What You Are -- Three (SPOILERS FOR SERIES FINALE)
Spoilers for season ten, and especially the series finale.
What You Are - One
What You Are - Two
Disclaimer: 'Smallville' and certain characters belong to Miller-Gough et al. No profit is gained from this writing, only, hopefully, enjoyment.
It was like days, weeks, half a year, an entire lifetime of being up there, arriving just in time, rescuing, helping -- flying in and swooping down and reaching out to put things right. He'd felt better than alive, stronger and more able than ever before. He'd felt. . . right.
The problem was it had to end sometime. He had to come back down to earth, put on the costume again, and pretend to be someone and something he wasn't. He had to be Clark Kent, Daily Planet reporter, nerd, dweeb, clumsy bumbling loser with an upstanding Senator for a mom and a rising star journalist for a fiancée (still -- didn't quite manage to say those two all-important words in the midst of everything with Darkseid and Ollie).
So, really, it was something like five hours later when he came to a stop, one for longer than a few seconds here and there on his flight around the world. He'd flown, flown forward in time down to New Zealand and Australia and China, Japan, flown backward and down to Brazil, up to Canada, across the U.S. and back again, over to the Ukraine and down to Italy, north to Sweden -- around and around and he'd done it, helped, saved several, assisted, aided.
Clark felt like he was still flying, soaring on Cloud Nine right now as he landed on the roof of The Daily Planet. The gravel crunched under his feet, under the boots he didn't even feel the weight of anymore. He looked down, clenched a fist in mock-threat, and then laughed. He full-out laughed, having to bend over even because he was going so hard.
He'd done it. He, Clark Kent, Kal-El, Smallville, Clark-Bar, he had just saved the freakin' planet Earth from certain annihilation.
There was a sudden sound, and Clark looked up just in time to see the door to the roof come swinging open. He was still kind of laughing, still grinning wide and full, and before another blink of her eyes he was across the roof and holding Lois tight. Her heart was beating so fast, and her breathing was loud and quick, and she wrapped her arms around him so tightly he didn't think even he'd be able to break free.
"Oh, my God, Clark!" she breathed out, and he pulled back a little to get in a good look at her face. Then he laughed because he'd never seen Lois' eyes ever get quite that wide. She frowned at him in response, lifted her left hand and whacked him on the arm, and then gave in and just grinned right back at him, eventually running her hands over his back -- along the cape and underneath it and back around to his chest and up once more to his shoulders and neck.
Clark just reached up and cupped her face in his hands, his dirty filthy soot-covered hands, and then he kissed her before she could open her mouth again, and kept right on kissing her after she had.
And they floated upward, and only realized it when Lois accidentally lost a shoe over 2nd and Grovers and whacked him on the arm again because those were evidently her favorite pair.
***
The call came roughly an hour after he'd finished cleaning up, as he was ravenously shoveling in something horrendous that Lois had made. It was from his cell, which was lying on the counter by the sink, at which Lois stood doing the dishes, which was one of the few "household chores" she didn't hate doing. Clark looked up, and Lois turned around to raise an eyebrow at him.
"What?" he said, only realizing too late that his mouth was still full. He swallowed quickly as the phone rang again. "What?" he repeated, and Lois was by now rolling her eyes at him as she turned back to the sink, clearly amused and trying to play it off as frustration and disgust.
"You gonna get that?" she asked, and Clark knew the bored, uninterested tone of her voice was a complete lie.
So he rushed over and grabbed the phone, coming to a stop right next to Lois and at the tail-end of a huge gust of air blowing in her direction. It sent her hair flying across her face, and resulted in one of the funniest expressions he'd been witness to in a long time.
And this was why, when he opened his phone and answered it with a "Hello?" he was chuckling and happy.
Which, of course, was why it was bad news and more bad news on the other end of the line.
"Clark?" a voice asked, and immediately he switched gears because Ollie's voice was all business, serious business, and Play-Time was over.
"Oliver," he answered, stepping away from Lois, who was now pushing her hair off her face and looking at him in concern, "what's up?"
"Well, I hate to burst your cheerful bubble there, Clark, but I've got some. . . " Oliver trailed off briefly, audibly clearing his throat before trying again. "I've got some bad news, and then some worse news, and neither can wait." He took a deep breath and then said in a noticeably quieter and more subdued voice, "Looks like you're not closing up shop yet today, man. Sorry 'bout that."
"No, no," Clark hurried to respond, "don't worry about it. What is it? Something else happen? With you, or Chloe? Or Tess?" Clark had to turn away at that point, as the worried look on Lois' face right then was too much to handle along with whatever bad news was coming.
"Yeah," Ollie said, and his voice was still that distressing quiet, only now he seemed to be attempting distance too, and the result was just downright painful to hear. "Look, I've never done this before, so I'll just say it. Tess is dead, Clark. She was-- her body was found in her office at Luthorcorp. Stabbed. She bled out."
And while Clark was standing there in his apartment, open-mouthed and too upset to speak, with Lois coming up to him and setting a hand on his shoulder and trying to get him to tell her what was going on, Oliver continued talking, and each word was another spike through the heart.
Another knife. Another tear.
God, she'd bled out? In her own office. Oh, Tess, he wanted to say.
He'd saved the world while she was dying.
No. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
" . . . and it gets even better," Oliver was saying, "because you'll never guess whose fingerprints are all over the blade, Clark, everywhere in the whole office. This is one for the record books."
Oliver took another deep breath over the line, but Clark beat him to it, his whole body, but especially his voice, colder now than the Arctic Fortress and he just knew.
"Lex." And there was no hopeful finish to it that time, damn it.
There was silence, and then Lois gave him a little insistent shake by the shoulders. Clark looked at her, and she was now in front of him, her face confused and terrified.
But Ollie knew too, and there was a world of emotion in his voice and yet none at all as he answered, "Yeah. It was Lex. He's back, Clark. I don't-- I don't how, but he's here." There was another significant pause, during which Clark gathered Lois close to him in a hug and Ollie just breathed in and out a few times. Then, it was like a switch had been thrown. Instead of grieving shock, it was suddenly determination -- and, oddly, more confusion -- in Oliver's voice.
"We're here at Met General," Oliver stated bluntly. "They've got him in for an MRI right now, but he should be done here pretty soon with that. Already did a CT, and now some specialists from the West Coast are being called in and yadda yadda yadda. They said something about a Psych eval, of course, and then there're the police who're all chomping at the bit. Emil's around here somewhere. Saw him earlier, but so far no one's really said a goddamn thing. But. . . I do have an idea that I'd like to run by you guys -- when you get here, of course."
Oliver went to take another breath, presumably to continue briefing him on the situation, and Clark jumped in before he could.
"Ollie," he said carefully, Lois in his arms, standing in their apartment on what was supposed to be their wedding night, "what are you talking about? Who are you talking about?" He hesitated before asking quietly, "Lex? At Met Gen?" Lois reached up then and gripped Clark by the chin, dragging his face down so she could pointedly meet his eyes and give him that 'What the hell is going on, Smallville?!' look, but all Clark could do was shrug in response because. . .
He honestly didn't know at this point. He'd thought he did, but. . . why would Lex agree to go to the hospital? Why go in the first place, and after all signs point to him having. . . killed Tess? It didn't make any sense.
But Oliver just sighed over the line and said, "I'm sorry, man. I guess I'm jumping ahead of myself here. Okay, so, survey says Lex-- Lex, who's somehow back from the fucking dead. . . it looks like he killed Tess, Clark. It's there. The evidence is pretty damn straightforward. The problem is -- well, one of them -- is that, get this, Lex has no memory."
Oliver paused significantly, waiting for some cue from Clark that he'd heard and understood, and so Clark responded with, "Okay. . . "
"Yeah," Ollie huffed out, chuckling but not from any sense of humor, "none whatsoever. He doesn't know who he is, doesn't know me, or, fuck, didn't know who Tess was up there in the office. He didn't even know where he was, either, cos apparently he's the one who called 911, and it took the dispatcher about five minutes of having him freakin' describe what he saw out the window and a slow-ass trace on the call to figure out he was in Luthorcorp. I show up. . . wanting to. . . " Ollie made a sound, and Clark knew it was him trying to pull himself together, not break down again, especially over the phone.
"Ollie, it's okay," Clark said before he could think. He took a deep breath himself and offered, "Just wait there, and Lois and I will be there in bit. We'll deal with this together, okay?" he said.
There was the audible sound of Oliver swallowing heavily and then he responded, "Yeah, you're right." He sighed again. "God, what a mess, Clark. I've also, uh, offered to go down and identify-- identify her. . . her body, I mean. So, if I'm not up here when you guys get here, just-- "
"We'll wait," Clark interrupted, attempting calm reassurance when he felt both completely numb and utterly exposed. "We'll talk to Emil, and discuss this, and together, Oliver, together, we'll figure out what to do."
***
He and Lois walked quickly, hand-in-hand, the five blocks separating their apartment from the hospital. Clark gave her all the information on the way, and it was she who pushed ahead and led him unerringly to the right floor, the right end, the right nurses' station. Lois got them in, through a crowd of personnel, other members of the media, and a long line of people in suits Clark guessed were Luthorcorp lawyers.
He hadn't even thought to bring his press pass, but Lois had sure brought hers. She waved it in everyone's face, and dragged Clark along behind her with a tight grip on his hand.
"Close friends of the family," Lois said to the nurse, and in return was given the room number.
"Official Daily Planet business," she used on the other reporters, including a few Clark distractedly recognized as actually being from the Planet.
"Oliver Queen requested our presence specifically," she directed at the hemming and hawing lawyers.
And then they were right there, room 503, and Clark squeezed Lois' hand, and she turned and looked at him, and then she squeezed back.
Lois got them there, but Clark reached out and turned the handle, opened the door, and started inside. It was only when both he and Lois were all the way in with the door again closed behind them like a period at the end of a sentence that the thought occurred to Clark that he probably should have knocked first.
The room was quiet, but it wasn't empty.
"Oh, my fucking God," were the first words any of them said, and immediately Clark turned to look at Lois in surprise. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the figure on the bed dart his head over to stare at her, too.
"Nice, Lois," Clark commented quietly, and she pulled a moderately regretful face in response and shrugged. But then it was time to literally face the fact that Lex was alive and here in the room with them.
Clark turned his head back to the bed, and what he saw. . .
It was like a punch to the gut, one hard enough to make him question his own eyes, and then his sanity.
He looked the same as he had earlier, hours before when Clark had seen him and exchanged words with him, only completely and utterly different. Suddenly, it wasn't so difficult to instantly believe that the man before them had no memory, for there was a look on his face, an expression that seemed so. . . not empty, but not entirely full, either.
It was Lex sitting there, all right, but he wasn't really Lex, not completely -- or maybe he was, just stripped down, streamlined. Either way, immediately Clark knew that he wasn't faking anything. He was certain of it. The posture was right, but the facial expression was too. . . open.
It was the Lex of his memories, the guy whom, without a second thought, he'd pulled from that wrecked car nose-down in the river. But even that. . . even that wasn't totally true.
Then it hit him, like another punch, only this time one a bit higher up than his stomach.
It was like that little boy in Lex's head, the one Clark had seen and spoken to and promised to stay friends with all those years ago. The look on this Lex's face now was the same one that'd been on Alexander's -- a little wary, a little nervous, but in comparison to how Lex normally looked, so incredibly trusting.
Clark probably should have felt like a complete heel for what he did next but he didn't.
"Lois, could you give us a minute alone?" he asked, having to actually consciously drag his attention away from Lex in order to look at her.
"What?" she asked, and Clark winced. Yeah, she was incredulous and already on her way to doubtful and mildly insulted, but it was so important. This moment was crucial, and Clark couldn't. . . he couldn't, honestly, risk Lois screwing it up. She wouldn't mean to, and if he had a chance to clue her in or explain it to her, then she'd do okay, but. . .
It felt like he didn't have time. Soon, Oliver would be back up here, or the doctors and specialists would come in, or Emil, or the Luthorcorp spin doctors, or someone or something else would interrupt them and Clark would miss this chance.
"I promise," he said to her, cupping her face again in his hands and looking her right in the eyes so she'd know he was being completely honest and sincere, "I will tell you everything later. I'll explain, okay? But right now I need you to wait outside for Oliver and Emil and-- and give me some time, okay? This is so important, Lois. I'll explain later."
She frowned at him, more of an assessing look than anything else, and then she leaned forward and kissed him briefly on the lips. With one last pointed glance at the bed and its occupant, Lois said a heartfelt, "You're damn right, you will," raised her eyebrows, and then turned and left. She closed the door behind her, and Clark could hear her immediately start talking to someone out there before he tuned her out.
Then, he turned and faced the bed again. At a loss as to how exactly he should start, Clark shot an awkward smile at Lex and crossed the width of the room until he was standing on the other side of the bed, next to the large window. He took in the details now that he had a moment, noting that the TV was on up in the corner -- dialed into some local news network that was unfortunately covering the events of today in relation to a red and blue costumed hero who'd saved the day -- and that Lex was hooked up to a few machines, as well as on an IV drip of some kind.
"Well, this is certainly. . . awkward," came Lex's voice suddenly. Clark met his eyes and for a moment they were both on the same page.
Yeah, it really was because, truthfully, neither of them actually knew the other person at all.
"My name's Clark Kent," he offered up, and then stuck his hand out near Lex's in an automatic attempt at shaking hands. "Uh, sorry," he quickly said, just starting to pull his hand back, when. . .
Lex reached out and gripped his hand, and it was so familiar, like déjà vu, with the same amount of pressure and points of contact. They went up and down twice and then Lex said, in a tone somewhat amused, "Apparently mine's Alexander Joseph Luthor, but I'm guessing you already know that."
And then Lex released Clark's hand, taking back his own and setting it down to rest on top of the sheet, while his other hand, his right, stayed underneath. He was staring at Clark, at his face in particular, and his eyes were narrowed a bit, his mouth compressed a little. He looked for all the world like he was searching for something, something in Clark's face, and Clark himself didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but as he'd done his own bit of assessing just a moment ago, it somehow only seemed fair to allow Lex his turn.
Then, within a few seconds, Lex seemed to find what he was looking for. His face relaxed, his body language went looser too -- shoulders coming down and head lifting up and moving back a little from where he'd been unconsciously leaning forward. Lex even looked pleased with whatever conclusion he'd come to. He smiled, and then slowly that smile shifted into a familiar smirk.
It was a bittersweet sight.
In response to Lex's earlier attempt at fishing for information, Clark then nodded and said, "Yes, I do know your name. We've met before," and there he paused before adding, "Lex."
"On good terms or bad?" was the unexpected response, and the smirk was still there, but it had shifted a bit in mood. Now, instead of happy and pleased, it was more ironic and cautious. Lex now had a look on his face that Clark had rarely seen. He looked hesitant.
Clark decided then and there to just give it a try, to go for it. What could it hurt? If his plan backfired, he'd be no worse off than he was before, and if it worked. . .
"I'd say we broke about even, honestly," Clark confessed, meeting Lex's smirk with one of his own. "Although, for what it's worth, in my head I still call you 'friend.'" He couldn't help smiling sadly at that point, as the man he wanted to say that to wasn't really the man in front of him. But his sincerity must have come across because Lex kept looking at him and didn't seem alarmed. After a moment, he even nodded, showing he at least somewhat understood what Clark was trying to say.
"So we weren't all that close. . . " Lex started, trailing off with a lift of his eyebrows.
" . . . anymore," Clark finished for him, with a nod.
"Well," Lex said on a gusty sigh, "that seems at least a good deal better than my, apparent, connection with the other man." At Clark's raised eyebrows, Lex clarified, saying, "Queen. Oliver Queen, I guess? The blond man, about my age, handsome, tall?" And Clark smiled at both the description and at Lex lifting his arm up over his own head to indicate just how tall he thought Oliver was. Lex noticed Clark's amusement, and gave him a questioning look in return.
"Sorry," he said in response, schooling his expression a little, "but you're right. You and Oliver never got along." He hesitated then, not wanting to color Lex's perception of Ollie now, but still trying to lay it all out there as much as he could. "You both just butted heads on a lot of things. I think-- I think it started out as playground rivalry, and just. . . escalated until it was something else completely." Lex wasn't looking at Clark anymore, really, even though his eyes were still technically on him. Instead, he had that thoughtful look on his face, like he was distractedly thinking about something else really hard.
Clark just hoped what he'd said had shed some light on Oliver's no doubt lukewarm interactions with Lex over the past few hours. He couldn't even imagine what it would be like if he suddenly found himself depending on someone who seemed to hate him for some unknown. . .
Actually, he thought, he did know a bit about that. The other Clark certainly had a way of turning people against him and then switching places with Clark so he was left trying to clean up the mess.
He looked at Lex closely again, coming to a sudden realization. That was almost precisely Lex's predicament now. He was stuck here with apparently no memory at all of what he'd done or what had been done to him over the course of his entire life. He'd been just suddenly thrust into this position, with everyone coming at him from all directions, most of them cold, indifferent, or downright hostile to him, and all he could do was try and pick up the pieces, make some kind of life out of the mess he'd been dumped with.
God, Clark could so identify with that, and yet it was worlds bigger than he could comprehend.
Suddenly feeling like he'd overstepped his bounds, Clark gave another awkward smile and said, "Well, I'm sure I've taken up enough of your time. A lot of people are waiting out there to talk to you and help you figure things out, so I should be going." Then he hesitated, looking at Lex and being looked at in return. "But if you need anything," Clark offered, "I'm here. . . Lex. I'd be glad to help, all right?"
Lex nodded at him, his expression back to thoughtful but this time fully centered on Clark, it seemed. It was eerily close to the last expression he'd worn when they'd encountered each other in the ruins of the Smallville castle, like a distant cousin of that look, and just seeing it made Clark feel uneasy and caused the hair on the back of his neck to shoot straight up.
"Well, I'll leave you to it then," he offered in parting, going to take a step back when again. . .
Lex reached out to stop him with that same slow openness -- his hand on Clark's arm open, his face also, for the most part. Lex's posture, his entire bearing was light and free, simultaneously empty and so full of something new and different, looking at Clark in a way he'd never before looked at him, and that somehow Clark had missed so goddamn much.
No, scratch that, like he'd rarely looked at him -- happy, hopeful, even with everything swirling around him, all the controversy and deep dark serious wrongs, even without knowing hardly anything about who he was or his own personal history, and this was Lex smiling.
And so goddamn light it was like he was the one flying and able to float on air, right here, right in front of Clark's eyes.
He's got that fresh start now, Clark recognized, and felt some emotion he didn't want to examine too closely.
"Yeah?" Clark asked instead, keeping his tone and volume superficial, upbeat. He didn't want to ruin the mood, which despite the topic they'd been "discussing" was still surprisingly pleasant.
But Lex actually reddened a little when Clark met his eyes. He's blushing, Clark realized in wonder. Lex was somehow. . . embarrassed.
"I-- I wanted to express my gratitude," he told Clark bluntly, eyes locked on his in a blatant show of that determination the man had always had in abundance. Clark must have made some face at that -- confusion, no doubt, since that's what he was feeling -- because Lex then briefly smiled before nodding at the images of the costumed hero still flashing by on the TV screen, and adding, some incredible tone flavoring every word, "For all you're doing out there, for the-- the help you're giving people."
Clark just stared at him in shock and Lex looked right back and said, and this was not a dream because Clark could never manage to dream up even something like this, "It's incredible, and you are, and I just had to say something." He gave a little self-deprecating chuckle. "I'm well aware that no doubt I'm stomping all over about a million rules of etiquette in even bringing this up, but. . . "
And Clark continued gawking at Lex, and in return was studied just as closely under that gray-blue stare as he'd ever been, only different too because everything was different now.
And yet nothing was. Everything was the same, the same circumstances, same opportunities, same countless chances to change course and shift fate, and all he had to do-- all they had to do was. . .
"Well, there's no fooling you, I guess," Clark said, and then he smiled in answer to Lex's enthusiastic grin, and he put his hand on Lex's shoulder, and it felt like stepping back in time.
Or like they'd dodged a bullet.
Together.
What You Are - Four
What You Are - One
What You Are - Two
Disclaimer: 'Smallville' and certain characters belong to Miller-Gough et al. No profit is gained from this writing, only, hopefully, enjoyment.
It was like days, weeks, half a year, an entire lifetime of being up there, arriving just in time, rescuing, helping -- flying in and swooping down and reaching out to put things right. He'd felt better than alive, stronger and more able than ever before. He'd felt. . . right.
The problem was it had to end sometime. He had to come back down to earth, put on the costume again, and pretend to be someone and something he wasn't. He had to be Clark Kent, Daily Planet reporter, nerd, dweeb, clumsy bumbling loser with an upstanding Senator for a mom and a rising star journalist for a fiancée (still -- didn't quite manage to say those two all-important words in the midst of everything with Darkseid and Ollie).
So, really, it was something like five hours later when he came to a stop, one for longer than a few seconds here and there on his flight around the world. He'd flown, flown forward in time down to New Zealand and Australia and China, Japan, flown backward and down to Brazil, up to Canada, across the U.S. and back again, over to the Ukraine and down to Italy, north to Sweden -- around and around and he'd done it, helped, saved several, assisted, aided.
Clark felt like he was still flying, soaring on Cloud Nine right now as he landed on the roof of The Daily Planet. The gravel crunched under his feet, under the boots he didn't even feel the weight of anymore. He looked down, clenched a fist in mock-threat, and then laughed. He full-out laughed, having to bend over even because he was going so hard.
He'd done it. He, Clark Kent, Kal-El, Smallville, Clark-Bar, he had just saved the freakin' planet Earth from certain annihilation.
There was a sudden sound, and Clark looked up just in time to see the door to the roof come swinging open. He was still kind of laughing, still grinning wide and full, and before another blink of her eyes he was across the roof and holding Lois tight. Her heart was beating so fast, and her breathing was loud and quick, and she wrapped her arms around him so tightly he didn't think even he'd be able to break free.
"Oh, my God, Clark!" she breathed out, and he pulled back a little to get in a good look at her face. Then he laughed because he'd never seen Lois' eyes ever get quite that wide. She frowned at him in response, lifted her left hand and whacked him on the arm, and then gave in and just grinned right back at him, eventually running her hands over his back -- along the cape and underneath it and back around to his chest and up once more to his shoulders and neck.
Clark just reached up and cupped her face in his hands, his dirty filthy soot-covered hands, and then he kissed her before she could open her mouth again, and kept right on kissing her after she had.
And they floated upward, and only realized it when Lois accidentally lost a shoe over 2nd and Grovers and whacked him on the arm again because those were evidently her favorite pair.
***
The call came roughly an hour after he'd finished cleaning up, as he was ravenously shoveling in something horrendous that Lois had made. It was from his cell, which was lying on the counter by the sink, at which Lois stood doing the dishes, which was one of the few "household chores" she didn't hate doing. Clark looked up, and Lois turned around to raise an eyebrow at him.
"What?" he said, only realizing too late that his mouth was still full. He swallowed quickly as the phone rang again. "What?" he repeated, and Lois was by now rolling her eyes at him as she turned back to the sink, clearly amused and trying to play it off as frustration and disgust.
"You gonna get that?" she asked, and Clark knew the bored, uninterested tone of her voice was a complete lie.
So he rushed over and grabbed the phone, coming to a stop right next to Lois and at the tail-end of a huge gust of air blowing in her direction. It sent her hair flying across her face, and resulted in one of the funniest expressions he'd been witness to in a long time.
And this was why, when he opened his phone and answered it with a "Hello?" he was chuckling and happy.
Which, of course, was why it was bad news and more bad news on the other end of the line.
"Clark?" a voice asked, and immediately he switched gears because Ollie's voice was all business, serious business, and Play-Time was over.
"Oliver," he answered, stepping away from Lois, who was now pushing her hair off her face and looking at him in concern, "what's up?"
"Well, I hate to burst your cheerful bubble there, Clark, but I've got some. . . " Oliver trailed off briefly, audibly clearing his throat before trying again. "I've got some bad news, and then some worse news, and neither can wait." He took a deep breath and then said in a noticeably quieter and more subdued voice, "Looks like you're not closing up shop yet today, man. Sorry 'bout that."
"No, no," Clark hurried to respond, "don't worry about it. What is it? Something else happen? With you, or Chloe? Or Tess?" Clark had to turn away at that point, as the worried look on Lois' face right then was too much to handle along with whatever bad news was coming.
"Yeah," Ollie said, and his voice was still that distressing quiet, only now he seemed to be attempting distance too, and the result was just downright painful to hear. "Look, I've never done this before, so I'll just say it. Tess is dead, Clark. She was-- her body was found in her office at Luthorcorp. Stabbed. She bled out."
And while Clark was standing there in his apartment, open-mouthed and too upset to speak, with Lois coming up to him and setting a hand on his shoulder and trying to get him to tell her what was going on, Oliver continued talking, and each word was another spike through the heart.
Another knife. Another tear.
God, she'd bled out? In her own office. Oh, Tess, he wanted to say.
He'd saved the world while she was dying.
No. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
" . . . and it gets even better," Oliver was saying, "because you'll never guess whose fingerprints are all over the blade, Clark, everywhere in the whole office. This is one for the record books."
Oliver took another deep breath over the line, but Clark beat him to it, his whole body, but especially his voice, colder now than the Arctic Fortress and he just knew.
"Lex." And there was no hopeful finish to it that time, damn it.
There was silence, and then Lois gave him a little insistent shake by the shoulders. Clark looked at her, and she was now in front of him, her face confused and terrified.
But Ollie knew too, and there was a world of emotion in his voice and yet none at all as he answered, "Yeah. It was Lex. He's back, Clark. I don't-- I don't how, but he's here." There was another significant pause, during which Clark gathered Lois close to him in a hug and Ollie just breathed in and out a few times. Then, it was like a switch had been thrown. Instead of grieving shock, it was suddenly determination -- and, oddly, more confusion -- in Oliver's voice.
"We're here at Met General," Oliver stated bluntly. "They've got him in for an MRI right now, but he should be done here pretty soon with that. Already did a CT, and now some specialists from the West Coast are being called in and yadda yadda yadda. They said something about a Psych eval, of course, and then there're the police who're all chomping at the bit. Emil's around here somewhere. Saw him earlier, but so far no one's really said a goddamn thing. But. . . I do have an idea that I'd like to run by you guys -- when you get here, of course."
Oliver went to take another breath, presumably to continue briefing him on the situation, and Clark jumped in before he could.
"Ollie," he said carefully, Lois in his arms, standing in their apartment on what was supposed to be their wedding night, "what are you talking about? Who are you talking about?" He hesitated before asking quietly, "Lex? At Met Gen?" Lois reached up then and gripped Clark by the chin, dragging his face down so she could pointedly meet his eyes and give him that 'What the hell is going on, Smallville?!' look, but all Clark could do was shrug in response because. . .
He honestly didn't know at this point. He'd thought he did, but. . . why would Lex agree to go to the hospital? Why go in the first place, and after all signs point to him having. . . killed Tess? It didn't make any sense.
But Oliver just sighed over the line and said, "I'm sorry, man. I guess I'm jumping ahead of myself here. Okay, so, survey says Lex-- Lex, who's somehow back from the fucking dead. . . it looks like he killed Tess, Clark. It's there. The evidence is pretty damn straightforward. The problem is -- well, one of them -- is that, get this, Lex has no memory."
Oliver paused significantly, waiting for some cue from Clark that he'd heard and understood, and so Clark responded with, "Okay. . . "
"Yeah," Ollie huffed out, chuckling but not from any sense of humor, "none whatsoever. He doesn't know who he is, doesn't know me, or, fuck, didn't know who Tess was up there in the office. He didn't even know where he was, either, cos apparently he's the one who called 911, and it took the dispatcher about five minutes of having him freakin' describe what he saw out the window and a slow-ass trace on the call to figure out he was in Luthorcorp. I show up. . . wanting to. . . " Ollie made a sound, and Clark knew it was him trying to pull himself together, not break down again, especially over the phone.
"Ollie, it's okay," Clark said before he could think. He took a deep breath himself and offered, "Just wait there, and Lois and I will be there in bit. We'll deal with this together, okay?" he said.
There was the audible sound of Oliver swallowing heavily and then he responded, "Yeah, you're right." He sighed again. "God, what a mess, Clark. I've also, uh, offered to go down and identify-- identify her. . . her body, I mean. So, if I'm not up here when you guys get here, just-- "
"We'll wait," Clark interrupted, attempting calm reassurance when he felt both completely numb and utterly exposed. "We'll talk to Emil, and discuss this, and together, Oliver, together, we'll figure out what to do."
***
He and Lois walked quickly, hand-in-hand, the five blocks separating their apartment from the hospital. Clark gave her all the information on the way, and it was she who pushed ahead and led him unerringly to the right floor, the right end, the right nurses' station. Lois got them in, through a crowd of personnel, other members of the media, and a long line of people in suits Clark guessed were Luthorcorp lawyers.
He hadn't even thought to bring his press pass, but Lois had sure brought hers. She waved it in everyone's face, and dragged Clark along behind her with a tight grip on his hand.
"Close friends of the family," Lois said to the nurse, and in return was given the room number.
"Official Daily Planet business," she used on the other reporters, including a few Clark distractedly recognized as actually being from the Planet.
"Oliver Queen requested our presence specifically," she directed at the hemming and hawing lawyers.
And then they were right there, room 503, and Clark squeezed Lois' hand, and she turned and looked at him, and then she squeezed back.
Lois got them there, but Clark reached out and turned the handle, opened the door, and started inside. It was only when both he and Lois were all the way in with the door again closed behind them like a period at the end of a sentence that the thought occurred to Clark that he probably should have knocked first.
The room was quiet, but it wasn't empty.
"Oh, my fucking God," were the first words any of them said, and immediately Clark turned to look at Lois in surprise. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the figure on the bed dart his head over to stare at her, too.
"Nice, Lois," Clark commented quietly, and she pulled a moderately regretful face in response and shrugged. But then it was time to literally face the fact that Lex was alive and here in the room with them.
Clark turned his head back to the bed, and what he saw. . .
It was like a punch to the gut, one hard enough to make him question his own eyes, and then his sanity.
He looked the same as he had earlier, hours before when Clark had seen him and exchanged words with him, only completely and utterly different. Suddenly, it wasn't so difficult to instantly believe that the man before them had no memory, for there was a look on his face, an expression that seemed so. . . not empty, but not entirely full, either.
It was Lex sitting there, all right, but he wasn't really Lex, not completely -- or maybe he was, just stripped down, streamlined. Either way, immediately Clark knew that he wasn't faking anything. He was certain of it. The posture was right, but the facial expression was too. . . open.
It was the Lex of his memories, the guy whom, without a second thought, he'd pulled from that wrecked car nose-down in the river. But even that. . . even that wasn't totally true.
Then it hit him, like another punch, only this time one a bit higher up than his stomach.
It was like that little boy in Lex's head, the one Clark had seen and spoken to and promised to stay friends with all those years ago. The look on this Lex's face now was the same one that'd been on Alexander's -- a little wary, a little nervous, but in comparison to how Lex normally looked, so incredibly trusting.
Clark probably should have felt like a complete heel for what he did next but he didn't.
"Lois, could you give us a minute alone?" he asked, having to actually consciously drag his attention away from Lex in order to look at her.
"What?" she asked, and Clark winced. Yeah, she was incredulous and already on her way to doubtful and mildly insulted, but it was so important. This moment was crucial, and Clark couldn't. . . he couldn't, honestly, risk Lois screwing it up. She wouldn't mean to, and if he had a chance to clue her in or explain it to her, then she'd do okay, but. . .
It felt like he didn't have time. Soon, Oliver would be back up here, or the doctors and specialists would come in, or Emil, or the Luthorcorp spin doctors, or someone or something else would interrupt them and Clark would miss this chance.
"I promise," he said to her, cupping her face again in his hands and looking her right in the eyes so she'd know he was being completely honest and sincere, "I will tell you everything later. I'll explain, okay? But right now I need you to wait outside for Oliver and Emil and-- and give me some time, okay? This is so important, Lois. I'll explain later."
She frowned at him, more of an assessing look than anything else, and then she leaned forward and kissed him briefly on the lips. With one last pointed glance at the bed and its occupant, Lois said a heartfelt, "You're damn right, you will," raised her eyebrows, and then turned and left. She closed the door behind her, and Clark could hear her immediately start talking to someone out there before he tuned her out.
Then, he turned and faced the bed again. At a loss as to how exactly he should start, Clark shot an awkward smile at Lex and crossed the width of the room until he was standing on the other side of the bed, next to the large window. He took in the details now that he had a moment, noting that the TV was on up in the corner -- dialed into some local news network that was unfortunately covering the events of today in relation to a red and blue costumed hero who'd saved the day -- and that Lex was hooked up to a few machines, as well as on an IV drip of some kind.
"Well, this is certainly. . . awkward," came Lex's voice suddenly. Clark met his eyes and for a moment they were both on the same page.
Yeah, it really was because, truthfully, neither of them actually knew the other person at all.
"My name's Clark Kent," he offered up, and then stuck his hand out near Lex's in an automatic attempt at shaking hands. "Uh, sorry," he quickly said, just starting to pull his hand back, when. . .
Lex reached out and gripped his hand, and it was so familiar, like déjà vu, with the same amount of pressure and points of contact. They went up and down twice and then Lex said, in a tone somewhat amused, "Apparently mine's Alexander Joseph Luthor, but I'm guessing you already know that."
And then Lex released Clark's hand, taking back his own and setting it down to rest on top of the sheet, while his other hand, his right, stayed underneath. He was staring at Clark, at his face in particular, and his eyes were narrowed a bit, his mouth compressed a little. He looked for all the world like he was searching for something, something in Clark's face, and Clark himself didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but as he'd done his own bit of assessing just a moment ago, it somehow only seemed fair to allow Lex his turn.
Then, within a few seconds, Lex seemed to find what he was looking for. His face relaxed, his body language went looser too -- shoulders coming down and head lifting up and moving back a little from where he'd been unconsciously leaning forward. Lex even looked pleased with whatever conclusion he'd come to. He smiled, and then slowly that smile shifted into a familiar smirk.
It was a bittersweet sight.
In response to Lex's earlier attempt at fishing for information, Clark then nodded and said, "Yes, I do know your name. We've met before," and there he paused before adding, "Lex."
"On good terms or bad?" was the unexpected response, and the smirk was still there, but it had shifted a bit in mood. Now, instead of happy and pleased, it was more ironic and cautious. Lex now had a look on his face that Clark had rarely seen. He looked hesitant.
Clark decided then and there to just give it a try, to go for it. What could it hurt? If his plan backfired, he'd be no worse off than he was before, and if it worked. . .
"I'd say we broke about even, honestly," Clark confessed, meeting Lex's smirk with one of his own. "Although, for what it's worth, in my head I still call you 'friend.'" He couldn't help smiling sadly at that point, as the man he wanted to say that to wasn't really the man in front of him. But his sincerity must have come across because Lex kept looking at him and didn't seem alarmed. After a moment, he even nodded, showing he at least somewhat understood what Clark was trying to say.
"So we weren't all that close. . . " Lex started, trailing off with a lift of his eyebrows.
" . . . anymore," Clark finished for him, with a nod.
"Well," Lex said on a gusty sigh, "that seems at least a good deal better than my, apparent, connection with the other man." At Clark's raised eyebrows, Lex clarified, saying, "Queen. Oliver Queen, I guess? The blond man, about my age, handsome, tall?" And Clark smiled at both the description and at Lex lifting his arm up over his own head to indicate just how tall he thought Oliver was. Lex noticed Clark's amusement, and gave him a questioning look in return.
"Sorry," he said in response, schooling his expression a little, "but you're right. You and Oliver never got along." He hesitated then, not wanting to color Lex's perception of Ollie now, but still trying to lay it all out there as much as he could. "You both just butted heads on a lot of things. I think-- I think it started out as playground rivalry, and just. . . escalated until it was something else completely." Lex wasn't looking at Clark anymore, really, even though his eyes were still technically on him. Instead, he had that thoughtful look on his face, like he was distractedly thinking about something else really hard.
Clark just hoped what he'd said had shed some light on Oliver's no doubt lukewarm interactions with Lex over the past few hours. He couldn't even imagine what it would be like if he suddenly found himself depending on someone who seemed to hate him for some unknown. . .
Actually, he thought, he did know a bit about that. The other Clark certainly had a way of turning people against him and then switching places with Clark so he was left trying to clean up the mess.
He looked at Lex closely again, coming to a sudden realization. That was almost precisely Lex's predicament now. He was stuck here with apparently no memory at all of what he'd done or what had been done to him over the course of his entire life. He'd been just suddenly thrust into this position, with everyone coming at him from all directions, most of them cold, indifferent, or downright hostile to him, and all he could do was try and pick up the pieces, make some kind of life out of the mess he'd been dumped with.
God, Clark could so identify with that, and yet it was worlds bigger than he could comprehend.
Suddenly feeling like he'd overstepped his bounds, Clark gave another awkward smile and said, "Well, I'm sure I've taken up enough of your time. A lot of people are waiting out there to talk to you and help you figure things out, so I should be going." Then he hesitated, looking at Lex and being looked at in return. "But if you need anything," Clark offered, "I'm here. . . Lex. I'd be glad to help, all right?"
Lex nodded at him, his expression back to thoughtful but this time fully centered on Clark, it seemed. It was eerily close to the last expression he'd worn when they'd encountered each other in the ruins of the Smallville castle, like a distant cousin of that look, and just seeing it made Clark feel uneasy and caused the hair on the back of his neck to shoot straight up.
"Well, I'll leave you to it then," he offered in parting, going to take a step back when again. . .
Lex reached out to stop him with that same slow openness -- his hand on Clark's arm open, his face also, for the most part. Lex's posture, his entire bearing was light and free, simultaneously empty and so full of something new and different, looking at Clark in a way he'd never before looked at him, and that somehow Clark had missed so goddamn much.
No, scratch that, like he'd rarely looked at him -- happy, hopeful, even with everything swirling around him, all the controversy and deep dark serious wrongs, even without knowing hardly anything about who he was or his own personal history, and this was Lex smiling.
And so goddamn light it was like he was the one flying and able to float on air, right here, right in front of Clark's eyes.
He's got that fresh start now, Clark recognized, and felt some emotion he didn't want to examine too closely.
"Yeah?" Clark asked instead, keeping his tone and volume superficial, upbeat. He didn't want to ruin the mood, which despite the topic they'd been "discussing" was still surprisingly pleasant.
But Lex actually reddened a little when Clark met his eyes. He's blushing, Clark realized in wonder. Lex was somehow. . . embarrassed.
"I-- I wanted to express my gratitude," he told Clark bluntly, eyes locked on his in a blatant show of that determination the man had always had in abundance. Clark must have made some face at that -- confusion, no doubt, since that's what he was feeling -- because Lex then briefly smiled before nodding at the images of the costumed hero still flashing by on the TV screen, and adding, some incredible tone flavoring every word, "For all you're doing out there, for the-- the help you're giving people."
Clark just stared at him in shock and Lex looked right back and said, and this was not a dream because Clark could never manage to dream up even something like this, "It's incredible, and you are, and I just had to say something." He gave a little self-deprecating chuckle. "I'm well aware that no doubt I'm stomping all over about a million rules of etiquette in even bringing this up, but. . . "
And Clark continued gawking at Lex, and in return was studied just as closely under that gray-blue stare as he'd ever been, only different too because everything was different now.
And yet nothing was. Everything was the same, the same circumstances, same opportunities, same countless chances to change course and shift fate, and all he had to do-- all they had to do was. . .
"Well, there's no fooling you, I guess," Clark said, and then he smiled in answer to Lex's enthusiastic grin, and he put his hand on Lex's shoulder, and it felt like stepping back in time.
Or like they'd dodged a bullet.
Together.
What You Are - Four