meaning of their miserable life and its validity. Is life really life instead of, say, an unfunny comedy shown for half-price in the movie theater of whatever higher powers one chooses to believe in? And, if that is the case, who wrote all the crappy dialogue?
Lana had yet to really wrangle with the angst (though she had brushed by it in passing) but she had often imagined her own life projected onto a giant silver screen. With the arrogant acceptance of those who lead a blessed existence, she believed herself to be the favorite character of an unseen audience who made sure the plot and other cinematic trappings were tailored specifically for her. One of which was soundtrack choices.
Lana descended the stairs of the Talon to the pretty-yet-anguished crooning of alternative rock band Lifehouse emanating from the coffeehouse speakers. Their new CD set the right atmosphere, being tuneful and yearning without sending the customers searching for the nearest set of earphones.
Lana supervised the employees (she corrected one of Margot’s orders and complimented Katie’s new blouse) and greeted the regulars with a wave and smile, happy after dropping Zod off at the Kents’ and having the afternoon to herself. She allowed herself a moment of pride as she cast a proprietary eye across her domain.
She had stepped outside to admire the sign and solicit passerby when she heard a loud engine and saw the flash of silver as an expensive car bearing the license plate of LX LTHR pulled up to the curb. There could be no doubt as to the owner.
Lana’s heart soared. Now everything was perfect.
Then the driver’s side door opened and Clark stepped out. Lana experienced a strangely sudden and violent case of heartburn.
“We have to talk,” Clark said, without so much as a how-do-you-do.
“I have nothing to say to you.” She turned in a huff, hoping pettily that her hair was long enough to swing around and smack him in the face. Failing that, she tried to slam the door on his hand when he tried to enter the Talon after her.
“You think just because you’re his friend and he lets you drive his cars, that you can control every part of his life,” she hissed in Clark’s face. Or tried to. Damn, she hated being short. “And you may be Smallville’s resident hero, but even you can’t stop the inevitable.” And, in case Clark’s limited mental capacity was unable to process, Lana obliged by clarifying. “What will happen between Lex and me.”
Clark’s nostrils flared and he stated loudly, “No one really appreciates Lex’s cars.”
Lana looked at him as if he were a particularly fascinating breed of idiot. What did Lex’s cars have to do with anything whatsoever?
But Clark remained undeterred. “People like the cars,” here he smiled rather nastily at her so that Lana could be sure exactly who he counted among these people, “because the outside’s shiny and the leather smells nice and the price is more than their annual income. They think the cars are exotic and rare, never seen except in a showroom.
“They like that the Lamborghini goes fast and how much horsepower the Aston Martin has, but they don’t bother to understand how the engine works or how the frame’s been put together. And they wouldn’t care if they mistreated the cars, because Lex could always get another one. But I do. I care and I understand and that’s why Lex lets me drive them.”
A common Smallville misconception about Lana was that because she was sweet, she was therefore simple. Never mind the fact that she had taken honors classes and tutored Whitney in English. In fact, there had been that instance where she had overheard three members of the football team calling her by an unflattering nickname for her supposed airheadedness and lack of discretion in sexual mates. Lana had taken revenge by utilizing to great efficiency both the PA system and the fact that the boys’ locker room showers were communal.
So Lana listened to Clark’s rant and began to draw her own conclusions. When she put two and two together and came up with an unexpected four, she didn’t dismiss it outright. Despite the fact that this was Smallville, or perhaps because it was, Ockham’s Razor tended to apply more often than not.
Fact: Clark was acting oddly. Fact: He didn’t want Lana and Lex in a relationship. Fact: He had developed a proprietary attitude toward Lex, one that he illustrated with DMV-approved examples. Fact: This was Smallville.
“So I would advise some people,” Clark finished rather arrogantly “to not even bother asking Lex to borrow his cars, because they don’t understand that Lex’s cars aren’t like other cars and operate on a whole different set of rules.”
How quaint. Clark wanted to extend his silly metaphor. Two could play that game. “But Clark,” Lana responded sweetly. “We’re all aware of how careless you can be. What’s not to say…” Lana tapped one slim finger against her chin in a parody of thought. “…that one day you yank the stick shift too hard and it breaks? Or you aren’t paying attention and accidentally crash his favorite and Lex can’t replace it because that car was special and there will never, ever be another one like it?”
There are a brand of people that gather in coffeehouses and they can be characterized by their short attention spans, their harried appearance, and the fact they think that every other conversation other than their own is much more interesting than anything they’re doing. Lana and Clark were currently surrounded by, well, a coffeeshop’s worth of these people. Needless to say, the end result was quite predictable.
“Youngsters nowadays certainly take their vehicles mighty seriously. Can’t say I approve.” An elderly man sitting by the window, who apparently had no regard for other people’s private conversations, stated loudly. “If walking’s good enough for these ole legs, it’s good enough for the young’uns too.”
“I like the red ‘un. If I were that rich summabitch Luthor, I’d get myself a damn red car. One of ‘em with the Confederate flag onnatop like those Dukes of Hazzard summabitches. Hell, yeah, that’d bea summabitch of a car.”
Lana widened her eyes and made a cute ‘o’ with her mouth. “What if it’s time for a change? Maybe Lex will let someone else handle his cars. Someone with a gentler touch…”
“Don’t touch his cars.” Clark snapped.
“That Luthor boy, he’s behind all this.” declared Mrs. Gandston to her neighbor, an equally gossipy middle-aged lady that took particular delight in knowing the local cuckold of the week. “Knew he was bad blood soon as he rolled right into town.”
“...I might not know anything about Lex’s cars, but I’d be willing to learn, if they’re important to him.” Lana declared, eyes glittering brightly up at Clark.
His mouth tightened into a grim line and he didn’t smile back.
“I’ve seen him pick up the ex-quarterback- him, yes, him! Stop pointing!- at school. Theyaresodoingit! Oh my God! Don’t you know? Cars are, like, boyspeak for sex!”
“You like Lex’s cars so much,” Lana said silkily, “I wonder if that’s why you’re his friend. Knowing that he can give you instant access to that kind of power and money, well, it must be a powerful incentive.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Clark had gone just a little bit paler.
“You’re often up at the mansion,” Lana persisted. “I wonder how much of that is being his friend and how much of it is just to get a nice, free-”
”LEX IS NOT JUST A RIDE TO ME!”
The Talon fell silent. People stopped mid-sip to swivel around in their seats and treat Clark and Lana to the kind of scrutiny a statement like that deserved.
A particularly piercing girlish shriek split the air. “Theyaresodoingit!!! I TOLD YOU!” Like a hit-and-run drive, it seemed to come out of nowhere and, afterwards, no one would be able to identify who had done it.
A bespectacled businessman with salt-and-pepper hair, probably the only one who hadn’t been invested in the argument, jumped to his feet and exclaimed. “Great God, people! If I were Mr. Luthor, I’d be embarrassed at the both of you for making a public spectacle out of me!”
Lana turned to face him. “If I wanted your opinion, I’d have asked for it!” she retorted snippily.
“And, yet,” Clark muttered snidely “you always insist on giving yours, even when no one finds it welcome.”
Lana lost her temper and punched Clark in the face. And screamed when she broke three bones in her hand.
“Lana!” Concern washed over Clark’s face, displacing every other emotion.
She stared up at him through her tears, clutching her hand to her chest. Lana could feel her mascara start to run, and her nose as well. She clumsily wiped snot away with the back of her hand, utterly humiliated.
“Are you all right?” Clark tried to ask.
“Shut up! Just shut up!” Lana turned and ran for the stairs that led up to her room. Unfortunately, her vision was distorted by the water streaming from her eyes and she snubbed her toe hard on a passing table leg. She gritted her teeth and limped up the stairs.
Clark wisely didn’t try to follow.
“Everything she does is beautiful. Everything she does is right,” sang Jason Wade from the Talon’s amplified sound system.
“Turn off the fucking music!” she screeched, having ceded over control of her voice. She ran to her room and threw herself down on her bed. Lana curled up into herself, hating the mess she made and feeling as if she were as young as Zod.
When her roommate came back from the Kents’ half an hour later, he found Lana asleep. He touched her for the first time, a hand to her head, checking to make sure that she was still alive.
***
Lex looked up from his paperwork as the doors opened, saw his visitors, and said reflexively, “The child’s not mine.”
“I never said he was.” Lana flashed him a toothy smile and settled herself down on a nice suede sofa. Zod trailed in behind her and stared at Lex unabashedly.
“Zod believed that all youth of the species had hair upon their heads,” the toddler remarked.
“Most do,” Lex answered, ignoring both the rudeness and strangeness of the remark. “Unless their personal preference is to shave it off.”
Lex had run the gamut of possible reactions to his physical appearances and this one wasn’t as extreme as some others he had been subjected to. He was more surprised that this was apparently what “Miss Lang and guest” meant. He had been expecting a new boyfriend, now that Jason was incapable of fulfilling that capacity.
“Was it your personal preference?” Zod asked the billionaire.
“Hardly.” Lex rose and stepped out from behind his desk. He stopped in front of Lana and asked courteously. “May I offer a drink?”
“Anything alcoholic,” she answered honestly. Lex had to hide his smile at that as he walked over to the liquor cabinet and pour her a glass of his weakest wine.
“Is your hand alright?” Lex asked, referring to Lana’s recent injury.
“It’s nothing.” She put on an airy laugh. “Only a few broken bones.” In her experience, men could never resist a beautiful, vulnerable girl.
”If you want the best doctors Metropolis has to offer, you only have to ask.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He smiled. “Extraordinary boy you have there, Miss Lang. Smart for his age.” The kid looked to be about three years old, may be six if Lex allowed for him to have a small build. He finished pouring and handed the glass to Lana.
She took a sip and giggled. “One might even say unearthly so.”
“He looks a lot like Clark,” Lex hedged. “I hope you’re not here to slap me with a paternity suit, Lana. It’ll be impossible to prove and there’s no telling the strain it’ll put in our relationship.”
Lana looked up sharply at the last word. “No,” she murmured. “it’s not that. Zody here is my cousin. His parents are dead and I’m his next of kin.”
“Zod,” corrected Zod, “is not related to this young female that has been functioning as his caretaker. General Zod is but the first wave of a complex plan designed to infiltrate and subdue this planet.”
“An extraterrestrial? I’m sure you think you are. Perhaps you even have abilities far more extraordinary than a mere humans. But this is Smallville and I’m not inclined to take such claims without a grain of salt. You say you’re an alien. Prove it.”
Lex had barely blinked before the child had suddenly gone from standing in the doorway to right by his desk. Zod reached around a metal leg of the table and bent it easily.
“Zod!” Lana gasped in shock. Her eyes darted to Lex, wide with fear.
“Point taken.” Lex’s smile was smooth and lazy. “There is still, however, something I have to verify.”
He walked over and around Zod. There was a bookcase behind his desk where he kept a state-of-art stereo, several paintings, and assorted knickknacks in addition to reading materials. He slid one painted panel aside to reveal an electronic safe. After pushing a few buttons, he opened it and pulled out a dull metal box.
He opened the box, pulled something out, and tossed it lightly toward Zod. “Catch.”
Zod reacted on instinct, but as soon as his small fingers had wrapped around the green stone, he screamed and crumpled to the ground. The veins in his hands pushed up against his skin, pulsing green as a terrible pain hit him. It felt as though his blood were boiling, this first exposure to the modified Kryptonite of his home planet.
Oxygen intake is necessary for the human body to survive, but large amounts of the pure, undiluted gas can result in death. For the Kryptonian, the earth’s yellow sun had engendered in his basic biological structure a change that allowed him to be come superpowered. But this same enabler had mutated an abundant component of his planet, turning the compound toxic.
General Zod, fearless invader and would-be overlord, had not much experienced pain in his life and certainly nothing of such a degree. His natural reaction turned out to be not much more different than that of a terrified human three-year-old.
He cried.
Lana ran to him and wrapped her arms around Zod. “How could you?” she lashed out at Lex. “He’s just a baby!”
Lex looked a little shaken. He hurriedly picked up the green meteorite stone and shoved it back into the lead box. “I didn’t know it would do that,” he justified.
The green veins disappeared from the little alien’s skin and his appearance gradually turned more human. Zod’s wails were loud and his face was wet. “Hurts,” he whimpered. “Hurts.”
“It’s okay, baby.” Lana soothed. She pressed a kiss to the top of Zod’s head. “It’ll be okay.”
Zod began to calm down, the whimpers turning into hiccups.
“Breathe,” said Lex, flashing back to his own experience with asthma. “Deep breaths.”
Zod flinched whenever Lex came closer. He burrowed himself into the warm circle of Lana’s arms until only the top of his dark head and his wide teary eyes were visible to the older man.
“I had my suspicions,” Lex whispered, almost to himself. “I didn’t want to find out this way.” He gave a shaky smile. “A word of advice, kid. You may not want to go around advertising your heritage. As you can see, the humans aren’t defenseless.”
Lana could feel that Zod was going to be fine, but that didn’t stop her from rubbing up and down his back gently, trying to reassure him. She wasn’t sure what to do about Lex. He had always been so good to her, but those words had sounded like a threat. Lex had always wanted knowledge and power. What if Lex didn’t care who got hurt in the process? He looked horrible and frightening now, his eyes bright as blue flames and the low shadows of the room highlighting his white death’s head of a face. Lex looked like a monster. “Please don’t take him away,” she pleaded.
Lex had been intending to change his behavior in order to try to earn respect, but he hadn’t intended to terrorize women and children. Figured that, with his luck, that something like this would drop out of the sky once he had made his new resolution. “The both of you have nothing to fear from me,” he promised.
“You could protect Zod,” Lana breathed as the realization occurred to here. It had been silly for her to worry that Lex had would try to hurt Zod. Hadn’t he always been so good to her? He had power and money, enough to dissuade those who would want to take Zod away from her. It was all so clear to her now. She had to tie the billionaire as closely to her as possible, not only because she was in love with him, but also because of Zod. The solution to all her problems could be solved in one fell blow. She had to marry Lex.
“Your hand.” Lex said, abruptly. It registered with Lana that her bandages had come loose and her hand was hurting. She hadn’t noticed in her haste to reach Zod.
She lifted it up and watched as Lex cradled her fingers and began gently re-wrapping the bandages. He was very careful. She expected that it was his way of apologizing.
“Help me adopt him,” Lana suggested softly.
Calculations churned within Lex’s mind. The alien, of course, fascinated him. And, as long as the alien stayed with Lana, Lex could have easy access to him at any time. He nodded. “I’ll get started on the papers right now.”
He got to his feet and was halfway out the door before Lana’s voice stopped him.
“Lex?” He turned around and she almost lost her courage. “You once said…do you still have feelings for me?”
His smile was soft. “Lana, I wasn’t in my right mind then.”
“And you are now?” she teased. “You display your father in a case inside your office.”
The smile became brighter, a flash of teeth, and then he left.
Zod, feeling more his old self, studied Lana’s features and performed a quick analysis. “You’re harboring a romantic attachment toward him,” he said.
“I think to I want to start dating him. Does that bother you?” she asked, knowing that Zod might not be entirely comfortable were she to reveal the full extent her intentions toward Lex.
Zod shook his head. His tears had dried. “On the contrary. He could prove to be an invaluable ally. Zod intends to help you.”
(to be continued)
***
More Author’s Notes:
Thomas Fitzpatrick is the quarterback that another student, Doug, admitted to wanting to ask to the prom in the Smallville episode “Truth”.
Wally West is The Flash (DC Comics), the fastest superhero in the world.
Pamela Isley is Poison Ivy (DC Comics), bio-terrorist with a fondness for plants and one of Gotham’s rogues gallery.
Harleen Quinzel is Harley Quinn (DC Comics), psychiatric intern turned villian and another one of the Gotham crazies. She carries a long-burning torch for the Joker and is Poison Ivy's best friend.
Katherine “Kitty” Pryde is Shadowcat (Marvel), member of the X-Men with the ability to walk through walls.
The first paragraph of this installment comes from a 1830 novel called Paul Clifford, written by Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, and is the origin of that famous opening line:
"It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness."
The quote from Lex’s poem comes from William Shakespeare’s Sonnet XIV:
Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck;
And yet methinks I have astronomy,
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well,
By oft predict that I in heaven find:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And, constant stars, in them I read such art
As truth and beauty shall together thrive,
If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;
Or else of thee this I prognosticate:
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.
This segment was hell to write. Never write an ensemble piece if it can be avoided. The Clex section wasn’t supposed to run so long while the Lexana went a totally different way than I original expected. And now there may be the beginnings of an actual plot and character development. It’s too soon to tell.
I’m off the read the latest Harry Potter. Any suggestions for where you guys want the story to go would be welcome.
Author: musexmoirai
Fandom: Smallville
Rating: R, for language
Series/WIP: WIP, Part 2
Genre: Humor, het, slash
Spoilers: Takes place after Season 4 finale, "Commencement."
Feedback: Suggestions and criticisms would be lovely.
Disclaimer: Main characters and situations belong to Al Gough, Miles Millar, and DC Comics. Various cameo characters come from Marvel and DC Comics.
Summary: It’s a long road down to destiny and the path’s filled with unexpected turns and twists. Clark and Lana are in love, Lois and Chloe have left Smallville, Lex is slowly turning evil. But nothing is as it appears to be.
Author's Notes: Despite title, fic has absolutely nothing to do with the Kubrick movie. I just didn’t know what else to call it. Suggestions would be good.
Dedicated to the posters of the Smallville forums on the Television Without Pity website, because most of the ideas and jokes could not have been if not for their comments and discussions.
Part 1 is here.
It was a dark and lightly drizzling night; the rain fell in intervals- except at occassional torrents, when it was checked by a light gust which swept up to stained glass windows (for it is at a Scottish castle that our scene lies), rattling along the rooftop and mildly vexing the scanty flames that struggled out in the darkness.
“Hell,” muttered Thomas Fitzpatrick, “it’s colder than the Devil’s tit out here.”
He stood naked in the thick of the trees surrounding Luthor mansion (which is our aforementioned Scottish castle), holding aloft a weakly burning branch. The last few hours were a dim blur of booze, but he suspected that the age-old homespun tradition of accepting drunken challenges had figured somewhere into his current predicament. Nonetheless, a moment of optimistic self-reflection prompted him to concede that this could never be more unpleasant than the time that he had been discovered by his mother whilst in the midst of an intimate encounter with Doug and a particularly exuberant sheep.
Yes, Thomas thought. It could be no worse than that. He carefully sat down on a large rock and waited for Luthor security to find him and kick him off the property.
Thomas’ ensuing adventures, while altogether being extremely exciting and no doubt titillating inappropriate, were nevertheless unbeknownst to the primary resident of the Luthor manor, and the man we must concern ourselves with.
Lex Luthor raised a long stemmed wineglass up to the level of his eyes in order to better examine the color of the vintage in it. Had it been in his control, he would have mandated hard rain or gusty drafts or lightning present to throw ominous shadows on the planes and crevices of his face and allow for a more menacing figure. But conditions were rarely optimal and one must often make do.
Lex’s eyes trained on a dark figure in the corner of the office and he gave a sardonic salute. “You always said I could never beat the beast of my base nature. That Luthor blood will out and my only legacy will be a blight upon the world. A toast to you, prophet, and to your predictions. If I heed them, lest I repeat the same mistake that felled far greater men, will you be satisfied then?”
He took a deep drink and, upon receiving no answer, said after a polite pause, “It is customary to answer when spoken to. Fine. Let’s make this easy for you. Blink once for yes and twice for no.”
There was still no response. Lex continued. “You haven’t won, though you may be right. I have labored under many misconceptions, been blind to many truths. It might be time for a change after all.”
There was the sound of a throat clearing and Lex turned to see his head of security standing in the doorway, wearing the kind of look one usually wears when one is faced with an employer prone to the periodic spewing of overindulgent soliloquies. Lex tried not to be too bothered by the man’s amusement. He only blamed himself for never cultivating a proper sense of respect in his employees (which would have bothered him a lot less in the past). He would have to do something about that soon.
“What is it, Mr. Raines?” He asked and stood up a little taller, trying to project a dignified air.
“Found a trespasser on the grounds while making the nightly rounds, Mr. Luthor,” the deep-voiced man replied. “One of the recent graduates of Smallville High. Seems a relatively harmless young man, if not too bright. Shall we deal with him in the usual manner?”
“No, no. Hold off on the hot chocolate.” If Lex was going to implement his new approach, the present would be a good time to start. “Bring him up to the sitting room. I’ll deal with him shortly.”
Raines exited. Lex turned to his silent addressee. Tilting in head in an almost wistful way, he murmured. “I will never be the son you wanted, because you were never proud of my methods. And you never will be, so it’s high time I stopped trying to impress you. But I will be a great man, I can assure you of that. Good night, father.”
Lionel Luthor didn’t say anything, only stared straight ahead. He had never fully recovered from the coma caused by the blast of light from the crystal. The specialists Lex had brought in surmised that the elder Luthor’s body had shut down completely. Bodily functions had come to a complete halt, cells had stopped both dividing and breaking down, and he no longer responded to outside stimulus. It was though Nature had irrationally taken plans to preserve Lionel, keeping him from either aging or dying. In his wilder speculations, Lex would say that Lionel looked as though he was listening or watching something no one else could hear or see, something so extraordinary that it rendered pointless the mechanics of living.
After he had seen his father lying in the bed motionless for the umpteenth time, Lex had decided that the sight depressed him. He had Lionel bathed and dressed in his finest suit, then tastefully displayed in a specially crafted glass case that Lex had set up in the office inside the mansion. Even comatose, Lionel’s domineering presence had the effect of making Lex work harder. Had they been any other family, such an act would have been considered insensitive at best and a downright insult at worst. As it was, this was the most considerate gesture Lex had shown Lionel in many a year, for he took care to dust off Lionel personally each night and speak to him often. Never had their conversations been so free from vitriol and hostility.
Lex studied his father’s face, cataloguing the familiar features and searching for any changes. Finding none, he set down the empty wineglass on a nearby table. He then left the room to see a man about a naked boy, and left Lionel to his own lonely inscrutable thoughts.
***
“Harleen,” said the energy bar display behind Chloe. Since she wasn’t in the habit of answering consumables, she paid it no mind.
“So the little shit,” Wally concluded admiringly, “goes and steals my wallet.”
“Which was your fault for leaving it out in the open and then provoking him. He’s your cousin. What did you expect?” Chloe shifted the pile of books in her arms. “I’ve no sympathy at all.”
“Cruel, cruel woman.” He cast a wary eye at Journalism: An Introduction to Procedure and Ethics, which was currently performing a precarious balancing act, and added chivalrously. “Let me carry those for you.”
“I’ve managed this long,” Chloe replied wryly. “I’ll survive until I reach the cashier.”
The vibrant pair- Wally wore his signature red and Chloe had skinned a rainbow - stood at the head of a long dour line of students. The scent of human sweat and fear lay in a thick patina over the bookstore. Wally carried no books, in contrast to Chloe’s full arms, and, when pressed, would answer that he didn’t believe in reading for education’s sake.
“Harleen.” That voice again and a manicured hand landed on Chloe’s shoulder and squeezed. She spun around, annoyed at the intrusion.
And stopped short when she looked straight into the wide eyes of a gorgeous redhead in a well-put together pale green ensemble.
The young woman, who looked to be about in her early twenties, dropped her hand from Chloe’s shoulder and apologized. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…you looked an awful lot like a friend of mine from the back.”
“It’s okay,” Chloe said hurriedly, “really…”
Chloe trailed off when she noted the full red lips, the long cascading hair, the peaches and cream complexion, and felt enormously overwhelmed. The feeling didn’t lessen any when the woman laughed throatily. “Harleen will just adore hearing about this. Of course, the story would be ever so much better if I could get a name to go with the face.”
“Chloe,” the teenager said hoarsely. “Chloe Sullivan.”
“Chloe,” the woman repeated and Chloe would have killed for a voice like that, husky enough to have come off of a telephone hotline number. Eyes the color of spring grass flickered to the textbooks clutched between Chloe’s arms. “First year journalism student?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it’s not my particular bed of roses, but any occupation that involves playing in the dirt has got my approval. Even if it’s metaphorically as opposed to figuratively, as in your case. It’s been a real pleasure, Chloe.” One corner of the red lips stretched into a coy smile. “I look forward to seeing you in class.”
Chloe blinked. Wally gaped. They both watched as the femme fatale sashayed away, with one last toss of scarlet hair and the amused comment. “You know, you don’t look that much like Harleen after all.”
“Wow.” Wally said, after the proper interval for awed lust had passed. “You’ve got better luck with women than I’ve ever had.”
“I wonder what class she was talking about,” mused Chloe, unable to let the cryptic lie.
“Next!” called out the student cashier. Wally sauntered up to the desk, looked discreetly at the dark-haired girl’s nametag (“Katherine Pryde” written in dark blue marker), and gave her his most charming smile (the one that Chloe thought made him look like a loon but was, admittedly, somewhat endearing).
“Hey,” he drawled.
The cashier turned a disdainful eye on him and picked up the first of Chloe’s books. She turned it over and scanned the back, all the while addressing Chloe. “So I see that you’ve met Ms. Isley, our new teaching assistant for the Department of Botanical Studies. She usually makes quite an impression.”
“So I noticed.” Chloe remarked, as Katherine scanned in Magnoliophyta: Not Just for the Birds and Bees, required textbook for Plant Evolution 312, a class which she had taken only to fulfill as many general requirements as humanly possible during her first year.
“Now I know which classes I’m definitely taking,” Wally grinned.
This time, Katherine’s glare was withering. She rang up the rest of Chloe’s purchases and announced the total, prompting a long low whistle from Wally.
Chloe accidentally dropped her credit card when she tried to pry it out of her overstuffed wallet. It tumbled happily downwards and hit the ground, sliding across the smooth linoleum and lodging itself right underneath the counter. “Shit.”
“I’ve got it.” Katherine said, and bent down, re-emerging moments later. She gave a crooked smile. “American Express. It goes where you go.”
Chloe could have sworn that the bottom of the counter was solid and that there was no way Katherine could have reached the card. Unless… Chloe shook her head. This was Metropolis, she had finally gotten away from the craziness of Smallville, and she was looking for things that weren’t there.
“It’s none of my business,” Katherine began as she slid the card through and checked the name on the back against Chloe’s ID, “but I have to say that I know a really nice single guy. He a perfect gentlemen and knows how to treat a girl.” At this last part, her eyes flickered to Wally, as if daring him to say something.
“Whu-” Chloe sputtered, once she figured out the insinuation. “We’re not…Wally’s not my boyfriend!”
“Not for lack of trying,” Wally added.
Katherine shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She printed out the receipt. “Sign here. Refunds and exchanges accepted up to two months after purchase.”
Wally said pointedly. “I told you to let me carry the books.”
Chloe sighed.
***
“Lana!” Martha smiled happily at the shorter brunette. “What a surprise! I never expected to see you here! Feeling nostalgic?”
The here in question was Smallville Elementary which, in addition to providing schooling for grades one through six, also had the flexibility to accept children of kindergarten and preschool ages.
Martha had wanted Jason to experience many of the things Clark hadn’t been able to during his childhood, one of which was the opportunity to build early friendships among other children his own age. When she remembered the wild-eyed ranting man that had attacked herself and Jonathan, she had come to the conclusion that Jason had been tied too close to his mother’s ermine-lined apron strings. Well, such character flaws like the tendency toward homicide and incest could be fixed, provided that one started early. And Martha Kent intended to.
Lana shifted uncomfortably. “I suppose so,” she answered, hoping Martha wouldn’t look too closely at her.
No luck. Martha took one glance to Lana’s left and squealed. “Oh, Lana, how adorable!”
There was a time when any comment of that nature would be addressed to Lana solely. Ah, she thought, those were pleasanter days.
Zod peered up at Martha with his deceptively guileless eyes. “Are you simply making a comment based solely on my physical appeal or will this be a precursor to your hastily formed assumptions about my intrinsic value?”
Lana buried her head in her hands and mumbled. “I’m so sorry about Zody, Mrs. Kent.”
“And so smart too!” Martha gushed. “And he looks just Clar- I mean, where did Zod , is he yours-“ she flailed about for a moment and then settled for, “I’m glad to meet you, Zody.”
“That ‘affectionate’ appellative,” muttered Zod sarcastically, “is one Zod finds to be immensely demeaning. Please refer to Zod as Your Supreme Overlord.”
Martha beamed at him sappily.
Lana laughed, high and shrill. “Don’t kids just say the darndest things? Oh ha ha! Zody Lang here is my cousin, on my father’s side. His parents, who really couldn’t spell, bless their souls, have just recently died. Isn’t that just the saddest? And here I am, the only family poor Zody has left, so of course I’m not going to throw the lovely boy to the wolves. I mean, who would? Just look at that face! So I decided to take him in and care for him and love him as though he were my own, which he totally is, in a way. And he’s going to grow up and love me and care for me in my old age and give me lots and lots of pretty little grandchildren to play with! Oh, isn’t life such a lark?”
Martha and Zod just looked at her as if she had finally snapped.
A little boy peeked out from behind Martha Kent’s legs and whispered, “Mommy, is the scary lady going to put down?”
“Jason Teague-Kent!” Martha snapped. “You will not be rude to strangers!”
“Well,” Jason said with childlike conviction, “that’s what Daddy did to Mr. Fordman’s crazy doggy. And Mother says that Isobel,” he glowered at Lana, “killed her.”
“Jason?” Lana choked out, the presence of an ex-boyfriend turned toddler enough to shake her out of her hysteria.
“I’m afraid your dead mother’s mistaken,” Martha said briskly. “This is Ms. Lang, or Aunt Lana. She’s our friend.”
“Call me Lana.” The girl corrected, because it gave her the willies to have a boyfriend, even an ex, address her as ‘Aunt.’
“Why’s Miss Lana have an alien?” Jason wanted to know.
Zod’s head swiveled around and he fixed Jason with an intent stare. “You’re quite perceptive.”
“Zap! Zap!” Jason darted close and poked him in the shoulder. “You’re dangerous to humans! I’m destroying you!”
“Very perceptive,” Zod muttered. “Among this detestable species, you have been the only one to correctly identify the threat Zod presents and have the inclination to act according. I am tired of being amongst fools. Jason Teague-Kent,” He proclaimed in a rather imperious tone while the other child eyed him quizzically, “despite the handicap of your years, Zod has decided upon confer upon you the honor of becoming General Zod’s second-in-command for the eventual invasion and takeover of the planet Earth.”
“Whazzat?” Jason asked and didn’t bother to listen before grabbing Zod’s hand and dragging the other boy along. “Let’s play in the sandbox, alien!”
“It’s so nice to see Jason get over his shyness. You won’t mind bringing Zody more often to our house, will you?” Martha asked, with an air of rather forced cheerfulness.
“Jason-” Lana sputtered, cursing whatever impulse that had insisted it was a good idea to bring Zod here in the first place. Then, her brain kicked in and pleaded for her to exert some control over the situation. “You didn’t believe a single word that Zod said, did you, Mrs. Kent?” She cringed at the desperation in her voice.
“Of course.” Martha soothed. “You know how kids are.”
“Great,” Lana said, relieved. “That’s great.”
They both watched Jason dump sand down the back of Zod’s shirt.
***
The statue of Christ the Redeemer was wearing an elaborate red headdress and a string of multicolored beads, clutching what looked like a sparkly feather duster in one outstretched hand.
The back of the postcard read:
Kent,
I know you miss me. I’ve been having the most fantastic time in Rio. Ah, last night at the Baixo Barra with pretty boys in eyeliner… I don’t want to give you a heart attack, Smallville, but you are aware that your white-bread, small town, hetero upbringing does not, in fact, reflect the rest of the world? What am I saying? There’s always been something not quite kosher about your ‘friendship’ with Kansas’ follicle-challenged answer to Mr. Rochester.
Oh damn. Sorry about that. Don’t be too offended with me, alright? I got you a souvenir. You’ll love it.
Lois
***
“Lex,” Clark uttered breathlessly once he was inside Lex’s home office.
“Hey, Clark.” Lex responded, then after a pause. “Electrified fence?”
“Was out of power.”
“Guard dogs?”
“Were sleeping.”
”Randomly stationed expert fighters carrying firepower?”
“Playing a game of poker.”
“Laser activated reinforced steel doors?”
“Don’t go down all the way.”
“Identification system requiring voice, thumb, and eye verifications?”
“Malfunctioned.” Clark brushed bits of dark fur, wire, and metal off his plaid shirt and ran a hand through his hair, wincing when it crackled with leftover electricity.
“Funny how the state of personal home technology continues to degrade even as we speak,” Lex noted. “What brings you by here today?”
“I wanted-” Clark suddenly reared back. “Lex, what’s your father doing in a glass case in the corner?”
“He matches the décor. Don’t worry, Clark, he’s comatose.”
“I’m not sure that makes it any better.” Clark said, a little unsettled by Lex’s blasé response.
“Trust me. He’d prefer looking decorative over being confined to a bed.” Lex said with enough firm conviction that Clark decided not to press the matter. After all, Lex had to be the one who knew his father best. “But I assume you’re not here to discuss the pater familia.”
“I wanted to talk to you,” Clark admitted and Lex watched with great surprise as the boy looked down, blushed, looked back up at Lex through the fringe of his eyelashes, and then scuffed his toe on the expensive carpeting.
But Lex was not one to remain flummoxed. He gathered his cool and reached over to the stack of papers on his desk. After shuffling through a few, he pulled one out. “Lucky I’m prepared,” he commented to Clark as he handed the latter a sheet.
Clark took it, baffled. “Lex, what is this?”
“Read the top.”
Request for Monetary and Material Acquisitions
1. Applicant Name:
2. Date of Request:
3. Relationship of Applicant to Provider (Lex Luthor):
4. Nature of Request:
Money (if so, amount ___________)
Connections (please specify ___________)
Access to LuthorCorp Facility
Vehicle or Other Personal Position
Illegal Activity (please state nature of _________)
Time (start ________ stop _________)
Other __________
5. Reason for Request:
6. Request Approved: Y/N Date: ___________ Signature: ___________
“Lex,” Clark said. “I repeat: WHAT is this?”
“I realize that I’ve been pretty lax in my accounting. One minute I’m talking to you and, the next, I’m missing fifty thousand from my bank account and I can’t remember why. This is a time-saving maneuver I designed to help me keep track of such expenses. What you’re currently holding is, admittedly, a rough draft and not the most complete. I thought a simpler format would be more accessible but I’d love your input on-”
“Lex, I’m not filling this out.”
“Oh, that’s alright. I have another form,” Lex said and went back to his desk. “Request for Cease and Desist of Current LuthorCorp Action. I know it’s here…somewhere…”
“This is stupid,” Clark declared, scanning the paper in his hand and then ripping it into tiny pieces with decisive motions. “I’m not filling out some form just so I can talk to my friend. Besides, you’ve got ‘time’ listed on there. That’s neither monetary nor material.”
“Don’t make me repeat the adage about time and money, Clark. And your concept of friend has always been like mine, very loosely defined with flexible parameters.” There was that awful blankness in Lex’s voice at those last few words.
“Please don’t-”Clark sighed, hating it when Lex made him feel guilty. “I’m tired of the insinuations and the veiled hostility.” He stared fixedly at a point over Lex’s right shoulder, twitching a little and unable to meet Lex’s eyes. “I know it’s partially my fault because I told you that I would be a friend to you and it’s not a promise I’ve kept. I don’t want to continue on like this. I’m sorry.”
It was a small thing, that apology, but it was strong enough to breach a gulf that had taken years to create. An odd feeling came over Lex, the same rush of exhilaration a drowning man experiences when his head breaks the surface and he takes a new breath of air. “There’s plenty of blame to go around on both sides,” he admitted gruffly. “I’ve let you down too, haven’t I? You can’t wait forever for me to become a better man.”
Clark’s smile was bright and infectious. Lex couldn’t help but offer one back in return.
Neither of them could think of what to say next. The silence became a little uncomfortable after a few minutes. Clark worked his mouth around and Lex coughed politely twice.
“Start over?” Clark finally asked in a hopeful voice.
Lex grinned. “Hello. My name is Lex Luthor and I hit you with my car.”
Clark tensed, then put on a sickly smile. He hadn’t expected Lex to start hinting at his secret again (though he should have anticipated) and his first instinct was to deny it. “Hello. My name is Clark Kent and if you did, I’d be dead.”
A year ago, Lex wouldn’t have pressed his advantage like that, would have been more content with Clark’s friendship than elusive knowledge.
Lex’s eyes became shuttered and his chin rose a fraction higher. He opened his mouth to say something and Clark couldn’t stand it anymore. He grabbed Lex by the arm and pulled him out of the office.
“Clark, wha-?”
“Just trust me.” Finding the room he wanted, he entered and pulled a pool cue off the wall. “Grab a stick.”
“What?”
“We’re playing pool, Lex, and we’re going to play by some new rules I’ve made up. For every ball you sink, I’ll forgive you for something you’ve done. And for every ball I sink, I’m hoping you’ll forgive me for something stupid I did. What do you say?”
Lex’s voice was soft. “I think I like it, Clark.”
Clark let go of Lex’s arm and indicated that he should take a cue and break.
“Stripes,” Lex said, as the seven ball rolled into the upper left pocket.
“The room,” Clark said and both knew which one. “Everything you had in the room, I forgive you for it.”
The lame excuses, the Kryptonite experiments, the lies and the accusations, everything. The slate was blank by the third game ended with the eight ball rolling into the last pocket. Lex looked happier than he had for a long time and Clark was glad.
“Lex,” he said as he watched the other man get out a bottle of blue Ty Nant. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.” There had been a warm feeling curling low in stomach throughout the last few hours, distracting enough to almost cost him shots that he needed to make. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt like that before, but it was the first time he had while knowing the cause.
It’s funny how it took an extraterrestrial A.I. to show him what had been under his nose the entire time.
Lex grew very alert and fixed keen eyes on Clark. He nodded to show that Clark should continue, but Clark felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny and blurted out something else altogether. “Are you in love with Lana?”
A furrow appeared between Lex’s brows and, for a heart-stopping moment, he considered the question. “No.” he smiled, relaxing. “I’m afraid that’s your specialty, Clark.”
Clark bit his lip. “You’re not just saying that to, um, mollify me?”
Lex relaxed even more and intoned in a faux serious voice. “Well, when a man has multiple personalities, Clark…” he trailed and chuckled at the confused expression on Clark’s face. “Never mind. Just be assured that I don’t have romantic intentions toward the lovely Ms. Lang.”
Which was mostly true, but it wasn’t as though the thought had never crossed Lex’s head. Alexander was, after all, a part of him. But Lex couldn’t bring himself to be that honest just yet.
“Oh, that’s good.” Clark breathed. “I’m bisexual.”
“I see,” Lex replied.
Clark had never felt like a bigger geek, a geek who couldn’t even handle his own sexual revelation with the savoir faire it deserved. He hoped this didn’t bug Lex. What if it bugged Lex? Lex was giving him a calm look, but was it the calm look he gave when taking Clark seriously and ready to give advice or was it the calm look he gave before he began brandishing nine irons in a threatening manner. Clark was too nervous to distinguish. “You’re cool with this, right? The bisexual thing? I mean, you and all those women…”
“What women?” Lex responded automatically, an answer that had been conditioned into him by some of Metropolis’ finest lawyers.
Clark gave him a dark look. “Victoria. Desiree. Helen. The baker’s dozen you sent earrings to this past year. Don’t tell me you don’t remember.” He grimaced. “Geez, you have horrible taste.”
“What brought about this sudden change?” Lex asked, mostly to deflect the conversation from his romantic preferences but also because he was genuinely interested in the answer. As soon as he thought he had Clark Kent figured out, the boy threw him a curveball. Lex picked out the most likely scenario and tried to run with it. “There’s someone, isn’t there?” he queried, gently as not to scare the Clark off. “A guy you’ve just realized you’re attracted to.”
Clark flushed, giving Lex all the answer he needed. “You’re not homophobic, are you?”
Lex refrained from rolling his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. Considering the state of the world, it’s a petty man that picks homosexuality as his vice to condemn.”
“Say you have a, and this is totally a hypothetical situation…say you have this person and he’s attracted to his friend but he never told the- I’m no good at this.”
“Which means you probably spent all your time with him talking about Lana and now you’re thinking he has no idea how you feel.” Lex fell silent for a long moment, considering. “Relax. He probably already knows. You never were able to hide your feelings for Lana. You also have the most expressive face.”
A faraway look stole over Lex’s face, as if he were trying to remember the words to a song. “From thine eyes my knowledge I derive, and, constant stars, in them I read such art as truth…” he trailed off, explaining. “Well, the rest of it gives the wrong impression, but the sentiment’s true nonetheless.”
“Really?” Clark’s heart pounded in his chest. Lex had just quoted poetry at him. Poetry about him. Lex knew.
Lex had figured everything out with typical perceptiveness, even if Clark hadn’t named names. He didn’t have to. Clark didn’t get why Lex would refer to himself in the third person, but then, Lex had lots of quirks. Continuing the conversation in the same vein, Clark asked. “What would he do then? Since he knows?”
“If you really want an honest opinion,” Lex frowned. “I’d say that he’d have, declared his intentions, so to speak, by now if he has any interest in you.” Then, seeing the way Clark’s face fell and, wow, that hurt even by proxy, he hastily added. “But there’s always still a chance that he will. You’re a great guy, Clark. One of those rare people I know who’s actually worth knowing.”
“Whatever.” Clark returned morosely, knowing that ‘you’re a great guy’ was, as compliments went, the verbal equivalent of winning the consolation prize instead of the jackpot. Still, there was a flare of hope in him that simply wouldn’t die. He looked sideways at Lex, took a deep breath to steel himself, and phrased his question carefully. “Do you think I’d have a chance if I wooed him? Showed him how much I cared about him?”
“More than a chance,” Lex replied sincerely, registering the way Clark seemed to perk up at his words. The teenager certainly was mercurial and he must have it bad if the thought of the other man had him all tangled up. Lex shifted through his memory, trying to pinpoint potential candidates for this newest object of Clark’s affections. Since Clark had joined the football team this last year, presumably around the time he met his mystery man (or, at least, discovered his attraction to other men), then the pool of possibilities were wide indeed. With a wistful poignancy, Lex realized that there was a time when he wouldn’t have needed to speculate, because Clark would have told him. They had grown apart.
Trying to dispel his sudden melancholy, Lex joked. “Even if you do fail, you’ll be in good company. Cyrano de Bergerac, Medea, Dido of Carthage, Leroux’s Phantom, Jay Gatsby, Pedrolino of commedia dell’ arte fame, the Lady of Shalott, myself and countless others.”
Clark didn’t recognize all the references, but smirked at the one he did. Medea. Witch. Heh. Lana.
Lex mistook the smirk as an indication of good mood. He allowed himself to reach around and pat Clark on the back, knowing that the other was more tactile than he. It came out a little awkward, as he didn’t know what to do with his hand after (leave it there or not?). He decided to drop it down by his side and wondered if he was supposed to say something encouraging like Jonathan would. He didn’t get a chance to.
“Thank you, Lex. For this opportunity, for everything.” Clark had reached out and snagged Lex’s hand between his bigger ones, was fixing him with a warm gaze, and seemed to be radiating eagerness from every pore. Lex forced himself to pay attention, because he had the uneasy feeling that he was missing something. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good luck.” Lex said, poleaxed and even annoyed by Clark’s sincerity (the two emotions were not exclusive, as Lex often became irritable when confused). Clark was looking at Lex the way he did back when they first knew each other, like Lex knew all the answers and could do no wrong. An estimation that could be no further from the truth, especially in light of Lex’s newest resolution.
Really, couldn’t the boy have picked a different time to play friends forever? Or, at least, stayed stern and disapproving of Lex’s every slightest movement? Lied about sundry and all Smallville paranormal activity? Made disparaging insinuations about Lex’s lack of morals and sexual discretion? It was incredibly rude of Clark to suddenly upend the status quo on a whim’s notice, when Lex had finally figured out how to deal with an increasingly distant Clark.
It was vindictive, he knew, but Lex had the sudden urge to knock some sense back into Clark. Neither of them were the same people as they were years before and, consequentially, their friendship couldn’t return back to the way it had been, not even after a soppingly sentimental game of pool.
“Clark, I appreciate all the honesty you’ve shown this night.” Lex allowed himself a thin smile. “I have some revelations of my own to disclose, pertaining to a new resolution I’ve recently reached.”
Clark wiggled happily. Lex was confiding in him, like he used to do. And it didn’t even matter if Lex was going to talk about Clark’s secret, because any confidence would be better than the non-confidence that they’d already suffered through. In this case, sharing was definitely caring.
“Have you ever noticed,” Lex asked, “how hideously inept I am?”
Or not. “Well, I wouldn’t call it hideously-” Clark began.
“Generous of you, but the empirical begs to differ. I constantly allow my father to get the better of me, not only playing his game, but playing it five steps behind and with pieces missing. I routinely fail to protect the people that I place under my protection. In fact, I routinely defy Darwin, social or otherwise, and fail to protect myself in my own house.”
“I don’t even think your dad knows what game he’s playing.” Clark responded valiantly. “Someone needs to tell him the Roman Empire’s already fallen and he seriously needs to update his allusions to people, places, and things more recent than A Long Time Ago B.C.”
Lex shot Clark a pointed look, but there wasn’t any real hostility behind it. Warming to his subject, Lex continued his litany of personal shortcomings. “I have had enough hallucinations and concussions that my judgment is suspect. I’ve investigated you for years, come up with some glaringly incriminating evidence, and still been unable to reach a definite conclusion. I have never had a satisfactory relationship with another person and my romantic trysts tend toward the embarrassingly homicidal.”
Clark opened his mouth to protest again, then clicked it shut when he realized that there was no part of that statement that he was willing to refute (though he really wanted to apologize for the concussions).
“I make hasty business decisions based on endorsements made by high schoolers. I have initiated experiments with dangerous chemicals intended to yield beneficial results, yet each and every one manages to go awry and eventually endangers Smallville. I have failed to make an significant headway in my public image, meaning that said town still hates me, your father more so than most. These are not the hallmarks of a capable man,” Lex concluded with a self-satisfied nod.
“Since you’re such a great inept failure, o successful young businessman,” Clark drawled (more than a little sarcastic because that comment about hasty high-school business endorsements had stung, since he was usually the one doing the endorsing), “what do you plan to do about it?”
“Ah, the crux of the matter. I can’t continue the way I have been, it’s no way to cultivate respect. Some radical changes are necessary. Where I was once generous, I intend to be ruthless. Where I was once governed by conscience, self-interest will be my new modus operandi.”
Lex tried to gauge Clark’s response but couldn’t see a readable reaction on that demonstrative face. Unlike most Smallville denizens, he was not one to usually underestimate Clark’s intellect, but he had to make sure that Clark understood all the implications of his words. “What I’m trying to say is that there is a good chance that, ah, my future actions may not be morally defensible,” he clarified.
Lex stuck his hands in his pockets and walked forward, staring as if fascinated at one of the ancient tapestries hanging on the wall. It was a pose so casual it hurt. He raised his chin and slitted his eyes, ready for the words that signaled the end of this freshly-resuscitated friendship.
Finally, Clark’s voice came from behind him. “Okay. Let me get this straight. Lex, so you’re going to turn evil?”
“Don’t be absurd. I am not turning evi-” Lex stopped himself from continuing what would no doubt lead to a very juvenile argument. “Evil is a vague concept and a misleading epithet open to interpretation. In any case, I hope we will be able to part on amiable terms and, despite my future misdeeds, we will be able to remember this idyllic time together with much fondness.”
Clark refrained from smiling. Lex had the tendency to pepper every conversation with grandiose melodramatic claims. It was endearing. “If you’re waiting for me to stomp off in a righteous huff, you’ll be standing there a while. Besides, what makes you think I’ll turn against you for this? ”
This wasn’t going the way Lex had planned at all and he was getting a bit flummoxed. “Clark, I wouldn’t ask you to go against your basic philosophy. By your estimation, I’m turning evil.”
Clark nodded. “I know and I totally accept that. You support my alternative lifestyle, I’ll support yours.”
“Evil is not an alternative lifestyle.” And Lex was not getting huffy, because Luthors were above that.
“Well, despite Hobbes whining about the state of nature and man against man, evil isn’t exactly the normal lifestyle either.”
“Serves me right for arguing with an idealist,” Lex snorted, but it was only a perfunctory attempt to regain control of the conversation.
Clark ignored the jibe- only Lex would consider ‘idealist’ to be an insult- and focused instead on a thought that had just occurred to him. “You’re not doing this because of your father, are you? Because, and though you probably know more about psychology than I ever will, that’s called projection.”
“I’m aware of that and, no, I don’t intend to pass my life as a pale imitation.” Lex was getting irritated. Clark could be notoriously hard to get through to at times, but this was getting ridiculous. “There is a natural depravity in me, Clark,” he insisted, “and once I give in to that, I will become more twisted than he has ever been.”
“Natural depravity, huh? I suppose you also have inner violent desires? A moral blindness that doesn’t allow you to care about other people?” The words came out perfectly devoid of sarcasm and even managed to be curiously sincere.
“Still willing to be my friend, Clark?”
“Even if you’ll probably end up hurting me and I’ll come to rue the day we ever met?” Again, there was no trace of mockery.
“Even then?”
“Why don’t I stick around a while and, if I lose too much sleep over the state of your soul, then I’ll bail?”
Lex spun around and Clark gave him a sunny smile.
“You don’t think I can do it, can you?” Lex accused. “That’s why you’re so flippant.”
“I happen to take your morality crises seriously, Lex. Got the memo: you’re the Big Bad now. Ruthless, heartless, merciless, shameless and all those other -lesses.” Clark stepped closer to Lex and put his hands on the billionaire’s shoulders. He gave a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll still come over to raid your fridge and we can discuss your world domination schemes.”
The evil thing would complicate matters, but Clark was nothing if not adaptable. If he could stop a meteor shower, what was a little amorality between friends? Now, he just had to figure out exactly how highly Lex thought of him and there was only one sure way to get an accurate reading.
“Evil One, can I still borrow the Jaguar?”
Lex frowned. “If you’re not too partial, take the Porsche. I’ve just got it checked up so the transmission’s smoother.”
“Thanks.” Clark cheated and allowed himself to superspeed a touch onto Lex’s cheek. He watched as Lex’s brows drew up in confusion and decided to beat a hasty retreat. Making a show of looking at his watch, Clark said ruefully. “I’ve got to go now. I promise to call tonight.”
Another shy smile and he was out the door and headed for the garage.
It wasn’t until Clark had left the Luthor grounds that Lex realized he hadn’t even gotten his friend to fill out a form. He sighed and wrote it himself.
***
At some point in their life, the average human will suffer from existential angst. They will wonder, among many other questions, about the meaning of their miserable life and its validity. Is life really life instead of, say, an unfunny comedy shown for half-price in the movie theater of whatever higher powers one chooses to believe in? And, if that is the case, who wrote all the crappy dialogue?
Lana had yet to really wrangle with the angst (though she had brushed by it in passing) but she had often imagined her own life projected onto a giant silver screen. With the arrogant acceptance of those who lead a blessed existence, she believed herself to be the favorite character of an unseen audience who made sure the plot and other cinematic trappings were tailored specifically for her. One of which was soundtrack choices.
Lana descended the stairs of the Talon to the pretty-yet-anguished crooning of alternative rock band Lifehouse emanating from the coffeehouse speakers. Their new CD set the right atmosphere, being tuneful and yearning without sending the customers searching for the nearest set of earphones.
Lana supervised the employees (she corrected one of Margot’s orders and complimented Katie’s new blouse) and greeted the regulars with a wave and smile, happy after dropping Zod off at the Kents’ and having the afternoon to herself. She allowed herself a moment of pride as she cast a proprietary eye across her domain.
She had stepped outside to admire the sign and solicit passerby when she heard a loud engine and saw the flash of silver as an expensive car bearing the license plate of LX LTHR pulled up to the curb. There could be no doubt as to the owner.
Lana’s heart soared. Now everything was perfect.
Then the driver’s side door opened and Clark stepped out. Lana experienced a strangely sudden and violent case of heartburn.
“We have to talk,” Clark said, without so much as a how-do-you-do.
“I have nothing to say to you.” She turned in a huff, hoping pettily that her hair was long enough to swing around and smack him in the face. Failing that, she tried to slam the door on his hand when he tried to enter the Talon after her.
“You think just because you’re his friend and he lets you drive his cars, that you can control every part of his life,” she hissed in Clark’s face. Or tried to. Damn, she hated being short. “And you may be Smallville’s resident hero, but even you can’t stop the inevitable.” And, in case Clark’s limited mental capacity was unable to process, Lana obliged by clarifying. “What will happen between Lex and me.”
Clark’s nostrils flared and he stated loudly, “No one really appreciates Lex’s cars.”
Lana looked at him as if he were a particularly fascinating breed of idiot. What did Lex’s cars have to do with anything whatsoever?
But Clark remained undeterred. “People like the cars,” here he smiled rather nastily at her so that Lana could be sure exactly who he counted among these people, “because the outside’s shiny and the leather smells nice and the price is more than their annual income. They think the cars are exotic and rare, never seen except in a showroom.
“They like that the Lamborghini goes fast and how much horsepower the Aston Martin has, but they don’t bother to understand how the engine works or how the frame’s been put together. And they wouldn’t care if they mistreated the cars, because Lex could always get another one. But I do. I care and I understand and that’s why Lex lets me drive them.”
A common Smallville misconception about Lana was that because she was sweet, she was therefore simple. Never mind the fact that she had taken honors classes and tutored Whitney in English. In fact, there had been that instance where she had overheard three members of the football team calling her by an unflattering nickname for her supposed airheadedness and lack of discretion in sexual mates. Lana had taken revenge by utilizing to great efficiency both the PA system and the fact that the boys’ locker room showers were communal.
So Lana listened to Clark’s rant and began to draw her own conclusions. When she put two and two together and came up with an unexpected four, she didn’t dismiss it outright. Despite the fact that this was Smallville, or perhaps because it was, Ockham’s Razor tended to apply more often than not.
Fact: Clark was acting oddly. Fact: He didn’t want Lana and Lex in a relationship. Fact: He had developed a proprietary attitude toward Lex, one that he illustrated with DMV-approved examples. Fact: This was Smallville.
“So I would advise some people,” Clark finished rather arrogantly “to not even bother asking Lex to borrow his cars, because they don’t understand that Lex’s cars aren’t like other cars and operate on a whole different set of rules.”
How quaint. Clark wanted to extend his silly metaphor. Two could play that game. “But Clark,” Lana responded sweetly. “We’re all aware of how careless you can be. What’s not to say…” Lana tapped one slim finger against her chin in a parody of thought. “…that one day you yank the stick shift too hard and it breaks? Or you aren’t paying attention and accidentally crash his favorite and Lex can’t replace it because that car was special and there will never, ever be another one like it?”
There are a brand of people that gather in coffeehouses and they can be characterized by their short attention spans, their harried appearance, and the fact they think that every other conversation other than their own is much more interesting than anything they’re doing. Lana and Clark were currently surrounded by, well, a coffeeshop’s worth of these people. Needless to say, the end result was quite predictable.
“Youngsters nowadays certainly take their vehicles mighty seriously. Can’t say I approve.” An elderly man sitting by the window, who apparently had no regard for other people’s private conversations, stated loudly. “If walking’s good enough for these ole legs, it’s good enough for the young’uns too.”
“I like the red ‘un. If I were that rich summabitch Luthor, I’d get myself a damn red car. One of ‘em with the Confederate flag onnatop like those Dukes of Hazzard summabitches. Hell, yeah, that’d bea summabitch of a car.”
Lana widened her eyes and made a cute ‘o’ with her mouth. “What if it’s time for a change? Maybe Lex will let someone else handle his cars. Someone with a gentler touch…”
“Don’t touch his cars.” Clark snapped.
“That Luthor boy, he’s behind all this.” declared Mrs. Gandston to her neighbor, an equally gossipy middle-aged lady that took particular delight in knowing the local cuckold of the week. “Knew he was bad blood soon as he rolled right into town.”
“...I might not know anything about Lex’s cars, but I’d be willing to learn, if they’re important to him.” Lana declared, eyes glittering brightly up at Clark.
His mouth tightened into a grim line and he didn’t smile back.
“I’ve seen him pick up the ex-quarterback- him, yes, him! Stop pointing!- at school. Theyaresodoingit! Oh my God! Don’t you know? Cars are, like, boyspeak for sex!”
“You like Lex’s cars so much,” Lana said silkily, “I wonder if that’s why you’re his friend. Knowing that he can give you instant access to that kind of power and money, well, it must be a powerful incentive.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Clark had gone just a little bit paler.
“You’re often up at the mansion,” Lana persisted. “I wonder how much of that is being his friend and how much of it is just to get a nice, free-”
”LEX IS NOT JUST A RIDE TO ME!”
The Talon fell silent. People stopped mid-sip to swivel around in their seats and treat Clark and Lana to the kind of scrutiny a statement like that deserved.
A particularly piercing girlish shriek split the air. “Theyaresodoingit!!! I TOLD YOU!” Like a hit-and-run drive, it seemed to come out of nowhere and, afterwards, no one would be able to identify who had done it.
A bespectacled businessman with salt-and-pepper hair, probably the only one who hadn’t been invested in the argument, jumped to his feet and exclaimed. “Great God, people! If I were Mr. Luthor, I’d be embarrassed at the both of you for making a public spectacle out of me!”
Lana turned to face him. “If I wanted your opinion, I’d have asked for it!” she retorted snippily.
“And, yet,” Clark muttered snidely “you always insist on giving yours, even when no one finds it welcome.”
Lana lost her temper and punched Clark in the face. And screamed when she broke three bones in her hand.
“Lana!” Concern washed over Clark’s face, displacing every other emotion.
She stared up at him through her tears, clutching her hand to her chest. Lana could feel her mascara start to run, and her nose as well. She clumsily wiped snot away with the back of her hand, utterly humiliated.
“Are you all right?” Clark tried to ask.
“Shut up! Just shut up!” Lana turned and ran for the stairs that led up to her room. Unfortunately, her vision was distorted by the water streaming from her eyes and she snubbed her toe hard on a passing table leg. She gritted her teeth and limped up the stairs.
Clark wisely didn’t try to follow.
“Everything she does is beautiful. Everything she does is right,” sang Jason Wade from the Talon’s amplified sound system.
“Turn off the fucking music!” she screeched, having ceded over control of her voice. She ran to her room and threw herself down on her bed. Lana curled up into herself, hating the mess she made and feeling as if she were as young as Zod.
When her roommate came back from the Kents’ half an hour later, he found Lana asleep. He touched her for the first time, a hand to her head, checking to make sure that she was still alive.
***
Lex looked up from his paperwork as the doors opened, saw his visitors, and said reflexively, “The child’s not mine.”
“I never said he was.” Lana flashed him a toothy smile and settled herself down on a nice suede sofa. Zod trailed in behind her and stared at Lex unabashedly.
“Zod believed that all youth of the species had hair upon their heads,” the toddler remarked.
“Most do,” Lex answered, ignoring both the rudeness and strangeness of the remark. “Unless their personal preference is to shave it off.”
Lex had run the gamut of possible reactions to his physical appearances and this one wasn’t as extreme as some others he had been subjected to. He was more surprised that this was apparently what “Miss Lang and guest” meant. He had been expecting a new boyfriend, now that Jason was incapable of fulfilling that capacity.
“Was it your personal preference?” Zod asked the billionaire.
“Hardly.” Lex rose and stepped out from behind his desk. He stopped in front of Lana and asked courteously. “May I offer a drink?”
“Anything alcoholic,” she answered honestly. Lex had to hide his smile at that as he walked over to the liquor cabinet and pour her a glass of his weakest wine.
“Is your hand alright?” Lex asked, referring to Lana’s recent injury.
“It’s nothing.” She put on an airy laugh. “Only a few broken bones.” In her experience, men could never resist a beautiful, vulnerable girl.
”If you want the best doctors Metropolis has to offer, you only have to ask.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He smiled. “Extraordinary boy you have there, Miss Lang. Smart for his age.” The kid looked to be about three years old, may be six if Lex allowed for him to have a small build. He finished pouring and handed the glass to Lana.
She took a sip and giggled. “One might even say unearthly so.”
“He looks a lot like Clark,” Lex hedged. “I hope you’re not here to slap me with a paternity suit, Lana. It’ll be impossible to prove and there’s no telling the strain it’ll put in our relationship.”
Lana looked up sharply at the last word. “No,” she murmured. “it’s not that. Zody here is my cousin. His parents are dead and I’m his next of kin.”
“Zod,” corrected Zod, “is not related to this young female that has been functioning as his caretaker. General Zod is but the first wave of a complex plan designed to infiltrate and subdue this planet.”
“An extraterrestrial? I’m sure you think you are. Perhaps you even have abilities far more extraordinary than a mere humans. But this is Smallville and I’m not inclined to take such claims without a grain of salt. You say you’re an alien. Prove it.”
Lex had barely blinked before the child had suddenly gone from standing in the doorway to right by his desk. Zod reached around a metal leg of the table and bent it easily.
“Zod!” Lana gasped in shock. Her eyes darted to Lex, wide with fear.
“Point taken.” Lex’s smile was smooth and lazy. “There is still, however, something I have to verify.”
He walked over and around Zod. There was a bookcase behind his desk where he kept a state-of-art stereo, several paintings, and assorted knickknacks in addition to reading materials. He slid one painted panel aside to reveal an electronic safe. After pushing a few buttons, he opened it and pulled out a dull metal box.
He opened the box, pulled something out, and tossed it lightly toward Zod. “Catch.”
Zod reacted on instinct, but as soon as his small fingers had wrapped around the green stone, he screamed and crumpled to the ground. The veins in his hands pushed up against his skin, pulsing green as a terrible pain hit him. It felt as though his blood were boiling, this first exposure to the modified Kryptonite of his home planet.
Oxygen intake is necessary for the human body to survive, but large amounts of the pure, undiluted gas can result in death. For the Kryptonian, the earth’s yellow sun had engendered in his basic biological structure a change that allowed him to be come superpowered. But this same enabler had mutated an abundant component of his planet, turning the compound toxic.
General Zod, fearless invader and would-be overlord, had not much experienced pain in his life and certainly nothing of such a degree. His natural reaction turned out to be not much more different than that of a terrified human three-year-old.
He cried.
Lana ran to him and wrapped her arms around Zod. “How could you?” she lashed out at Lex. “He’s just a baby!”
Lex looked a little shaken. He hurriedly picked up the green meteorite stone and shoved it back into the lead box. “I didn’t know it would do that,” he justified.
The green veins disappeared from the little alien’s skin and his appearance gradually turned more human. Zod’s wails were loud and his face was wet. “Hurts,” he whimpered. “Hurts.”
“It’s okay, baby.” Lana soothed. She pressed a kiss to the top of Zod’s head. “It’ll be okay.”
Zod began to calm down, the whimpers turning into hiccups.
“Breathe,” said Lex, flashing back to his own experience with asthma. “Deep breaths.”
Zod flinched whenever Lex came closer. He burrowed himself into the warm circle of Lana’s arms until only the top of his dark head and his wide teary eyes were visible to the older man.
“I had my suspicions,” Lex whispered, almost to himself. “I didn’t want to find out this way.” He gave a shaky smile. “A word of advice, kid. You may not want to go around advertising your heritage. As you can see, the humans aren’t defenseless.”
Lana could feel that Zod was going to be fine, but that didn’t stop her from rubbing up and down his back gently, trying to reassure him. She wasn’t sure what to do about Lex. He had always been so good to her, but those words had sounded like a threat. Lex had always wanted knowledge and power. What if Lex didn’t care who got hurt in the process? He looked horrible and frightening now, his eyes bright as blue flames and the low shadows of the room highlighting his white death’s head of a face. Lex looked like a monster. “Please don’t take him away,” she pleaded.
Lex had been intending to change his behavior in order to try to earn respect, but he hadn’t intended to terrorize women and children. Figured that, with his luck, that something like this would drop out of the sky once he had made his new resolution. “The both of you have nothing to fear from me,” he promised.
“You could protect Zod,” Lana breathed as the realization occurred to here. It had been silly for her to worry that Lex had would try to hurt Zod. Hadn’t he always been so good to her? He had power and money, enough to dissuade those who would want to take Zod away from her. It was all so clear to her now. She had to tie the billionaire as closely to her as possible, not only because she was in love with him, but also because of Zod. The solution to all her problems could be solved in one fell blow. She had to marry Lex.
“Your hand.” Lex said, abruptly. It registered with Lana that her bandages had come loose and her hand was hurting. She hadn’t noticed in her haste to reach Zod.
She lifted it up and watched as Lex cradled her fingers and began gently re-wrapping the bandages. He was very careful. She expected that it was his way of apologizing.
“Help me adopt him,” Lana suggested softly.
Calculations churned within Lex’s mind. The alien, of course, fascinated him. And, as long as the alien stayed with Lana, Lex could have easy access to him at any time. He nodded. “I’ll get started on the papers right now.”
He got to his feet and was halfway out the door before Lana’s voice stopped him.
“Lex?” He turned around and she almost lost her courage. “You once said…do you still have feelings for me?”
His smile was soft. “Lana, I wasn’t in my right mind then.”
“And you are now?” she teased. “You display your father in a case inside your office.”
The smile became brighter, a flash of teeth, and then he left.
Zod, feeling more his old self, studied Lana’s features and performed a quick analysis. “You’re harboring a romantic attachment toward him,” he said.
“I think to I want to start dating him. Does that bother you?” she asked, knowing that Zod might not be entirely comfortable were she to reveal the full extent her intentions toward Lex.
Zod shook his head. His tears had dried. “On the contrary. He could prove to be an invaluable ally. Zod intends to help you.”
(to be continued)
***
More Author’s Notes:
Thomas Fitzpatrick is the quarterback that another student, Doug, admitted to wanting to ask to the prom in the Smallville episode “Truth”.
Wally West is The Flash (DC Comics), the fastest superhero in the world.
Pamela Isley is Poison Ivy (DC Comics), bio-terrorist with a fondness for plants and one of Gotham’s rogues gallery.
Harleen Quinzel is Harley Quinn (DC Comics), psychiatric intern turned villian and another one of the Gotham crazies. She carries a long-burning torch for the Joker and is Poison Ivy's best friend.
Katherine “Kitty” Pryde is Shadowcat (Marvel), member of the X-Men with the ability to walk through walls.
The first paragraph of this installment comes from a 1830 novel called Paul Clifford, written by Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, and is the origin of that famous opening line:
"It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness."
The quote from Lex’s poem comes from William Shakespeare’s Sonnet XIV:
Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck;
And yet methinks I have astronomy,
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well,
By oft predict that I in heaven find:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And, constant stars, in them I read such art
As truth and beauty shall together thrive,
If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;
Or else of thee this I prognosticate:
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.
This segment was hell to write. Never write an ensemble piece if it can be avoided. The Clex section wasn’t supposed to run so long while the Lexana went a totally different way than I original expected. And now there may be the beginnings of an actual plot and character development. It’s too soon to tell.
I’m off the read the latest Harry Potter. Any suggestions for where you guys want the story to go would be welcome.