No Darker Than Yours, section 8 of 8
Eight nights -- maybe I should have waited to post concurrent with Hanukkah, not just overlapping, but I didn't think of that until just now.
Section 1
Section 2
Section 3
Section 4
Section 5
Section 6
Section 7
From night to searing light, from quiet to howling discord, from giddy floating to cramping ache - the experience redefined pain, and given what Lex had been through in the past months, that was saying a lot.
He tried to scream for Clark, but his mouth didn't respond.
New novas exploded at his groin, his nose and throat - catheters and tubes coming out, he realized, and retched as they slithered away like dying snakes. The convulsions left him slumped to one side, unable to straighten. Every muscle in his body screamed. Lex felt his eyes try to tear up, but they were too dry and only stung instead.
He was just coming disconnected from the computer.
There had been no victory with Clark, no reconciliation, nothing.
He'd been under the AI's spell all this time, wrapped in its clutches like a fly in a spider's web, getting his vitals sucked out. Tuned like a balky piece of equipment. All so he'd achieve the right mental state to manipulate the Kryptonite into annihilation.
The pain of his nerves coming back to life was spectacular: worse than the feeling of having a morning star shoved into his guts when he’d been poisoned, nearly as bad as being flayed because it was so random, impossible to brace against. If he'd had his hands around a pistol, Lex honestly couldn't have said that he wouldn't have shoved it in his mouth and pulled the trigger, just to end the agony.
As it was, his hands - hand! Fuck, he'd forgotten - flopped around as muscle fibers contracted and relaxed at random, his arms bumping against the now-quiescent console. He'd just been getting muscle tone back after the rescue, he recalled.
"How long -" he said, or meant to say, but the words turned into a wheeze that evolved into a choke. He got himself under control, disgusted to find that his mouth was crusted with dried saliva, and tried again. "How long was I out?"
The computer answered, which was a small mercy. "Just over seven days."
He could, he realized, smell himself.
"You lied to Clark. You said you wouldn't manipulate me."
"I said I would not change the way you thought. Nothing was said about context or emotions. It was necessary. You could not have produced the required affect yourself once you were aware that contentment was the necessary mental state."
It was true: the computer was the Devil. Maybe the Devil's lawyer. So now Lex was a stinking, pathetic mess in withdrawal from a pleasure as pure as any rat with an electrode in its head ever experienced.
He was glad the AI could no longer read his mind, now that the connection was severed. At least, he thought it was unable to do so. He'd have to make Clark check.
And later, there would be a reckoning.
"Kal-El approaches," it warned him. Which would have been nice, if he could have done anything but loll in his chair, wanting a drink and a bath and, hey, how does happiness sound?
He managed to twist his head towards the door when it whooshed open. Clark looked smug, as well he should with his most dangerous nemesis responsible for the destruction of his one real vulnerability.
"Lex!" he said happily. Then he got a good look at - or possibly a good whiff of - Lex and frowned.
"Water. Drink and shower," he clarified, looking at Clark's cheekbones rather than his eyes. His voice sounded like a stream trickling through a dry gulch, but Clark nodded in comprehension.
Clark strode over to him and picked him up like a bridegroom doing the threshold bit. That got old really fast, in Lex's considered opinion. His remaining clothes grated against his skin, the fabric trapped between him and Clark.
They went into the next room, which had been reconfigured into a palatial bathroom. At this point, the humiliation was as close to complete as made no difference, so Lex didn't protest as Clark put him on a tiled bench, unbuttoned his sweat-filthy shirt and pulled off his ruined pants and boxers - another thing to curse the damned computer for, that it had destroyed fine Hong Kong tailoring when it stuck its tubes into his private places.
Clark blinked away and back, now holding a glass of water, which he held to Lex's lips as he knelt beside the bench.
Lex took a small sip, then a larger one when his stomach allowed it. A few gulps later, he let his head loll back against the cool porcelain-analogue.
"Thanks."
"I think that's my line," Clark said wryly. "Shower?"
Lex's sluggish neurons fired a warning. "I need to cover my feet and my hand." In the midst of the cacophony of bodily pain, the screech of his stump and the deep bass throbbing of his feet had been lost initially, but they were returning to the forefront of his attention.
"Oh. Right." Clark looked miserable. Lex wanted the energy to snort disdainfully; he settled for keeping his eyes open. "Hang on." This time his absence lasted long enough for Lex to take several deep breaths. He returned with what looked like genuine surgical tape and plastic bags. The gentleness - Lex's mind hesitated on the word "reverence" - with which he handled Lex's body made Lex want to curl up and hide.
He was going to have to depend on either Clark or his AI. But only one of them was going to survive the year if Lex had his way, so the choice was plain. "I can take care of this part myself," he said when Clark was finished.
"Right," Clark said, flushing. "The Fortress can get anything you need. I'll, uh, be outside."
"Can I get a showerhead with a flexible hose?" Lex asked the room when Clark had gone. Obligingly, a large, circular piece of wall detached and blossomed towards him like a metal sunflower. Lex managed to get a grip on it, and then to turn the water on.
Even a slow trickle felt like a scouring pad against his oversensitive skin. After a few minutes, though, his much-abused nerves began to confuse pain and pleasure. There was soap in a little depression in the wall near him, extruded while he wasn't looking. Lex used it as vigorously as he could, to wit, not very vigorously. He displayed all the manual dexterity of a Parkinson's patient with broken fingers, and counted himself lucky to do that well. When he'd come out of his post-meteor coma all those years ago, his hands had been like rubber; he was a little better at resurrection now.
When he was as clean as he was going to get, he turned the water off. Without needing to be asked, the Fortress made a dry space in the bench beside him, which then slid aside to disgorge a white terry robe. He noted with some amusement that it bore Superman's crest on the upper left.
So the infernal machine had its good points. He was still going to destroy it for colonizing his will - all the more because it could fairly claim that it hadn't violated Clark's instructions, since it hadn't tampered with his motivations. Lex could forgive lies. Betrayal was only to be expected, whether from humans or aliens. Trickery was another matter. It smacked of his father and his devil's bargains; it made him complicit in his own exploitation.
"Could you tell Clark I'd like to see him?" he asked, politely. The computer might suspect his enmity, but there would be no evidence for it to report to Clark.
After a short pause, during which the entire room reconfigured itself into something more like a general living area, Clark returned.
"Have you heard from the government yet?" Lex asked, leaning forward as he stripped the plastic covering from his artificial hand.
"Yeah," Clark said, with a sudden, mischievous smile. "They're pretty upset. Something about an act of war. I said I wasn't interested in war; I just want to be left alone to help people."
"To be fair, Clark, you do a lot of property damage."
Clark grimaced. "So you've pointed out to the press. Repeatedly. At length. Listen, I've got no objection to working with cities on emergency response plans that get the bad guys as far away from population centers and important buildings as possible - but that's not what these military jerks wanted me to do.
"Also, in my defense, the bad guys tend to choose places *because* of the people and property they can put at risk - it's like blaming the firemen for the fire because they're always found together."
Lex thought that Clark was overlooking the way his cape operated as a red flag - pun intended - to villains looking to make names for themselves by taking on the Man of Steel. This, he was convinced, was why Metropolis's Rogue's Gallery resembled nothing so much as the lineup for WWF Raw, silly names and all. But they'd both stated their positions on the matter before, and he didn't want to fight at the moment.
"Regardless," he said, glad to have a problem outside his own skin as a distraction, "with their supply of Kryptonite depleted, wiser heads are likely to prevail. It's changed from a military to a political problem, which is to your advantage - and mine, since it means I can go home and get back to running my company."
"Uh, about that."
Lex closed his eyes and turned his face away. Every time he thought he'd hit a new low, he discovered that he'd just bounced off a ledge on the way down. "Yes?"
"Nothing bad! Just, the computer's been emulating you, so nobody even knows you were gone. It's also prepared a bunch of patent applications based on the stuff you did while you were in the simulation."
Lex blinked. "Really." He was still going to dismantle the thing and piss on its pulverized circuits - but maybe he'd wait a bit.
Clark looked at him with an expression altogether too smug.
"So what now?" Clark's face was as close to trusting as Lex could remember seeing it. As if he were interested in Lex's opinion.
Lex had forgotten how that made him itch, the expectation (or hope, anyway) that he'd be a Good Man and not a Bad one. He'd never liked to do things he wasn't competent at doing. He'd never even been fond of acknowledging the existence of such things.
He looked away, at the computer console. "Now we get in touch with the American government and see what happens."
The computer let him call his Pentagon contact, who quickly transferred the call several stars higher up. Eventually Lex reached General William Rogers, the man in charge of what the military liked to call Special Projects and everybody else just called "superheroes."
"Good afternoon, General," Lex said after checking the time in the Eastern seaboard. "I hope you're well."
"Let's cut the bullshit. You just destroyed material vital to national security. You betrayed your country."
This might be fun. "That assumes that Superman is an enemy of the American people, which has yet to be demonstrated. His actions suggest the contrary, even during the past week when his life was in danger from your 'material.' But," he barreled on over the general's outraged huff, "now isn't the time for speeches. We need to work out a way for you and your good men to go back to fighting the real threats."
"What are you offering?" the general asked warily.
Lex leaned back in his chair. "I'm authorized to grant the US priority access to the League -" he held up his hand to forestall Clark's protest, so there was only a rustle of cape - "and exclusive updates on League activities worldwide. The League can't wait for your authorization - metahuman threats happen too fast for that - but it can consult and inform, providing you with an invaluable source of intelligence. And frankly, General, the League is far more popular globally than America is, or than it would be if it were commonly understood to be an American operation."
There was a pause. Lex expected the general was getting his superiors in the loop.
"You hate Superman," he said at last. "Why would you take his side against your own country?"
"What I feel about Superman is irrelevant," Lex said, though "inexplicable" was probably the better word. "If he and his teammates are treated well, he can be a tremendous force for peace. If he's mishandled, he might just decide that humans are too irrational to govern themselves, which has been my concern all along."
There was a long pause, and when the general spoke, he sounded like he didn't want to. "The Justice League has some advanced technology at its disposal. We'd want a technology transfer agreement as well."
"And I want to be President, but that's not going to happen today," Lex responded easily. "The League can agree in principle to discussions of what technology might be suitably shared, once some trust has been rebuilt. Say two years from now?"
Another pause. If Lex had read the general correctly, he was telling various people on his end to shut up and let him negotiate, because they damn sure weren't going to be in a better position in the foreseeable future.
"Six months."
"A year," Lex said, keeping most of the amusement out of his voice. "Consider it an anniversary gift."
"We need to be able to initiate contact."
"Naturally," Lex said. "The League takes sovereignty seriously when it doesn't get in the way of saving lives. I'm sure reasonable requests could be accommodated."
"Then I suppose we have an agreement," the general said. "The League has the United States' permission to operate within our territory and outside as long as the United States is kept advised on a priority basis and entitled to object to any operation on national security grounds."
Lex's lips quirked; given that the whole point was to allow the government to save face, he didn't think it would be useful to respond to the idea that the US could object to any operation with "So can I, or so can any man."
"In addition," Richards continued, "the League agrees to negotiate in good faith on technology transfers starting one year from today, and not to share technology with any other nation without first offering the United States the same technology."
Lex guessed that complimenting the general on his clever addition to the agreement would go over badly, and the League could afford to agree to that anyway. "Then we have a deal," he said.
Behind him, Clark sighed.
"You planned this," the general accused, sounding as if he'd just had an insight. "You planned this for years, pretending to oppose him so you could screw us over."
Lex smiled. There was a special pleasure in beating someone who remained ignorant even in defeat. "The League will be in touch about setting up a communications protocol."
"Are you happy being a traitor?"
He stopped smiling. "I wish you wouldn't call me that."
"What are you going to do, send Superman after me?"
"The Justice League doesn't make threats, General, but I do. Keep this attitude up and you'll find this conversation and all necessary background material distributed so widely you'll hear your voice on ESPN.
"Superman is more popular than God - if you'd killed him, you might have survived, but you didn't, and if this gets out you won't be allowed to command a Boy Scout troop, let alone an army. Now suck it up, say 'Thank you, Mr. Luthor,' and get ready to shake Superman's hand for the cameras, or prepare to be responsible for the first ever successful impeachment and conviction of a president."
Silence.
Lex let him sit for a minute, long enough that he had to be considering just hanging up. "General?" He knew he sounded jovial.
"Thank you, Mr. Luthor," General Rogers said with remarkable evenness.
"Thank *you*, General. We'll talk again soon."
He cut the connection and leaned back in his chair.
"Wow."
That was a good start. Lex swiveled, looking up at Clark's wide eyes and parted lips. "Now you just have to get the League to go along. It should be easy - every human is American, and how you managed to convince the world that you're *not* CIA tools is a mystery of its own, but they should all fall in line behind you."
No response. Clark was almost frozen, though Lex could see the rise and fall of his chest.
"What?"
Clark shook his head, like a big dog coming in out of the rain. "You're just - really sexy when you're kicking someone's ass. I never had the chance to notice when you were trying to kill me." He smiled, cheerful and teasing.
Lex had never really expected to kill Clark; if he was worthy, he'd obviously survive whatever Lex threw at him.
It struck him that he was using his father's reasoning.
Maybe he didn't want to be attractive because he was threatening.
Lex relaxed his clenched hands - or tried to; the artificial one stuck and then released with such a savage jolt that he made an involuntary noise.
"What is it?" Clark stepped closer and put his hand out, almost touching Lex's arm.
He fought back the grimace, relaxed the muscles in his back and shoulders, and looked up, wishing he could stand. "I'm fine," he said. "I'd like to go back now, Clark."
"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Clark said, withdrawing his hand and putting on his Superman expression, detached and so judgment-free it was actually judgmental. On consideration, Lex thought that was the closest the real Clark had ever come to an apology. And - uncomfortable? Lex reviewed the conversation - right, smart and evil is sexy.
"You didn't," he said, because Clark hadn't, at least not in the way that he thought. "I would like to get back to the world. I'm sure the Fortress creates an excellent simulacrum of me -" from what Lex could tell, it was a lot more like him in its desire for control than Clark even knew - "but I would feel more comfortable in familiar surroundings."
Clark nodded, looking much like the uncertain boy of yesteryear. "But - can you do anything about Lex's hand?" he asked, ignoring Lex in favor of his computer.
"The interface can be redesigned so that it no longer causes nerve damage."
Lex winced to hear the problem described so bluntly. If his body weren't so freakish, the nerves wouldn't regenerate to be fried again, Prometheus-like. But then he'd be long dead, so he supposed that it was as fair a bargain as a Luthor could expect.
"Then do it," Clark said.
Before Lex got a chance to object, the console dissolved into a tangle of grasping tubes and wires, slithering up his arm like vines on a statue. "Wait," Lex snapped, to no avail. "I don't want your computer having continued access to my body. My left hand is going to know what my right hand is doing."
"The modifications can be autonomous," the computer said, as if it had any business offering an opinion.
"Okay, do that," Clark said.
He tolerated the reconnection. There was pressure, almost tickling, and cool metal circuitry pressing its fingerprints into him. He wriggled his arm just to make it hurt. The computer promptly clamped down on him to prevent further movement. Clark, meanwhile, was on the other side of the room now, talking softly - to someone in the Justice League, judging by his cajoling tone.
When the mare's nest of tubing shriveled away, the artificial hand was smaller, the size of Lex's real hand, and the gauntlet had been shrunk and reformed into a silvery cuff covering where his wrist should have been, overlapping the ends of the long bones of his forearm. It looked real, not the uncanny near-humanity he'd feared the Fortress would stick him with.
It didn’t hurt.
He flexed experimentally, spread the fingers wide and then curled them in. "It's very good," he told Clark, who'd finished his conversation moments before.
"The pain is gone?" Clark asked anxiously, returning to Lex's side. He squinted at the hand, presumably using his broad-spectrum vision. Which, when Lex had figured it out, had explained in retrospect a number of Clark's dopier looks, though by no means all of them. What Clark hoped to see in the mechanism was an interesting question. Lex didn't know whether he could detect individual nerve impulses. It was one of the many, many mysteries of Clark's alien origins. Lex thought he could spend the rest of his life exploring Clark's physiology, and not even in an obscene way. The flying alone -
Clark had asked a question. "It feels remarkably lifelike," he said. His word choice could have been better; Clark winced. "Thank you," he added, to clarify his opinion.
"No problem," Clark said, practically shuffling his feet.
So they were back to awkward.
Lex supposed it was marginally better than homicidal.
"Shall we get going?" he prompted.
"Sure," Clark said. "Uh, there's kind of two ways of doing this. I call them 'sack of potatoes' and 'honeymoon.'" He said it without looking at Lex's face.
"'Sack of potatoes' sounds extremely undignified, but honeymoons have rarely gone well for me. What's your recommendation?" Lex thought his tone was reasonable, but Clark cringed fractionally anyway.
"'Sack of potatoes' probably is beneath your dignity," Clark agreed. "You, uh, might be more comfortable the other way."
"Well, then," Lex said, as reasonably as possible under the circumstances, "what are we waiting for?"
Clark used his superspeed to minimize the embarrassing process of getting Lex properly positioned. Lex found himself whipping through icy air, one cheek pressed against Clark's shoulder. Tears streamed from his exposed eye, forced out by the cold and the speed. He was held so that he couldn't see how far away they were from the ground, which on balance might have been a good idea.
He was *flying*. The enormity of it could only be grasped in short flashes.
Clark, now wearing his Superman guise, accelerated so fast that Lex could feel the gravities piling on like stacks of weight, and then they were simply rocketing through the sky like a definition of speed. Lex grinned, curling his arm around Clark's neck (ignoring the flash of false memory of doing the same thing in the computer simulation), and turned his face so he could see the cloud vistas in front of them.
****
He should have known Clark would take him to the mansion in Smallville. Clark stopped in the air a few yards from the perimeter, looking in with dismay. "Lex, it's kind of - I forgot how much damage there was," he said, embarrassed. Up close, Lex could tell that he still flushed easily - whatever alien technology he used to distort his features had no effect on the blood flow under his skin.
"It's all right," he said, his face still stiff from the chill of their passage. "If my bedroom is intact and the satellite connection is working, I'll stay here. The place is big enough that half of it could be under repair and I'd never notice." He did hope that most of the art had survived. Insurance money was fine, but it couldn't be contemplated and cherished in the same way.
Clark narrowed his eyes; Lex noticed how thick and long his lashes were, like an antique doll's, a houri's in an opium dream. "The bedroom is fine. And the satellite link is working. But - there are people in your library. Oh God," he said, his eyes widening almost comically.
Lex didn't have to wait long.
"It's Bruce and Lois. They're talking." Clark paused and his voice filled with horror. "It's like a nightmare."
Lex couldn't help himself. He sniggered.
"Just for that," Clark said, "we're going to meet them like this." And in a blink, they were in the library, Lex in full helpless rescue victim pose.
"Put - me -- down," he said, his voice pitched for Clark's ears alone. Bruce and Lane probably heard, though. It was that kind of day - no, that kind of year - no, lifetime.
Clark carefully, slowly walked over to a blue leather couch - Lex was going to have to speak to whoever did the redecorating - and lowered Lex until he was sitting almost normally, Clark still leaning over him with a solicitous air. He was facing Lane and Bruce; behind them he could see the railing, looking down over the remains of the office, which was covered with the yellow police tape that was almost as familiar to him as crystal decanters and ancient weapons.
Lex slung an arm across the back of the couch, arranged his legs in their most arrogant sprawl, and raised his eyebrows at the man and woman staring avidly at Clark.
"Can I help either of you?"
They looked at him like something stuck to the bottom of Superman's boot, and while Lex didn't disagree with the opinion, he nevertheless objected strongly to others who dared to hold it.
"We were - " Lois Lane began.
"*I* was - " Bruce said, then clearly remembered that he was not in costume and, understandably rattled by his lapse, switched to feckless playboy mode. "The lovely Ms. Lane and I wanted to see -"
Lex had to smile as Bruce struggled to finish that sentence in a plausible way.
"The government comes down on here like you're David Koresh and Saddam Hussein combined, and then total radio silence? I knew there'd been some major fuck-up. I wanted to make sure Superman was all right and that *you* haven't done something to warp his mind," Lois said. "I don't know what Bruce's deal is - the two of you have some sort of billionaire boy's club, or what? Anyway, I'm here, give me the story."
"Are you sure you're feeling all right, Ms. Lane? Because if you think I'm going to give *you* any kind of assistance -"
"Oh come on," she said, striding over and plopping herself down on the couch next to him, their knees inches apart. "You gave Clark an interview and you hated him more than you ever had reason to hate me. It's my *turn*."
Lex was aware that his mouth had dropped open. Not much, but still. Evidently staying away from Lois Lane had been a wiser idea than he'd even known. He was aware of Clark, standing sternly over his shoulder, probably gloating.
He'd just stared down the US government. No way was some muckracker going to intimidate him, no matter how fucking scary she could make sheer determination look. Anyway, he needed to deal with Bruce. "Superman," he said, not turning to look back as if he were supremely confident that Clark would do whatever he suggested, "why don't you take Ms. Lane down to the kitchens, get her some coffee and tell her the story as it ought to be reported? Bruce and I do have some business to discuss." Not that he knew what Bruce wanted to chat about, but it was all about the appearance of control.
Lane's eyes flicked upwards, fast as a switchblade. She frowned, but rose to be closer to Superman's level. "I'll decide how the story ought to be reported, thanks, but I'll be happy to hear your version of it first."
"What admirable commitment to the truth," Lex said, almost under his breath.
She rolled her eyes. "Like you'd recognize truth if it ripped off its clothes and danced the hootchie-cootchie in front of you. Come on," she said to Clark. "Like the man said, use that X-ray vision of yours to find me a cup of coffee."
In the doorway, when Clark was already out in the hallway, she paused and looked back. "Later for you," she warned, and Lex was nearly shocked to see that she was aiming for Bruce.
Who looked - was that actual fear, or just a perfect simulacrum? And did it matter, in the end?
"The hootchie-cootchie," Lex repeated, caught between astonishment and relish, as the door slammed closed on her retreat.
"That woman is a *menace*," Bruce replied. "Why did your security let her in?"
"I could ask the same of you," Lex pointed out. "What did you need to say that couldn't have been said on a secure channel?"
"She said she was thinking of doing a feature on Gotham - does she *know*?"
Lex guessed that he was talking about Clark/Superman. He was enjoying watching Bruce shake in his black leather boots far more than was nice.
He had rarely been so glad not to be nice.
"My guess is yes, but she doesn't admit that she knows even to herself. I call it Superman-induced multiple personality disorder. But unfortunately it's not a testable hypothesis. And the point of your visit?" he prodded.
Bruce shook his head, gathering his composure. "I needed to see how far the two of you have gone."
Lex brought his hands together, his elbows resting on his knees. It was a little odd not to be able to rest any weight on his feet, but he could pull off the pose regardless. "That's more than usually cryptic, even for you."
"You destroyed the one thing that can take him down, if he ever gets out of control."
He thought about that before replying. A man less controlled than Bruce would have paced while waiting for Lex to speak, or stepped closer to convey a sense of menace, but Bruce just stood there with his arms crossed over his chest. Lex could imagine him in full costume in the same pose, like a shadow over his features. It was a stance that improved in impressiveness with gauntlets and some sort of chest symbol.
"I didn't destroy all of it," he said, "and I won't. He understands that there has to be balance as well as you and I do."
"But under your control, not the government's."
Lex shrugged. "Of course. Not to mention the other bits and pieces you've got squirrelled away, so don't pretend you're now helpless."
Muscles shifted in Bruce's face, but the resulting expression was just as stony as the original. "Batman asked me to bring the communication device the government wants him to use. He's disabled the tracking chip and attached a device to spoof the location when it connects to the satellite network."
Lex was impressed despite himself, both by Bruce's technical facility and the completeness of his paranoia that he might be overheard. "I'll give it to Superman." He held out his hand. "What, you think I'm going to add spyware of my own? Either Superman would find it because he mistrusts me, or he'll tell me voluntarily, so I have no incentive to do that. Not to mention that I have plenty of sources in the military."
"I don't trust either of you."
"You keep saying that. In my own life, when I kept announcing that to the world, I was looking desperately for someone I *could* trust. You'll do better if you're aware of that - you couldn't do worse than I did, anyway."
This revelation had the unexpected benefit of making Bruce even more uncomfortable, judging by how he stiffened as if the Gorgon had just flashed him.
"Come on," Lex said, and gestured with his open hand.
Slowly, Bruce removed what looked like an ordinary cellphone from his pocket. Lex had to lean forward to take it, and even at full extension almost fumbled it out of his fingers - one of Bruce's little power games, but Lex's father had done worse every day before breakfast, so Lex didn't mind.
Bruce was staring hard at Lex's false hand, now braced on his upper thigh for balance. Lex wondered whether Bruce had on him any equipment sensitive enough to discern anything about the machinery. If so, Lex really had to talk to his own researchers about the importance of being ahead of the competition. Maybe he should incorporate a jamming chip into the hand.
It was almost funny, to be recovering from a trip to perfect happiness only to be confronted with Bruce. If the Kryptonian AI had needed to rely on Bruce to achieve the appropriate mental state, Clark would be dead now.
Of course, it had yet to be proven that Lex Luthor could survive happiness, either.
Lex closed his eyes and sighed. "We're a long way from making your worries of a world-conquering alliance materialize. And with you around to pester Clark, I doubt he'll fall headlong into any of my schemes."
Bruce made a noncommital noise. Lex supposed that was an encouraging sign.
When he opened his eyes again, Bruce was gone.
Lex allowed himself a small smile. With Lois Lane in the building, Lex couldn't blame Bruce for running.
****
Against all expectation, Clark returned without Lane. Lex didn't ask what he'd done to make her leave. "She's gone?" he asked. Clark nodded. "You looked?" And because Clark had worked with Lane for years, he did scan around. This time, when he nodded, Lex believed him.
Lex let his exhaustion show, slumping back into the couch and closing his eyes. "Any more surprises lurking around, or are we done for the day?"
He heard Clark's awkward steps towards him. "I didn't see anyone else. Uh - should I take you upstairs? So you can get some rest?"
He nodded. He didn't open his eyes when Clark picked him up. The computer simulation had been incredible - Clark even smelled the same.
In the bedroom, Lex refused to be awkward about the fact that Clark was lowering him onto his bed. He sat up, careful not to put any weight on his feet, and picked up the phone by the bedside. Clark began to retreat as he dialed Mercy's number.
"Stay," he said, putting the receiver against his shoulder to mute it. Clark stopped, his body rigid and uncomfortable.
Mercy answered immediately, her voice clear but still obviously wounded at losing him twice in such rapid succession. He assured her of his status and location and asked her to make sure that the repairs in his office were given the highest priority.
Clark stood frozen in his hero's suit, reminding Lex that ancient Greek statues of the gods were originally painted in the brightest colors; it was only time that bleached them white.
At the end of the conversation, she said, "I'm glad you're safe," in such a rush that it was a struggle to understand her, then hung up before he could process the statement.
It was wrong of him, he knew - when had that ever stopped him? - but he seriously hoped that Mercy wasn't developing a personality at this late date.
Stress could make people behave strangely, as he well knew.
Clark was still doing his impression of a mannequin, standing on the Oriental carpet like an enormous action figure.
"Can I offer you a drink?"
Clark twitched, setting the cape to fluttering, and shook his head. "No, thanks. I should really -"
Away from the AI, Lex felt more himself. He missed the sun-sweet happiness it had put in his head, but he could put it aside. Clark could always drive him to distraction, and distraction was certainly needed. "Please, sit." He patted the bed beside him, and received a wide-eyed stare in return.
"You said you wanted to try this friendship again. Having second thoughts already?"
Clark closed his eyes, perhaps praying for strength. Then he crossed the floor, flipping the cape carefully out as he sat so that it pooled on the bed behind him. Lex smiled a little at the evidence that Clark wasn't as ignorant of image as he wanted to seem.
The cape was even brighter up close, red like something out of a fairy tale -- myth blood.
Clark looked over his shoulder, following Lex's gaze. Against the carefully neutral colors of his bedspread, the cape looked unreal, as if Clark were an animated character in a live-action film.
"I know we don’t really have any catching up to do," he said, to start things off. "But if there are things you want to ask me - or tell me - I'd like to hear them."
The bed creaked as Clark shifted. His hands, framed by the blue of the suit as they rested on his thighs, were perfectly human.
"Friendship," he said at last. "It wasn't just that, was it?"
Lex shook his head. Fantasy was one thing - having believed in the AI’s illusion was another. It was difficult to speak to Clark as if he’d never felt Clark’s naked skin against his own. He kept having to remind himself that the memory was just another lie. It was minimal comfort to know that Clark had felt the attraction too, once upon a time.
"So why didn't you - why didn't we ever --?"
"Maybe because you can't do it if you can't say it?"
Clark rolled his eyes. “You know, I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked more people than you have at this point.”
That stung, but he’d deserved it. "By the time you were legal, I wasn't sure you liked me that much."
"I was your best friend!"
"Your point?"
Clark shifted, turning to face him, but Lex refused to meet his eyes. "You know, I really dislike your self-deprecating sense of humor at times. Anyway, it wasn't like you weren't used to sleeping with people you didn't trust."
Lex's lips twitched as he looked up. "Really, Clark. Surely you can grasp the idea that I didn't want that from *you*."
"But - " he protested, wide savior's eyes looking at Lex with a disturbing combination of bewilderment and faith.
"I misused your friendship," Lex admitted. "I didn't really expect you to forgive me for investigating you. I expected the lies. I half wanted them, to remind me that no one could be trusted. I kept *pushing*, knowing it would drive you away - which proved to me that you weren't really my friend after all. It's humbling to realize that one's psychology can be reduced to the most basic insecurities, but the truth is generally a lot uglier than I want it to be. There wasn't room in my life for honesty, and if we'd slept together, that would have been honest. It couldn't have been anything else."
Clark nodded, and Lex thought that he did understand, after all. Their bodies couldn't have lied when their mouths could barely sustain the pretense; touch would have exposed every artificial constraint they'd put on their interactions.
“And now?”
Lex tilted his head, as if looking at Clark from a slightly different angle would give him the insight he’d always lacked. “Now - we discovered each other’s secrets a long time ago. Maybe that’s enough to justify a new start.”
“So you still - I mean, I thought you probably still cared, because of the surveillance and everything,” he frowned briefly to indicate that Lex had tested his patience but was forgiven, “but I didn’t know what you were feeling.”
“What I felt when I watched you?” Clark was too close for this conversation, bright and real and only a few feet away. Clark’s nod forced him to continue. “You know what I wanted.” The carpet was thick wool, black flecked with white and purple, like river stones. The sin of pride, he recalled, was associated with the color purple, which though beside the point was a more comfortable thought than dealing with Clark right now.
Clark's hand on his upper arm challenged him to look over. And, like a Pavlov-trained dog, he turned to see.
Clark was smiling, a slow secretive expression that made La Joconde look blatant. “You’re the one who started me reading philosophy, stocking up quotes to tell people when I didn’t want to use my own words. There was this French guy who said, 'Jealousy is in some measure just and reasonable, since it merely aims at keeping something that belongs to us, whereas envy is a frenzy that cannot bear anything that belongs to others.'"
Lex stopped breathing as he tried to parse Clark's logic. From friendship to jealousy - not that it had ever been a great distance, for Lex. "So," he said, as careful as he knew how to be, "should I be jealous or envious of Bruce?"
Clark's face lit up like a solar flare. He was the boy from the bridge again, shiny and new. "You should be jealous. You should be very, very jealous."
Hope, a great white bird spreading its wings, moved in him. "Good. That's - good." He suspected that his expression was completely fatuous, but Clark wasn't going to call him on it.
If he was still in the AI’s simulation, he thought, he was going to rip it apart with his hands and teeth, and then cut his own wrists.
"Did you watch us, Lex?" Clark's tone held neither the ingenuousness of Clark Kent the reporter nor the utter righteousness of Superman. Lex swallowed, a habit he'd thought conquered.
"Answer me," Clark demanded, bringing his face close to Lex's. "Did you watch? You had to guess I knew about the cameras. Were you hoping I was performing for you?"
"You know I was." Lex didn't recognize his own voice, desire-broken.
"Wouldn't you rather have me in three dimensions?"
But wasn't that what Clark had always offered, shimmering in the distance, if he'd only behave himself according to Clark's standards? He'd hurtled towards that superior mirage too many times before, watching it recede as he sped up. "We're still not on the same side." He’d felt more secure when they were flying, defying nature’s law. This - Clark - refused to settle into a pattern again, refused to be something he could predict and use and brace himself against.
"We could be. I don’t want apologies; I want you to listen *before* you act, and I’ll do the same. That’s how it can work, if we’re serious about it."
It was the matter-of-factness of Clark's statement, more than anything else, that made Lex want to believe him. "And what do I get for that concession?" Lex's blood was thundering through his body; he had to fight to keep from swaying towards Clark.
Defeating Lex's self-control, Clark leaned forward, his eyes all the colors of Earth. "Do you want a list or a demonstration?"
"I want everything," Lex breathed. Clark's mouth was centimeters away.
Clark closed the last distance between them, and Lex learned to hate the AI all over again, for taking away his first time.
But the touch of Clark's lips was nothing like what the computer had imagined for him. There was warmth and pressure, lush never-chapped lips softer than any human's. Nothing was physically different from the illusion he'd had before. What was new was the sense of the world turning around them, as if this moment were a fulcrum, sending his life onto a new vector. He could feel every cell vibrating with Clark's. He reached up and twined his fingers in Clark's hair, which was thick and prickly to his human hand, softer to the machine. Clark opened his mouth and Lex shuddered, letting his head fall back as Clark's tongue invaded, explored, took him over.
"Fuck!" Clark yelped and pulled back, nearly losing his balance.
"What? What?" Lex pushed himself half upright, ignoring the protests from his feet, fully prepared to humiliate himself to keep Clark from leaving.
"I have to go deal with a big flood in Sri Lanka. Just got a message from the League," he explained as he stood up. "But I should be back in a few hours."
"I - I'll be here," Lex promised.
In less than a heartbeat, Clark was sitting next to him again, breathing into his ear. "Just think about this while you wait: All the things you watched me do - you haven't seen the first part of what I'm going to do for you."
Lex wasn't sure what expression was on his face, but it was satisfactory enough that Clark grinned victoriously and stood. It was a hell of an exit line, Lex had to admit.
"This is going to be a feature of our relationship, isn't it?" Lex asked the empty air.
And smiled.
End
Again, many thanks to tireless beta readers: Cassandra, CJ, Mary Ellen Curtin, and Caroline Baker. Lois's line about Batman's condom gratefully appropriated from Livia.
Section 1
Section 2
Section 3
Section 4
Section 5
Section 6
Section 7
From night to searing light, from quiet to howling discord, from giddy floating to cramping ache - the experience redefined pain, and given what Lex had been through in the past months, that was saying a lot.
He tried to scream for Clark, but his mouth didn't respond.
New novas exploded at his groin, his nose and throat - catheters and tubes coming out, he realized, and retched as they slithered away like dying snakes. The convulsions left him slumped to one side, unable to straighten. Every muscle in his body screamed. Lex felt his eyes try to tear up, but they were too dry and only stung instead.
He was just coming disconnected from the computer.
There had been no victory with Clark, no reconciliation, nothing.
He'd been under the AI's spell all this time, wrapped in its clutches like a fly in a spider's web, getting his vitals sucked out. Tuned like a balky piece of equipment. All so he'd achieve the right mental state to manipulate the Kryptonite into annihilation.
The pain of his nerves coming back to life was spectacular: worse than the feeling of having a morning star shoved into his guts when he’d been poisoned, nearly as bad as being flayed because it was so random, impossible to brace against. If he'd had his hands around a pistol, Lex honestly couldn't have said that he wouldn't have shoved it in his mouth and pulled the trigger, just to end the agony.
As it was, his hands - hand! Fuck, he'd forgotten - flopped around as muscle fibers contracted and relaxed at random, his arms bumping against the now-quiescent console. He'd just been getting muscle tone back after the rescue, he recalled.
"How long -" he said, or meant to say, but the words turned into a wheeze that evolved into a choke. He got himself under control, disgusted to find that his mouth was crusted with dried saliva, and tried again. "How long was I out?"
The computer answered, which was a small mercy. "Just over seven days."
He could, he realized, smell himself.
"You lied to Clark. You said you wouldn't manipulate me."
"I said I would not change the way you thought. Nothing was said about context or emotions. It was necessary. You could not have produced the required affect yourself once you were aware that contentment was the necessary mental state."
It was true: the computer was the Devil. Maybe the Devil's lawyer. So now Lex was a stinking, pathetic mess in withdrawal from a pleasure as pure as any rat with an electrode in its head ever experienced.
He was glad the AI could no longer read his mind, now that the connection was severed. At least, he thought it was unable to do so. He'd have to make Clark check.
And later, there would be a reckoning.
"Kal-El approaches," it warned him. Which would have been nice, if he could have done anything but loll in his chair, wanting a drink and a bath and, hey, how does happiness sound?
He managed to twist his head towards the door when it whooshed open. Clark looked smug, as well he should with his most dangerous nemesis responsible for the destruction of his one real vulnerability.
"Lex!" he said happily. Then he got a good look at - or possibly a good whiff of - Lex and frowned.
"Water. Drink and shower," he clarified, looking at Clark's cheekbones rather than his eyes. His voice sounded like a stream trickling through a dry gulch, but Clark nodded in comprehension.
Clark strode over to him and picked him up like a bridegroom doing the threshold bit. That got old really fast, in Lex's considered opinion. His remaining clothes grated against his skin, the fabric trapped between him and Clark.
They went into the next room, which had been reconfigured into a palatial bathroom. At this point, the humiliation was as close to complete as made no difference, so Lex didn't protest as Clark put him on a tiled bench, unbuttoned his sweat-filthy shirt and pulled off his ruined pants and boxers - another thing to curse the damned computer for, that it had destroyed fine Hong Kong tailoring when it stuck its tubes into his private places.
Clark blinked away and back, now holding a glass of water, which he held to Lex's lips as he knelt beside the bench.
Lex took a small sip, then a larger one when his stomach allowed it. A few gulps later, he let his head loll back against the cool porcelain-analogue.
"Thanks."
"I think that's my line," Clark said wryly. "Shower?"
Lex's sluggish neurons fired a warning. "I need to cover my feet and my hand." In the midst of the cacophony of bodily pain, the screech of his stump and the deep bass throbbing of his feet had been lost initially, but they were returning to the forefront of his attention.
"Oh. Right." Clark looked miserable. Lex wanted the energy to snort disdainfully; he settled for keeping his eyes open. "Hang on." This time his absence lasted long enough for Lex to take several deep breaths. He returned with what looked like genuine surgical tape and plastic bags. The gentleness - Lex's mind hesitated on the word "reverence" - with which he handled Lex's body made Lex want to curl up and hide.
He was going to have to depend on either Clark or his AI. But only one of them was going to survive the year if Lex had his way, so the choice was plain. "I can take care of this part myself," he said when Clark was finished.
"Right," Clark said, flushing. "The Fortress can get anything you need. I'll, uh, be outside."
"Can I get a showerhead with a flexible hose?" Lex asked the room when Clark had gone. Obligingly, a large, circular piece of wall detached and blossomed towards him like a metal sunflower. Lex managed to get a grip on it, and then to turn the water on.
Even a slow trickle felt like a scouring pad against his oversensitive skin. After a few minutes, though, his much-abused nerves began to confuse pain and pleasure. There was soap in a little depression in the wall near him, extruded while he wasn't looking. Lex used it as vigorously as he could, to wit, not very vigorously. He displayed all the manual dexterity of a Parkinson's patient with broken fingers, and counted himself lucky to do that well. When he'd come out of his post-meteor coma all those years ago, his hands had been like rubber; he was a little better at resurrection now.
When he was as clean as he was going to get, he turned the water off. Without needing to be asked, the Fortress made a dry space in the bench beside him, which then slid aside to disgorge a white terry robe. He noted with some amusement that it bore Superman's crest on the upper left.
So the infernal machine had its good points. He was still going to destroy it for colonizing his will - all the more because it could fairly claim that it hadn't violated Clark's instructions, since it hadn't tampered with his motivations. Lex could forgive lies. Betrayal was only to be expected, whether from humans or aliens. Trickery was another matter. It smacked of his father and his devil's bargains; it made him complicit in his own exploitation.
"Could you tell Clark I'd like to see him?" he asked, politely. The computer might suspect his enmity, but there would be no evidence for it to report to Clark.
After a short pause, during which the entire room reconfigured itself into something more like a general living area, Clark returned.
"Have you heard from the government yet?" Lex asked, leaning forward as he stripped the plastic covering from his artificial hand.
"Yeah," Clark said, with a sudden, mischievous smile. "They're pretty upset. Something about an act of war. I said I wasn't interested in war; I just want to be left alone to help people."
"To be fair, Clark, you do a lot of property damage."
Clark grimaced. "So you've pointed out to the press. Repeatedly. At length. Listen, I've got no objection to working with cities on emergency response plans that get the bad guys as far away from population centers and important buildings as possible - but that's not what these military jerks wanted me to do.
"Also, in my defense, the bad guys tend to choose places *because* of the people and property they can put at risk - it's like blaming the firemen for the fire because they're always found together."
Lex thought that Clark was overlooking the way his cape operated as a red flag - pun intended - to villains looking to make names for themselves by taking on the Man of Steel. This, he was convinced, was why Metropolis's Rogue's Gallery resembled nothing so much as the lineup for WWF Raw, silly names and all. But they'd both stated their positions on the matter before, and he didn't want to fight at the moment.
"Regardless," he said, glad to have a problem outside his own skin as a distraction, "with their supply of Kryptonite depleted, wiser heads are likely to prevail. It's changed from a military to a political problem, which is to your advantage - and mine, since it means I can go home and get back to running my company."
"Uh, about that."
Lex closed his eyes and turned his face away. Every time he thought he'd hit a new low, he discovered that he'd just bounced off a ledge on the way down. "Yes?"
"Nothing bad! Just, the computer's been emulating you, so nobody even knows you were gone. It's also prepared a bunch of patent applications based on the stuff you did while you were in the simulation."
Lex blinked. "Really." He was still going to dismantle the thing and piss on its pulverized circuits - but maybe he'd wait a bit.
Clark looked at him with an expression altogether too smug.
"So what now?" Clark's face was as close to trusting as Lex could remember seeing it. As if he were interested in Lex's opinion.
Lex had forgotten how that made him itch, the expectation (or hope, anyway) that he'd be a Good Man and not a Bad one. He'd never liked to do things he wasn't competent at doing. He'd never even been fond of acknowledging the existence of such things.
He looked away, at the computer console. "Now we get in touch with the American government and see what happens."
The computer let him call his Pentagon contact, who quickly transferred the call several stars higher up. Eventually Lex reached General William Rogers, the man in charge of what the military liked to call Special Projects and everybody else just called "superheroes."
"Good afternoon, General," Lex said after checking the time in the Eastern seaboard. "I hope you're well."
"Let's cut the bullshit. You just destroyed material vital to national security. You betrayed your country."
This might be fun. "That assumes that Superman is an enemy of the American people, which has yet to be demonstrated. His actions suggest the contrary, even during the past week when his life was in danger from your 'material.' But," he barreled on over the general's outraged huff, "now isn't the time for speeches. We need to work out a way for you and your good men to go back to fighting the real threats."
"What are you offering?" the general asked warily.
Lex leaned back in his chair. "I'm authorized to grant the US priority access to the League -" he held up his hand to forestall Clark's protest, so there was only a rustle of cape - "and exclusive updates on League activities worldwide. The League can't wait for your authorization - metahuman threats happen too fast for that - but it can consult and inform, providing you with an invaluable source of intelligence. And frankly, General, the League is far more popular globally than America is, or than it would be if it were commonly understood to be an American operation."
There was a pause. Lex expected the general was getting his superiors in the loop.
"You hate Superman," he said at last. "Why would you take his side against your own country?"
"What I feel about Superman is irrelevant," Lex said, though "inexplicable" was probably the better word. "If he and his teammates are treated well, he can be a tremendous force for peace. If he's mishandled, he might just decide that humans are too irrational to govern themselves, which has been my concern all along."
There was a long pause, and when the general spoke, he sounded like he didn't want to. "The Justice League has some advanced technology at its disposal. We'd want a technology transfer agreement as well."
"And I want to be President, but that's not going to happen today," Lex responded easily. "The League can agree in principle to discussions of what technology might be suitably shared, once some trust has been rebuilt. Say two years from now?"
Another pause. If Lex had read the general correctly, he was telling various people on his end to shut up and let him negotiate, because they damn sure weren't going to be in a better position in the foreseeable future.
"Six months."
"A year," Lex said, keeping most of the amusement out of his voice. "Consider it an anniversary gift."
"We need to be able to initiate contact."
"Naturally," Lex said. "The League takes sovereignty seriously when it doesn't get in the way of saving lives. I'm sure reasonable requests could be accommodated."
"Then I suppose we have an agreement," the general said. "The League has the United States' permission to operate within our territory and outside as long as the United States is kept advised on a priority basis and entitled to object to any operation on national security grounds."
Lex's lips quirked; given that the whole point was to allow the government to save face, he didn't think it would be useful to respond to the idea that the US could object to any operation with "So can I, or so can any man."
"In addition," Richards continued, "the League agrees to negotiate in good faith on technology transfers starting one year from today, and not to share technology with any other nation without first offering the United States the same technology."
Lex guessed that complimenting the general on his clever addition to the agreement would go over badly, and the League could afford to agree to that anyway. "Then we have a deal," he said.
Behind him, Clark sighed.
"You planned this," the general accused, sounding as if he'd just had an insight. "You planned this for years, pretending to oppose him so you could screw us over."
Lex smiled. There was a special pleasure in beating someone who remained ignorant even in defeat. "The League will be in touch about setting up a communications protocol."
"Are you happy being a traitor?"
He stopped smiling. "I wish you wouldn't call me that."
"What are you going to do, send Superman after me?"
"The Justice League doesn't make threats, General, but I do. Keep this attitude up and you'll find this conversation and all necessary background material distributed so widely you'll hear your voice on ESPN.
"Superman is more popular than God - if you'd killed him, you might have survived, but you didn't, and if this gets out you won't be allowed to command a Boy Scout troop, let alone an army. Now suck it up, say 'Thank you, Mr. Luthor,' and get ready to shake Superman's hand for the cameras, or prepare to be responsible for the first ever successful impeachment and conviction of a president."
Silence.
Lex let him sit for a minute, long enough that he had to be considering just hanging up. "General?" He knew he sounded jovial.
"Thank you, Mr. Luthor," General Rogers said with remarkable evenness.
"Thank *you*, General. We'll talk again soon."
He cut the connection and leaned back in his chair.
"Wow."
That was a good start. Lex swiveled, looking up at Clark's wide eyes and parted lips. "Now you just have to get the League to go along. It should be easy - every human is American, and how you managed to convince the world that you're *not* CIA tools is a mystery of its own, but they should all fall in line behind you."
No response. Clark was almost frozen, though Lex could see the rise and fall of his chest.
"What?"
Clark shook his head, like a big dog coming in out of the rain. "You're just - really sexy when you're kicking someone's ass. I never had the chance to notice when you were trying to kill me." He smiled, cheerful and teasing.
Lex had never really expected to kill Clark; if he was worthy, he'd obviously survive whatever Lex threw at him.
It struck him that he was using his father's reasoning.
Maybe he didn't want to be attractive because he was threatening.
Lex relaxed his clenched hands - or tried to; the artificial one stuck and then released with such a savage jolt that he made an involuntary noise.
"What is it?" Clark stepped closer and put his hand out, almost touching Lex's arm.
He fought back the grimace, relaxed the muscles in his back and shoulders, and looked up, wishing he could stand. "I'm fine," he said. "I'd like to go back now, Clark."
"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Clark said, withdrawing his hand and putting on his Superman expression, detached and so judgment-free it was actually judgmental. On consideration, Lex thought that was the closest the real Clark had ever come to an apology. And - uncomfortable? Lex reviewed the conversation - right, smart and evil is sexy.
"You didn't," he said, because Clark hadn't, at least not in the way that he thought. "I would like to get back to the world. I'm sure the Fortress creates an excellent simulacrum of me -" from what Lex could tell, it was a lot more like him in its desire for control than Clark even knew - "but I would feel more comfortable in familiar surroundings."
Clark nodded, looking much like the uncertain boy of yesteryear. "But - can you do anything about Lex's hand?" he asked, ignoring Lex in favor of his computer.
"The interface can be redesigned so that it no longer causes nerve damage."
Lex winced to hear the problem described so bluntly. If his body weren't so freakish, the nerves wouldn't regenerate to be fried again, Prometheus-like. But then he'd be long dead, so he supposed that it was as fair a bargain as a Luthor could expect.
"Then do it," Clark said.
Before Lex got a chance to object, the console dissolved into a tangle of grasping tubes and wires, slithering up his arm like vines on a statue. "Wait," Lex snapped, to no avail. "I don't want your computer having continued access to my body. My left hand is going to know what my right hand is doing."
"The modifications can be autonomous," the computer said, as if it had any business offering an opinion.
"Okay, do that," Clark said.
He tolerated the reconnection. There was pressure, almost tickling, and cool metal circuitry pressing its fingerprints into him. He wriggled his arm just to make it hurt. The computer promptly clamped down on him to prevent further movement. Clark, meanwhile, was on the other side of the room now, talking softly - to someone in the Justice League, judging by his cajoling tone.
When the mare's nest of tubing shriveled away, the artificial hand was smaller, the size of Lex's real hand, and the gauntlet had been shrunk and reformed into a silvery cuff covering where his wrist should have been, overlapping the ends of the long bones of his forearm. It looked real, not the uncanny near-humanity he'd feared the Fortress would stick him with.
It didn’t hurt.
He flexed experimentally, spread the fingers wide and then curled them in. "It's very good," he told Clark, who'd finished his conversation moments before.
"The pain is gone?" Clark asked anxiously, returning to Lex's side. He squinted at the hand, presumably using his broad-spectrum vision. Which, when Lex had figured it out, had explained in retrospect a number of Clark's dopier looks, though by no means all of them. What Clark hoped to see in the mechanism was an interesting question. Lex didn't know whether he could detect individual nerve impulses. It was one of the many, many mysteries of Clark's alien origins. Lex thought he could spend the rest of his life exploring Clark's physiology, and not even in an obscene way. The flying alone -
Clark had asked a question. "It feels remarkably lifelike," he said. His word choice could have been better; Clark winced. "Thank you," he added, to clarify his opinion.
"No problem," Clark said, practically shuffling his feet.
So they were back to awkward.
Lex supposed it was marginally better than homicidal.
"Shall we get going?" he prompted.
"Sure," Clark said. "Uh, there's kind of two ways of doing this. I call them 'sack of potatoes' and 'honeymoon.'" He said it without looking at Lex's face.
"'Sack of potatoes' sounds extremely undignified, but honeymoons have rarely gone well for me. What's your recommendation?" Lex thought his tone was reasonable, but Clark cringed fractionally anyway.
"'Sack of potatoes' probably is beneath your dignity," Clark agreed. "You, uh, might be more comfortable the other way."
"Well, then," Lex said, as reasonably as possible under the circumstances, "what are we waiting for?"
Clark used his superspeed to minimize the embarrassing process of getting Lex properly positioned. Lex found himself whipping through icy air, one cheek pressed against Clark's shoulder. Tears streamed from his exposed eye, forced out by the cold and the speed. He was held so that he couldn't see how far away they were from the ground, which on balance might have been a good idea.
He was *flying*. The enormity of it could only be grasped in short flashes.
Clark, now wearing his Superman guise, accelerated so fast that Lex could feel the gravities piling on like stacks of weight, and then they were simply rocketing through the sky like a definition of speed. Lex grinned, curling his arm around Clark's neck (ignoring the flash of false memory of doing the same thing in the computer simulation), and turned his face so he could see the cloud vistas in front of them.
****
He should have known Clark would take him to the mansion in Smallville. Clark stopped in the air a few yards from the perimeter, looking in with dismay. "Lex, it's kind of - I forgot how much damage there was," he said, embarrassed. Up close, Lex could tell that he still flushed easily - whatever alien technology he used to distort his features had no effect on the blood flow under his skin.
"It's all right," he said, his face still stiff from the chill of their passage. "If my bedroom is intact and the satellite connection is working, I'll stay here. The place is big enough that half of it could be under repair and I'd never notice." He did hope that most of the art had survived. Insurance money was fine, but it couldn't be contemplated and cherished in the same way.
Clark narrowed his eyes; Lex noticed how thick and long his lashes were, like an antique doll's, a houri's in an opium dream. "The bedroom is fine. And the satellite link is working. But - there are people in your library. Oh God," he said, his eyes widening almost comically.
Lex didn't have to wait long.
"It's Bruce and Lois. They're talking." Clark paused and his voice filled with horror. "It's like a nightmare."
Lex couldn't help himself. He sniggered.
"Just for that," Clark said, "we're going to meet them like this." And in a blink, they were in the library, Lex in full helpless rescue victim pose.
"Put - me -- down," he said, his voice pitched for Clark's ears alone. Bruce and Lane probably heard, though. It was that kind of day - no, that kind of year - no, lifetime.
Clark carefully, slowly walked over to a blue leather couch - Lex was going to have to speak to whoever did the redecorating - and lowered Lex until he was sitting almost normally, Clark still leaning over him with a solicitous air. He was facing Lane and Bruce; behind them he could see the railing, looking down over the remains of the office, which was covered with the yellow police tape that was almost as familiar to him as crystal decanters and ancient weapons.
Lex slung an arm across the back of the couch, arranged his legs in their most arrogant sprawl, and raised his eyebrows at the man and woman staring avidly at Clark.
"Can I help either of you?"
They looked at him like something stuck to the bottom of Superman's boot, and while Lex didn't disagree with the opinion, he nevertheless objected strongly to others who dared to hold it.
"We were - " Lois Lane began.
"*I* was - " Bruce said, then clearly remembered that he was not in costume and, understandably rattled by his lapse, switched to feckless playboy mode. "The lovely Ms. Lane and I wanted to see -"
Lex had to smile as Bruce struggled to finish that sentence in a plausible way.
"The government comes down on here like you're David Koresh and Saddam Hussein combined, and then total radio silence? I knew there'd been some major fuck-up. I wanted to make sure Superman was all right and that *you* haven't done something to warp his mind," Lois said. "I don't know what Bruce's deal is - the two of you have some sort of billionaire boy's club, or what? Anyway, I'm here, give me the story."
"Are you sure you're feeling all right, Ms. Lane? Because if you think I'm going to give *you* any kind of assistance -"
"Oh come on," she said, striding over and plopping herself down on the couch next to him, their knees inches apart. "You gave Clark an interview and you hated him more than you ever had reason to hate me. It's my *turn*."
Lex was aware that his mouth had dropped open. Not much, but still. Evidently staying away from Lois Lane had been a wiser idea than he'd even known. He was aware of Clark, standing sternly over his shoulder, probably gloating.
He'd just stared down the US government. No way was some muckracker going to intimidate him, no matter how fucking scary she could make sheer determination look. Anyway, he needed to deal with Bruce. "Superman," he said, not turning to look back as if he were supremely confident that Clark would do whatever he suggested, "why don't you take Ms. Lane down to the kitchens, get her some coffee and tell her the story as it ought to be reported? Bruce and I do have some business to discuss." Not that he knew what Bruce wanted to chat about, but it was all about the appearance of control.
Lane's eyes flicked upwards, fast as a switchblade. She frowned, but rose to be closer to Superman's level. "I'll decide how the story ought to be reported, thanks, but I'll be happy to hear your version of it first."
"What admirable commitment to the truth," Lex said, almost under his breath.
She rolled her eyes. "Like you'd recognize truth if it ripped off its clothes and danced the hootchie-cootchie in front of you. Come on," she said to Clark. "Like the man said, use that X-ray vision of yours to find me a cup of coffee."
In the doorway, when Clark was already out in the hallway, she paused and looked back. "Later for you," she warned, and Lex was nearly shocked to see that she was aiming for Bruce.
Who looked - was that actual fear, or just a perfect simulacrum? And did it matter, in the end?
"The hootchie-cootchie," Lex repeated, caught between astonishment and relish, as the door slammed closed on her retreat.
"That woman is a *menace*," Bruce replied. "Why did your security let her in?"
"I could ask the same of you," Lex pointed out. "What did you need to say that couldn't have been said on a secure channel?"
"She said she was thinking of doing a feature on Gotham - does she *know*?"
Lex guessed that he was talking about Clark/Superman. He was enjoying watching Bruce shake in his black leather boots far more than was nice.
He had rarely been so glad not to be nice.
"My guess is yes, but she doesn't admit that she knows even to herself. I call it Superman-induced multiple personality disorder. But unfortunately it's not a testable hypothesis. And the point of your visit?" he prodded.
Bruce shook his head, gathering his composure. "I needed to see how far the two of you have gone."
Lex brought his hands together, his elbows resting on his knees. It was a little odd not to be able to rest any weight on his feet, but he could pull off the pose regardless. "That's more than usually cryptic, even for you."
"You destroyed the one thing that can take him down, if he ever gets out of control."
He thought about that before replying. A man less controlled than Bruce would have paced while waiting for Lex to speak, or stepped closer to convey a sense of menace, but Bruce just stood there with his arms crossed over his chest. Lex could imagine him in full costume in the same pose, like a shadow over his features. It was a stance that improved in impressiveness with gauntlets and some sort of chest symbol.
"I didn't destroy all of it," he said, "and I won't. He understands that there has to be balance as well as you and I do."
"But under your control, not the government's."
Lex shrugged. "Of course. Not to mention the other bits and pieces you've got squirrelled away, so don't pretend you're now helpless."
Muscles shifted in Bruce's face, but the resulting expression was just as stony as the original. "Batman asked me to bring the communication device the government wants him to use. He's disabled the tracking chip and attached a device to spoof the location when it connects to the satellite network."
Lex was impressed despite himself, both by Bruce's technical facility and the completeness of his paranoia that he might be overheard. "I'll give it to Superman." He held out his hand. "What, you think I'm going to add spyware of my own? Either Superman would find it because he mistrusts me, or he'll tell me voluntarily, so I have no incentive to do that. Not to mention that I have plenty of sources in the military."
"I don't trust either of you."
"You keep saying that. In my own life, when I kept announcing that to the world, I was looking desperately for someone I *could* trust. You'll do better if you're aware of that - you couldn't do worse than I did, anyway."
This revelation had the unexpected benefit of making Bruce even more uncomfortable, judging by how he stiffened as if the Gorgon had just flashed him.
"Come on," Lex said, and gestured with his open hand.
Slowly, Bruce removed what looked like an ordinary cellphone from his pocket. Lex had to lean forward to take it, and even at full extension almost fumbled it out of his fingers - one of Bruce's little power games, but Lex's father had done worse every day before breakfast, so Lex didn't mind.
Bruce was staring hard at Lex's false hand, now braced on his upper thigh for balance. Lex wondered whether Bruce had on him any equipment sensitive enough to discern anything about the machinery. If so, Lex really had to talk to his own researchers about the importance of being ahead of the competition. Maybe he should incorporate a jamming chip into the hand.
It was almost funny, to be recovering from a trip to perfect happiness only to be confronted with Bruce. If the Kryptonian AI had needed to rely on Bruce to achieve the appropriate mental state, Clark would be dead now.
Of course, it had yet to be proven that Lex Luthor could survive happiness, either.
Lex closed his eyes and sighed. "We're a long way from making your worries of a world-conquering alliance materialize. And with you around to pester Clark, I doubt he'll fall headlong into any of my schemes."
Bruce made a noncommital noise. Lex supposed that was an encouraging sign.
When he opened his eyes again, Bruce was gone.
Lex allowed himself a small smile. With Lois Lane in the building, Lex couldn't blame Bruce for running.
****
Against all expectation, Clark returned without Lane. Lex didn't ask what he'd done to make her leave. "She's gone?" he asked. Clark nodded. "You looked?" And because Clark had worked with Lane for years, he did scan around. This time, when he nodded, Lex believed him.
Lex let his exhaustion show, slumping back into the couch and closing his eyes. "Any more surprises lurking around, or are we done for the day?"
He heard Clark's awkward steps towards him. "I didn't see anyone else. Uh - should I take you upstairs? So you can get some rest?"
He nodded. He didn't open his eyes when Clark picked him up. The computer simulation had been incredible - Clark even smelled the same.
In the bedroom, Lex refused to be awkward about the fact that Clark was lowering him onto his bed. He sat up, careful not to put any weight on his feet, and picked up the phone by the bedside. Clark began to retreat as he dialed Mercy's number.
"Stay," he said, putting the receiver against his shoulder to mute it. Clark stopped, his body rigid and uncomfortable.
Mercy answered immediately, her voice clear but still obviously wounded at losing him twice in such rapid succession. He assured her of his status and location and asked her to make sure that the repairs in his office were given the highest priority.
Clark stood frozen in his hero's suit, reminding Lex that ancient Greek statues of the gods were originally painted in the brightest colors; it was only time that bleached them white.
At the end of the conversation, she said, "I'm glad you're safe," in such a rush that it was a struggle to understand her, then hung up before he could process the statement.
It was wrong of him, he knew - when had that ever stopped him? - but he seriously hoped that Mercy wasn't developing a personality at this late date.
Stress could make people behave strangely, as he well knew.
Clark was still doing his impression of a mannequin, standing on the Oriental carpet like an enormous action figure.
"Can I offer you a drink?"
Clark twitched, setting the cape to fluttering, and shook his head. "No, thanks. I should really -"
Away from the AI, Lex felt more himself. He missed the sun-sweet happiness it had put in his head, but he could put it aside. Clark could always drive him to distraction, and distraction was certainly needed. "Please, sit." He patted the bed beside him, and received a wide-eyed stare in return.
"You said you wanted to try this friendship again. Having second thoughts already?"
Clark closed his eyes, perhaps praying for strength. Then he crossed the floor, flipping the cape carefully out as he sat so that it pooled on the bed behind him. Lex smiled a little at the evidence that Clark wasn't as ignorant of image as he wanted to seem.
The cape was even brighter up close, red like something out of a fairy tale -- myth blood.
Clark looked over his shoulder, following Lex's gaze. Against the carefully neutral colors of his bedspread, the cape looked unreal, as if Clark were an animated character in a live-action film.
"I know we don’t really have any catching up to do," he said, to start things off. "But if there are things you want to ask me - or tell me - I'd like to hear them."
The bed creaked as Clark shifted. His hands, framed by the blue of the suit as they rested on his thighs, were perfectly human.
"Friendship," he said at last. "It wasn't just that, was it?"
Lex shook his head. Fantasy was one thing - having believed in the AI’s illusion was another. It was difficult to speak to Clark as if he’d never felt Clark’s naked skin against his own. He kept having to remind himself that the memory was just another lie. It was minimal comfort to know that Clark had felt the attraction too, once upon a time.
"So why didn't you - why didn't we ever --?"
"Maybe because you can't do it if you can't say it?"
Clark rolled his eyes. “You know, I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked more people than you have at this point.”
That stung, but he’d deserved it. "By the time you were legal, I wasn't sure you liked me that much."
"I was your best friend!"
"Your point?"
Clark shifted, turning to face him, but Lex refused to meet his eyes. "You know, I really dislike your self-deprecating sense of humor at times. Anyway, it wasn't like you weren't used to sleeping with people you didn't trust."
Lex's lips twitched as he looked up. "Really, Clark. Surely you can grasp the idea that I didn't want that from *you*."
"But - " he protested, wide savior's eyes looking at Lex with a disturbing combination of bewilderment and faith.
"I misused your friendship," Lex admitted. "I didn't really expect you to forgive me for investigating you. I expected the lies. I half wanted them, to remind me that no one could be trusted. I kept *pushing*, knowing it would drive you away - which proved to me that you weren't really my friend after all. It's humbling to realize that one's psychology can be reduced to the most basic insecurities, but the truth is generally a lot uglier than I want it to be. There wasn't room in my life for honesty, and if we'd slept together, that would have been honest. It couldn't have been anything else."
Clark nodded, and Lex thought that he did understand, after all. Their bodies couldn't have lied when their mouths could barely sustain the pretense; touch would have exposed every artificial constraint they'd put on their interactions.
“And now?”
Lex tilted his head, as if looking at Clark from a slightly different angle would give him the insight he’d always lacked. “Now - we discovered each other’s secrets a long time ago. Maybe that’s enough to justify a new start.”
“So you still - I mean, I thought you probably still cared, because of the surveillance and everything,” he frowned briefly to indicate that Lex had tested his patience but was forgiven, “but I didn’t know what you were feeling.”
“What I felt when I watched you?” Clark was too close for this conversation, bright and real and only a few feet away. Clark’s nod forced him to continue. “You know what I wanted.” The carpet was thick wool, black flecked with white and purple, like river stones. The sin of pride, he recalled, was associated with the color purple, which though beside the point was a more comfortable thought than dealing with Clark right now.
Clark's hand on his upper arm challenged him to look over. And, like a Pavlov-trained dog, he turned to see.
Clark was smiling, a slow secretive expression that made La Joconde look blatant. “You’re the one who started me reading philosophy, stocking up quotes to tell people when I didn’t want to use my own words. There was this French guy who said, 'Jealousy is in some measure just and reasonable, since it merely aims at keeping something that belongs to us, whereas envy is a frenzy that cannot bear anything that belongs to others.'"
Lex stopped breathing as he tried to parse Clark's logic. From friendship to jealousy - not that it had ever been a great distance, for Lex. "So," he said, as careful as he knew how to be, "should I be jealous or envious of Bruce?"
Clark's face lit up like a solar flare. He was the boy from the bridge again, shiny and new. "You should be jealous. You should be very, very jealous."
Hope, a great white bird spreading its wings, moved in him. "Good. That's - good." He suspected that his expression was completely fatuous, but Clark wasn't going to call him on it.
If he was still in the AI’s simulation, he thought, he was going to rip it apart with his hands and teeth, and then cut his own wrists.
"Did you watch us, Lex?" Clark's tone held neither the ingenuousness of Clark Kent the reporter nor the utter righteousness of Superman. Lex swallowed, a habit he'd thought conquered.
"Answer me," Clark demanded, bringing his face close to Lex's. "Did you watch? You had to guess I knew about the cameras. Were you hoping I was performing for you?"
"You know I was." Lex didn't recognize his own voice, desire-broken.
"Wouldn't you rather have me in three dimensions?"
But wasn't that what Clark had always offered, shimmering in the distance, if he'd only behave himself according to Clark's standards? He'd hurtled towards that superior mirage too many times before, watching it recede as he sped up. "We're still not on the same side." He’d felt more secure when they were flying, defying nature’s law. This - Clark - refused to settle into a pattern again, refused to be something he could predict and use and brace himself against.
"We could be. I don’t want apologies; I want you to listen *before* you act, and I’ll do the same. That’s how it can work, if we’re serious about it."
It was the matter-of-factness of Clark's statement, more than anything else, that made Lex want to believe him. "And what do I get for that concession?" Lex's blood was thundering through his body; he had to fight to keep from swaying towards Clark.
Defeating Lex's self-control, Clark leaned forward, his eyes all the colors of Earth. "Do you want a list or a demonstration?"
"I want everything," Lex breathed. Clark's mouth was centimeters away.
Clark closed the last distance between them, and Lex learned to hate the AI all over again, for taking away his first time.
But the touch of Clark's lips was nothing like what the computer had imagined for him. There was warmth and pressure, lush never-chapped lips softer than any human's. Nothing was physically different from the illusion he'd had before. What was new was the sense of the world turning around them, as if this moment were a fulcrum, sending his life onto a new vector. He could feel every cell vibrating with Clark's. He reached up and twined his fingers in Clark's hair, which was thick and prickly to his human hand, softer to the machine. Clark opened his mouth and Lex shuddered, letting his head fall back as Clark's tongue invaded, explored, took him over.
"Fuck!" Clark yelped and pulled back, nearly losing his balance.
"What? What?" Lex pushed himself half upright, ignoring the protests from his feet, fully prepared to humiliate himself to keep Clark from leaving.
"I have to go deal with a big flood in Sri Lanka. Just got a message from the League," he explained as he stood up. "But I should be back in a few hours."
"I - I'll be here," Lex promised.
In less than a heartbeat, Clark was sitting next to him again, breathing into his ear. "Just think about this while you wait: All the things you watched me do - you haven't seen the first part of what I'm going to do for you."
Lex wasn't sure what expression was on his face, but it was satisfactory enough that Clark grinned victoriously and stood. It was a hell of an exit line, Lex had to admit.
"This is going to be a feature of our relationship, isn't it?" Lex asked the empty air.
And smiled.
End
Again, many thanks to tireless beta readers: Cassandra, CJ, Mary Ellen Curtin, and Caroline Baker. Lois's line about Batman's condom gratefully appropriated from Livia.