That Hawk Is Dead - Part One (1/5)
Note: This is a crossover fic of sorts between my own Colin Luthor 'verse stories and the alternate Smallville world seen in the season ten episodes "Luthor" and "Kent." Time-wise, for Colin Luthor this takes place slightly before Past the Rubicon.
Also, special thanks to phoenixnz and roxymissrose for beta-awesomeness on the Prologue bits. My eternal gratitude, ladies! (In short, if it sucks after that it's not their fault.)
Disclaimer: "Smallville" and certain characters belong to Miller-Gough et al. No profit is gained from this writing-only, hopefully, enjoyment.
FYI: One = Colin Luthor
Two = Clark Luthor
_______________________________________________________________________
One
(Colin Luthor)
Many times, he had wished to wake up somewhere else. He longed to be marooned on a deserted island, forced to hunt and scavenge in order to survive. He dreamed of eternally frozen tundra where even the smallest spark was salvation. He prayed for a great biblical flood, fiery column descending from on high, or plague to sweep the world clean of all life-save him.
Those, he would admit to. However, in the confines of his mind and against a tiny corner within even that, he had additionally fantasized about great cities of people where all were his to do with as he pleased. He used to play out scenarios in which every happy ending imaginable was his, and he was the man to whom everyone looked for guidance. He had been a king in his corner, a benevolent ruler surrounded by those he loved-and who all loved him in return. Every single thing alive, every plant, creature, and being loved him as the sun, and it was a choice on his part whether or not to return that undying affection. In most instances, he chose love. In a few, he rarely did.
Always, he'd wished for everything not real or seemingly impossible. He had wanted for something, anything, and back then all he'd gotten in return was nothing-not a thing worth anything.
Self-sacrifice wasn't all it was cracked up to be; that was the lesson taught him from birth.
***
The warning Lin is given this time is still of the caring and personal variety, not yet edging into formality and simple habit as it will some few months from now. No, from the start it is presented as an immediate concern, not communicated in the more conversational tone that will come later but rather with purpose, and the feeling behind Lucky giving the warning is instantly and unmistakably clear. He wants only to prepare Lin, keep him informed.
If only things were that simple that a warning was all that was necessary.
"Everything is about to change-for a time," Lucky says, and he's not looking at Lin. He instead stares out into the darkness of another cold night at the castle. The two of them are on the balcony, talking quietly of matters best not discussed in front of anyone else, especially not Lex or Julian or Lucas' new girlfriend, who's by far too curious for her own good-Lois. The three Kents are within as well, along with a few of Lex's better managers and Lucky's friends from here in the town. Not a one of them needs to hear the strangeness that is a conversation like this one. All would be startled, some frightened, and a choice few would feel betrayed and hurt to know Lin and Lucas regularly discuss such things.
It's such a happy and joyful time of year. There's no reason to completely ruin the spirit of the winter holidays, not now that the four of them are truly able to celebrate-as a family.
"Everything here," Lin starts to ask, playing the familiar role of sounding board, "or is this something that will affect-more?"
From the corner of his eye, Lin sees the frown appear on Lucky's face and the puff of warm air escape from his mouth in frustration. Lucas often has a harder time refining what he 'sees' than does Lin himself when it comes to what they refer to as 'the alternatives,' or the infinite number of different worlds containing different versions of themselves. Here though, at home and with regard to this world alone, there is no doubt that Lucas is always the better informed of the two of them.
A few moments pass between Lin's question and Lucky's answer, and Lin is content to spend that time taking in the view of the grounds. Barely a week until Christmas, and yet there has been little snow so far this winter. It is still bitingly cold though, and the wind that never really stops has fallen into the role of white noise once more-a thick, dull roar constantly rushing in the background. The conditions are right; the board is set. All that's missing is the much needed moisture.
The landscape is desolate, but life is currently anything but. Lin is, for lack of a better word, happy.
So of course that's when Lucas says, "Many things will change. Don't you see it?" Then he's turning to look at Lin just as Lin turns to look at him. "You'll be there, and he'll be here." Lucky's eyes suddenly widen until the whites are showing, and he reaches out to grab and squeeze Lin's left arm.
"What is it?" Lin asks, putting his own hand over Lucas'. "Who will be here? Am I going somewhere? To the Fortress maybe?" He says the next without thinking, just opens his mouth and lets the words flow out. "It's cold where I'm going, cold and-bleak."
Lucky nods frantically, squeezes even harder. The bones in Lin's arm grind against each other, and some pain even starts to creep in.
"It's dark too," Lucas tells him, and every word, every syllable is impossibly heavy, significant. "He'll be here, but, Lin," and that's when it finally registers that it's terror in Lucky's eyes and voice and in his hand as he squeezes, squeezes, clenches Lin's forearm, "he'll be there too. He's still alive over there! He's still there and living like a fucking king!
"And you'll be there too. . . "
Dazed, Lin breaks eye contact with Lucas, turns back to the frozen dry prairie stretched out before them for hundreds of miles. This used to be fertile ground, he remembers. Before mankind, this part of the country was a large sea, over time narrowing down into rivers which then became so stretched out and shallow that many of them eventually just dried up. A polite desert, he thinks, and part of him recognizes the fact that he's now in some kind of shock. They live in the middle of a modern wasteland, all necessity and surface-level honesty, void of any true comfort or connection, and underneath lie deep caverns of deceit and decay just waiting to cave in at the slightest disturbance. In time, they will all be swallowed up, buried alive in the corruption humankind seeks so desperately and futilely to hide.
The world is a tricky place, and Lin wonders if his imminent journey won't in fact drop him into a frozen tundra, the likes of which he used to dream and pray for-just as an escape from the constant torture his life had been back then.
"And he'll be here," he whispers, his hand on top of Lucky's whose hand is on top of his arm-who feels as if he's on top of, beneath, standing side-by-side, behind, and in front of himself, all at once, a multitude of him, of Lin, Kal-El, and. . .
"Clark," Lucas whispers back, and Lin feels arms wrap around his arms, and he wonders who it is being held, who it is doing the holding.
He wonders if his wasteland here is anything like the others'.
***
Two
(Clark Luthor)
It is lonely out here on the edge with no one and nothing standing between him and oblivion. There is the void, and always it is expanding within his chest. Now, few things slow it down, and nothing keeps it at bay. Soon, he knows it will simply keep widening despite everything. For standing here in the night outside all the finery and lies of the castle, he knows he is devoid of any warmth or depth of feeling, like this horrid place is all the time but especially in winter. After all, he too is cold and harsh-but not made of ice or snow. No, there is not the moisture of compassion or hope in him for spring. Rather, he is dry and resolute, the bones of some small creature picked clean by all passing scavengers and now bleached and weathered by time. He is the stripped and twisted trees remaining strong in the face of constant, biting wind. He is the emptiness and silence of hundreds and hundreds of miles of once flourishing river land gone shallow and dry. He is the memory of something lush and joyful that is now severe and bleak. He survives when all else dies. He is something, and within him there is nothing, and soon he will crack open and loose every dark thing in existence upon reality-every single one.
Clark looks down at the box in his hand and sees his own eyes reflected back. Or are they his? Maybe, maybe, they are someone else's. . .
He's a Luthor, and he's not the only one. That's really all there is to it.
***
He is restrained before he even has a chance to draw breath, before he even finishes opening his eyes on this, the other side.
He tests the hold and finds to his surprise that it's actually sound and studied, and if he were human or the person doing the move were like him he'd likely have to work at breaking it. But, he is not, and there is no one like him.
Only, apparently there is over here because Clark goes to move his arms up, knocking the other person's weaker ones away-only to discover he can't. He flexes his arms, feels the grip of the other's fingers and palms around his wrists, and yet he cannot move.
Before he can even think to modulate his expression, his eyes are widening and his mouth is dropping open in utter shock. And there's a man in front of him, but it's not anyone he's ever seen in his entire life, and while Clark's face is probably pretty damn funny looking right now, whoever-whatever-it is holding him is definitely not amused.
"Come here often?" Clark asks jokingly, rallying himself enough to finish things off with a nice cold smile and blank eyes.
No reaction. The other guy just keeps staring at him, and a thought pops into Clark's head, an observation really, but he mentally turns away from it immediately, dismissing it as ludicrous. It's likely the stress of the situation, and the fact that all his plans have apparently just blown up in his face, manifesting itself as acute delusional paranoia.
That fucking look, though. Clark would swear it's-
"I'm always here," the guy whispers, answering both unspoken questions simultaneously.
Clark studies him a little more closely, looking for the signs, finally deciding with a sigh that, yeah, somehow this guy knows.
He goes through the motions, though, for formality's sake. Clark makes a show of looking around the room, realizes he's got to be in the original Luthorcorp building from the view out the windows, and what a weird fucking view it is-all clean and busy. They must be up pretty high in the building, too. The people are like ants.
"Here?" Clark mocks. "You mean to say you live here? Oh, that's so sad!" he gushes, pushing his lip out and going the whole nine yards with the sweetest, nicest set of peepers he can muster up-and he knows his innocent and sweet eyes. Nothing gets sympathy like the Bambis.
But, instead of a growl or a shove or even a tightening of the hold, what the guy does in response to Clark's ridicule is-
He simply steps away. Then he just as abruptly and unexpectedly states, "I'm Lucas."
Clark at that moment finds himself disconnectedly wondering if he isn't the one suddenly in over his head. This wasn't in the plan. Then again, coming over alone wasn't exactly scripted either, and yet he somehow managed to botch that up too.
"Lucas," Clark repeats, and he swears the guy hasn't blinked once the entire time he's been here. "Yeah, nice to meet you." Here he starts to introduce himself, since obviously the jig is up-and, boy, did he stumble into the wrong alternate reality-by saying, "I'm Cl- "
Only to be beaten to the punch.
" -Clark Luthor," the guy declares, his chin lifting somewhat and that familiar fucking expression reappearing on his face.
"What the hell is this?" And Clark's freaked out enough to not even bother trying to get the upper hand in this situation. "Who are you?"
The guy steps forward from where he'd stepped back a moment ago, and now he's right up in Clark's face again, only he makes no move to touch him in any way. If anything, though, this time is even more worrying than when he'd been physically restraining him-hurting him in point of fact, though Clark will never admit that outside of his own head.
And the guy, Lucas, still has yet to blink. He's not taken his eyes off Clark once.
Not for even a second.
Then, his breath hitting Clark with almost every syllable, this guy, this stranger who's somehow all but bested him, says, "I'm a friend of a friend."
Clark grits his teeth and wants desperately to turn his head away from those staring dead fisheyes, but that would mean admitting defeat, and Clark refuses to ever give ground again-to anyone, let alone some super powered psycho.
"Whose friend?" he instead bites out, realizing when the guy then smiles that there is literally about an inch separating them. "Certainly not mine."
The smile becomes a grin, and Clark knows he's lost when he finds himself swallowing.
"Oh, I don't know," Lucas says, and then he finally blinks-
Only to speed closer so as to whisper in Clark's ear, "He could be yours too."
"What are you talking about?!" Clark whispers in frustration.
Then, three things happen in quick succession.
One, Clark closes his eyes and knows Father is right.
Two, lips both dry and soft are pressed to his right cheek.
Three, he hears what he'd been deliberately refusing to even contemplate or prepare for since first finding out about the mirrorbox.
The sound of the nearby door opening, a startled intake of air, and the words-
"Lucas, what the hell? What's going on here? Lin?"
-as spoken in some haste by-Lex.
"Just saying 'hello,'" Lucas responds, drawing back from Clark slowly.
"By, what? Smelling him?" Lex retorts. There's the sound of two pairs of footsteps-one moving away and the other drawing closer. "Lin, you okay?" And Lex was the one who'd come near and Lucas the one moving back because Lex's voice is right here, right in front of him. Clark opens his eyes just as Lex is asking, "What’d you do to your hair? It looks different."
Then, there is perhaps a total of ten seconds during which Clark stares in fascination as the foreign warmth and humor on this Lex's face slowly evaporates.
"Lin?" Lex asks, and Clark can barely remember the last time he'd heard such uncertainty and dread in that voice. Lex takes a rapid step back and then another, stumbles away really in his haste to put distance between them.
"Lex," Lucas then says, "may I introduce one Clark Luthor?" He emphasizes the first name for some reason and goes on to add, "He's lately crossed over from someplace very similar to here. Well, I say 'crossed over.' It's more like he switched places really."
"Lucas, what have you done?" Lex gasps in horror, both hands now white as they clench the back of a chair on the far side of the office.
"He didn't do anything," Clark corrects, and it comes out sharp more from habit than necessity. "I did.
"I turned the mirrorbox, and it brought me here."
There's silence again, and then Lex asks the question Clark's been preparing himself for for months, ever since he'd first picked up that box.
"If- if you're here," he's saying, eyes locked somewhere in the middle distance of his thoughts, "then where's Colin?"
***
One
What he truly sees upon opening his eyes are the high wood beams of the castle's ceiling, but what he wants to remember as his first impression of this, another world, is the deep red of auburn hair lying like a silken curtain or puddle of wine or small pool of too-dark blood right across his naked chest. More than anything else so clearly off about where he is in this moment-such as the fact that he's naked in a bed, in the Smallville castle, with someone else draped over him, who's also naked, who's not Lex, who's a woman-it's the hair that both unsettles and centers him. This is a different world, and that fact is clear right from the get-go.
And whoever this other Lin is, he clearly bats for both teams-or perhaps only the one. Perhaps this Lin identifies as completely and unquestionably heterosexual. Although, he has a tough time believing there's a world in existence wherein he, or some version of him, is not madly in love with Lex, or some version of him. It's simply too incredible to contemplate.
What is rapidly becoming an issue, however, is the situation he's currently landed himself in. He doesn't have anything against women per se, but being naked with them is not something that's ever really appealed to him. The same is true of men, honestly. Actually, apart from Lex, Lin would be happy to remain dressed around everyone really. He's spent enough of his life naked in both the literal and figurative sense, and as he lies here in this tasteless and overdone monstrosity which dares call itself a bed, with this stranger who, though in possession of some truly lovely hair, is definitely not welcome, Lin is fast approaching the point where his desire not to rock the boat here in another world will be eclipsed by his need to get. Out. Of. This. Bed. Right. Now.
He clears his throat-loudly. When that doesn't work, he shrugs, contorting his body in the hopes of creating an uncomfortable place to rest one's head and thereby disturbing the sleep of one redheaded bedmate.
"Mmm," is what he gets in response. It's a low sound from the back of the woman's throat that issues through barely parted lips, and Lin can suddenly see this as it happens because said woman has shifted her position atop and against him, and so now her face is no longer hidden by her hair.
She's attractive, at least. The roots of her hair are just as red as the tips, which points in the direction her being a natural redhead. Her voice, when she speaks, is also appealing.
This Lin at least has decent taste in women.
"Unusual," the woman says, her eyes still closed, "you being awake before me." There's a pause, and then she asks in a voice full of familiarity and not a little concern, "Something wrong?"
Lin debates his next course of action for all of five seconds before remembering something Lex once told him about his inability to lie convincingly. And that's true in some circumstances and not in others, but it's especially apparent when he has to actively tell lies, using words and tone in addition to nonverbal cues. Lin can lie by omission like no one's business; he can deflect and redirect almost any conversation; and if he stays silent, only a few people alive would be able to guess at his thoughts.
But, Lin can almost never say something false believably, and that is now the situation he finds himself in. Does he attempt to lie to this woman, who seems to be some kind of girlfriend-or, God forbid, wife-of this other Lin, and then sneakily try to figure out how to get back to his own world, his own life? Or does he admit defeat beforehand and just do what he does best-survive?
His mind's made up for him, though. Probably due to his silence in response to her question, the woman opens her eyes, and Lin's appearance must differ noticeably from his doppelganger's, if her widening eyes and gaping mouth are any indication.
She scrambles away from him, clutching the bedclothes in an attempt to cover her nakedness, which of course leaves Lin completely exposed.
But, then, he used to do this all the time, didn't he-strut naked around a room much like this one and play the part of insolent teenager.
"Wh- who are you?" the woman stammers, and she might be terrified, but her voice isn't shrill or breathless, and her body language speaks more to her coiling up like a snake, waiting for the right moment to strike, than to any sort of helpless cowering.
This Lin has excellent taste in women, which makes things much, much more difficult. A weak, stupid, or unfamiliar woman in bed with him wouldn't have presented too much of an obstacle. This one, though-Lin's not getting past her easily, likely not without a lot of explaining and postulating and begging.
That's when Lin decides to trust in not only himself, but also his other self. Lin left Lex for his double to deal with, so in a way it's only right that he be required to get past a gatekeeper too. So, until he can figure out a more effective method, he'll just treat this woman how he treats-Lex.
And, distantly, like an afterthought immediately forced to the side in the face of more pressing concerns like getting out of this bed, getting some clothes on, and getting the hell back to his own life, Lin wonders about the Lex living over here.
But, he pushes that away and holds the eyes of this Lin's lover, and he says with his hands held up beseechingly, "I'm not your Lin-clearly." The woman's eyes narrow at this as she gets to her feet, the sheet draped around her like a cloak or Roman toga, and Lin is struck with the desire to capture this moment-the ferocity and vulnerability warring within this beautiful stranger. His fingers itch for something messy like chalk, oil pastel, clay, but all he's left with is speech-and memory.
"How did you get in here?" she demands, lifting her chin high. "The security is state of the art. We just updated it last week." The strength she had when speaking of the castle's defenses then slowly melts away, and her voice is thinner but still as loud as she asks, "What do you- what do you mean you're not my-Lin? I don't know anyone named Lin. Who are you?"
"My name is Colin Luthor," he states, and her mouth drops open again, but he continues. "I don't know how I got here exactly, but I know this is the castle in Smallville, and I know your- your version of me, he's in my world. We switched places somehow."
There's something in her eyes when he says that last bit, but he needs to finish, tack on the clincher that will hopefully alleviate any of this woman's fears.
"I just want to get back home," he tells her, and he doesn't fake the note of desperation in his voice. "I don't have any interest in messing with things here, okay? I just want to. . . " he drifts off, sighing, and breaking the eye contact.
"I'm Tess," he hears a few seconds later. When he looks up at her again, she's contained but not cold or unreceptive, and Lin thinks longingly of Lex, his Lex- "And there are some things you need to know, if we're going to get through this." Lin's looking at her, so he sees it clearly when she drops her eyes and takes in the fact that he's naked and then looks down at herself and remembers she is too under that sheet-and that they'd just been lying in bed together like that.
"Maybe some pants?" Lin offers, trying a small smile with it.
"And a shirt," Tess answers, her eyes pointedly darting down to her chest and then back to him.
Lin can't help blushing a little in embarrassment at forgetting, but Tess just quirks her lips, so he counts it as a point in his favor. He watches off and on as she makes her way across the room to what appears to be the adjoining bathroom. She disappears inside and comes back out with a blue robe on and holding another, larger one in her hands.
"Here," she says, holding the green robe out to him, and Lin quickly pulls it on and ties it tight. "First things first," Tess says, standing next to where Lin is still sitting on the bed, "you said 'Luthor.'" When Lin raises his eyebrows, she clarifies, "When giving your name, you very clearly said 'Colin Luthor.'"
"Yeah," he confirms. "That's how I know where we are." Lin waves his hand in a sweeping gesture at the ceiling. "Well, what house we're in. I don't know which room or even what wing this is, but it's definitely the castle."
Tess nods, moving to sit a clear distance away from him on the bed. Then she sighs and grimaces, swallowing as though trying and failing to keep some thought or emotion away.
"Yeah, I got that," she says. "The problem is-okay, here's the deal," and she turns her head to lock eyes with him once more. This time, though, there's definite warning in her expression. It is the clearest example of foreboding that Lin has ever seen. "You're a Luthor, and as awful as it sounds I hope your world isn't that different from this one because, otherwise, you are in for one hell of a wake-up call."
A chill takes up residence in Lin's bones, and it's then he remembers that conversation with Lucky on the balcony a few weeks ago. Such severe caution can really only mean one thing.
"You're referring to Lionel," Lin states, and when she nods his stomach shrivels up and his heart starts pounding faster and faster in his chest.
But then she adds, "And Lex."
And Lin feels confusion, followed by fear, then sadness, and finally anger-and determination.
"You need to-no, we need to be careful of them, steer clear. They're dangerous. You know that, right?" And she looks at him, assessing and critical. "They're not to be trusted."
"And you are?" he shoots back, before he can think better of it.
But, Tess doesn't seem too offended when all Lin gets in response is a serene smile.
"By you, yes," she says. Then, her expression hardens again, and Lin can see the steel in her readily enough, the core within that keeps her upright in what is shaping up to be quite the Luthor cesspool. "Make no mistake, Lin," and she of course stresses his name, reminding them both why they're really having this conversation, "my goal is to see you gone and Clark back here where he belongs. I have no problem helping you get home, but only for the endgame."
Lin nods, glad at least for her honesty. Pragmatism, he can work with. As long as things stay parallel like they have so far, Lin and Tess will both want the same thing. He just prays no other complications arise with the world-travelling.
"So, his name's Clark," Lin checks.
Tess smiles. "Yes. Clark Marcus Luthor."
"At least the middle name's the same," Lin mutters.
To which, Tess, devoid of any true humor, chuckles, saying, "And the last name, as well."
Lin looks around the huge, gaudy bedroom as he recalls first her warnings then Lucky's. Stay clear of Lionel, who's still alive in this world.
And be careful of Lex, who's somehow ended up on the wrong side this time around.
Part Two
_______________________________________________________________________
Note: In Clark Luthor's world, yes, Lex is still alive. This fic takes place in 2008. In other words, the events mentioned in season ten's episodes "Luthor" and "Kent" (i.e. Lex's brand on Clark's arm, Gold Kryptonite, and Lex's death) are still a ways down the road-if they ever happen at all. Time travel is tricky enough, but crossing back and forth between dimensions? Now that's complicated.
Also, special thanks to phoenixnz and roxymissrose for beta-awesomeness on the Prologue bits. My eternal gratitude, ladies! (In short, if it sucks after that it's not their fault.)
Disclaimer: "Smallville" and certain characters belong to Miller-Gough et al. No profit is gained from this writing-only, hopefully, enjoyment.
FYI: One = Colin Luthor
Two = Clark Luthor
_______________________________________________________________________
One
(Colin Luthor)
Many times, he had wished to wake up somewhere else. He longed to be marooned on a deserted island, forced to hunt and scavenge in order to survive. He dreamed of eternally frozen tundra where even the smallest spark was salvation. He prayed for a great biblical flood, fiery column descending from on high, or plague to sweep the world clean of all life-save him.
Those, he would admit to. However, in the confines of his mind and against a tiny corner within even that, he had additionally fantasized about great cities of people where all were his to do with as he pleased. He used to play out scenarios in which every happy ending imaginable was his, and he was the man to whom everyone looked for guidance. He had been a king in his corner, a benevolent ruler surrounded by those he loved-and who all loved him in return. Every single thing alive, every plant, creature, and being loved him as the sun, and it was a choice on his part whether or not to return that undying affection. In most instances, he chose love. In a few, he rarely did.
Always, he'd wished for everything not real or seemingly impossible. He had wanted for something, anything, and back then all he'd gotten in return was nothing-not a thing worth anything.
Self-sacrifice wasn't all it was cracked up to be; that was the lesson taught him from birth.
***
The warning Lin is given this time is still of the caring and personal variety, not yet edging into formality and simple habit as it will some few months from now. No, from the start it is presented as an immediate concern, not communicated in the more conversational tone that will come later but rather with purpose, and the feeling behind Lucky giving the warning is instantly and unmistakably clear. He wants only to prepare Lin, keep him informed.
If only things were that simple that a warning was all that was necessary.
"Everything is about to change-for a time," Lucky says, and he's not looking at Lin. He instead stares out into the darkness of another cold night at the castle. The two of them are on the balcony, talking quietly of matters best not discussed in front of anyone else, especially not Lex or Julian or Lucas' new girlfriend, who's by far too curious for her own good-Lois. The three Kents are within as well, along with a few of Lex's better managers and Lucky's friends from here in the town. Not a one of them needs to hear the strangeness that is a conversation like this one. All would be startled, some frightened, and a choice few would feel betrayed and hurt to know Lin and Lucas regularly discuss such things.
It's such a happy and joyful time of year. There's no reason to completely ruin the spirit of the winter holidays, not now that the four of them are truly able to celebrate-as a family.
"Everything here," Lin starts to ask, playing the familiar role of sounding board, "or is this something that will affect-more?"
From the corner of his eye, Lin sees the frown appear on Lucky's face and the puff of warm air escape from his mouth in frustration. Lucas often has a harder time refining what he 'sees' than does Lin himself when it comes to what they refer to as 'the alternatives,' or the infinite number of different worlds containing different versions of themselves. Here though, at home and with regard to this world alone, there is no doubt that Lucas is always the better informed of the two of them.
A few moments pass between Lin's question and Lucky's answer, and Lin is content to spend that time taking in the view of the grounds. Barely a week until Christmas, and yet there has been little snow so far this winter. It is still bitingly cold though, and the wind that never really stops has fallen into the role of white noise once more-a thick, dull roar constantly rushing in the background. The conditions are right; the board is set. All that's missing is the much needed moisture.
The landscape is desolate, but life is currently anything but. Lin is, for lack of a better word, happy.
So of course that's when Lucas says, "Many things will change. Don't you see it?" Then he's turning to look at Lin just as Lin turns to look at him. "You'll be there, and he'll be here." Lucky's eyes suddenly widen until the whites are showing, and he reaches out to grab and squeeze Lin's left arm.
"What is it?" Lin asks, putting his own hand over Lucas'. "Who will be here? Am I going somewhere? To the Fortress maybe?" He says the next without thinking, just opens his mouth and lets the words flow out. "It's cold where I'm going, cold and-bleak."
Lucky nods frantically, squeezes even harder. The bones in Lin's arm grind against each other, and some pain even starts to creep in.
"It's dark too," Lucas tells him, and every word, every syllable is impossibly heavy, significant. "He'll be here, but, Lin," and that's when it finally registers that it's terror in Lucky's eyes and voice and in his hand as he squeezes, squeezes, clenches Lin's forearm, "he'll be there too. He's still alive over there! He's still there and living like a fucking king!
"And you'll be there too. . . "
Dazed, Lin breaks eye contact with Lucas, turns back to the frozen dry prairie stretched out before them for hundreds of miles. This used to be fertile ground, he remembers. Before mankind, this part of the country was a large sea, over time narrowing down into rivers which then became so stretched out and shallow that many of them eventually just dried up. A polite desert, he thinks, and part of him recognizes the fact that he's now in some kind of shock. They live in the middle of a modern wasteland, all necessity and surface-level honesty, void of any true comfort or connection, and underneath lie deep caverns of deceit and decay just waiting to cave in at the slightest disturbance. In time, they will all be swallowed up, buried alive in the corruption humankind seeks so desperately and futilely to hide.
The world is a tricky place, and Lin wonders if his imminent journey won't in fact drop him into a frozen tundra, the likes of which he used to dream and pray for-just as an escape from the constant torture his life had been back then.
"And he'll be here," he whispers, his hand on top of Lucky's whose hand is on top of his arm-who feels as if he's on top of, beneath, standing side-by-side, behind, and in front of himself, all at once, a multitude of him, of Lin, Kal-El, and. . .
"Clark," Lucas whispers back, and Lin feels arms wrap around his arms, and he wonders who it is being held, who it is doing the holding.
He wonders if his wasteland here is anything like the others'.
***
Click to viewTwo
(Clark Luthor)
It is lonely out here on the edge with no one and nothing standing between him and oblivion. There is the void, and always it is expanding within his chest. Now, few things slow it down, and nothing keeps it at bay. Soon, he knows it will simply keep widening despite everything. For standing here in the night outside all the finery and lies of the castle, he knows he is devoid of any warmth or depth of feeling, like this horrid place is all the time but especially in winter. After all, he too is cold and harsh-but not made of ice or snow. No, there is not the moisture of compassion or hope in him for spring. Rather, he is dry and resolute, the bones of some small creature picked clean by all passing scavengers and now bleached and weathered by time. He is the stripped and twisted trees remaining strong in the face of constant, biting wind. He is the emptiness and silence of hundreds and hundreds of miles of once flourishing river land gone shallow and dry. He is the memory of something lush and joyful that is now severe and bleak. He survives when all else dies. He is something, and within him there is nothing, and soon he will crack open and loose every dark thing in existence upon reality-every single one.
Clark looks down at the box in his hand and sees his own eyes reflected back. Or are they his? Maybe, maybe, they are someone else's. . .
He's a Luthor, and he's not the only one. That's really all there is to it.
***
He is restrained before he even has a chance to draw breath, before he even finishes opening his eyes on this, the other side.
He tests the hold and finds to his surprise that it's actually sound and studied, and if he were human or the person doing the move were like him he'd likely have to work at breaking it. But, he is not, and there is no one like him.
Only, apparently there is over here because Clark goes to move his arms up, knocking the other person's weaker ones away-only to discover he can't. He flexes his arms, feels the grip of the other's fingers and palms around his wrists, and yet he cannot move.
Before he can even think to modulate his expression, his eyes are widening and his mouth is dropping open in utter shock. And there's a man in front of him, but it's not anyone he's ever seen in his entire life, and while Clark's face is probably pretty damn funny looking right now, whoever-whatever-it is holding him is definitely not amused.
"Come here often?" Clark asks jokingly, rallying himself enough to finish things off with a nice cold smile and blank eyes.
No reaction. The other guy just keeps staring at him, and a thought pops into Clark's head, an observation really, but he mentally turns away from it immediately, dismissing it as ludicrous. It's likely the stress of the situation, and the fact that all his plans have apparently just blown up in his face, manifesting itself as acute delusional paranoia.
That fucking look, though. Clark would swear it's-
"I'm always here," the guy whispers, answering both unspoken questions simultaneously.
Clark studies him a little more closely, looking for the signs, finally deciding with a sigh that, yeah, somehow this guy knows.
He goes through the motions, though, for formality's sake. Clark makes a show of looking around the room, realizes he's got to be in the original Luthorcorp building from the view out the windows, and what a weird fucking view it is-all clean and busy. They must be up pretty high in the building, too. The people are like ants.
"Here?" Clark mocks. "You mean to say you live here? Oh, that's so sad!" he gushes, pushing his lip out and going the whole nine yards with the sweetest, nicest set of peepers he can muster up-and he knows his innocent and sweet eyes. Nothing gets sympathy like the Bambis.
But, instead of a growl or a shove or even a tightening of the hold, what the guy does in response to Clark's ridicule is-
He simply steps away. Then he just as abruptly and unexpectedly states, "I'm Lucas."
Clark at that moment finds himself disconnectedly wondering if he isn't the one suddenly in over his head. This wasn't in the plan. Then again, coming over alone wasn't exactly scripted either, and yet he somehow managed to botch that up too.
"Lucas," Clark repeats, and he swears the guy hasn't blinked once the entire time he's been here. "Yeah, nice to meet you." Here he starts to introduce himself, since obviously the jig is up-and, boy, did he stumble into the wrong alternate reality-by saying, "I'm Cl- "
Only to be beaten to the punch.
" -Clark Luthor," the guy declares, his chin lifting somewhat and that familiar fucking expression reappearing on his face.
"What the hell is this?" And Clark's freaked out enough to not even bother trying to get the upper hand in this situation. "Who are you?"
The guy steps forward from where he'd stepped back a moment ago, and now he's right up in Clark's face again, only he makes no move to touch him in any way. If anything, though, this time is even more worrying than when he'd been physically restraining him-hurting him in point of fact, though Clark will never admit that outside of his own head.
And the guy, Lucas, still has yet to blink. He's not taken his eyes off Clark once.
Not for even a second.
Then, his breath hitting Clark with almost every syllable, this guy, this stranger who's somehow all but bested him, says, "I'm a friend of a friend."
Clark grits his teeth and wants desperately to turn his head away from those staring dead fisheyes, but that would mean admitting defeat, and Clark refuses to ever give ground again-to anyone, let alone some super powered psycho.
"Whose friend?" he instead bites out, realizing when the guy then smiles that there is literally about an inch separating them. "Certainly not mine."
The smile becomes a grin, and Clark knows he's lost when he finds himself swallowing.
"Oh, I don't know," Lucas says, and then he finally blinks-
Only to speed closer so as to whisper in Clark's ear, "He could be yours too."
"What are you talking about?!" Clark whispers in frustration.
Then, three things happen in quick succession.
One, Clark closes his eyes and knows Father is right.
Two, lips both dry and soft are pressed to his right cheek.
Three, he hears what he'd been deliberately refusing to even contemplate or prepare for since first finding out about the mirrorbox.
The sound of the nearby door opening, a startled intake of air, and the words-
"Lucas, what the hell? What's going on here? Lin?"
-as spoken in some haste by-Lex.
"Just saying 'hello,'" Lucas responds, drawing back from Clark slowly.
"By, what? Smelling him?" Lex retorts. There's the sound of two pairs of footsteps-one moving away and the other drawing closer. "Lin, you okay?" And Lex was the one who'd come near and Lucas the one moving back because Lex's voice is right here, right in front of him. Clark opens his eyes just as Lex is asking, "What’d you do to your hair? It looks different."
Then, there is perhaps a total of ten seconds during which Clark stares in fascination as the foreign warmth and humor on this Lex's face slowly evaporates.
"Lin?" Lex asks, and Clark can barely remember the last time he'd heard such uncertainty and dread in that voice. Lex takes a rapid step back and then another, stumbles away really in his haste to put distance between them.
"Lex," Lucas then says, "may I introduce one Clark Luthor?" He emphasizes the first name for some reason and goes on to add, "He's lately crossed over from someplace very similar to here. Well, I say 'crossed over.' It's more like he switched places really."
"Lucas, what have you done?" Lex gasps in horror, both hands now white as they clench the back of a chair on the far side of the office.
"He didn't do anything," Clark corrects, and it comes out sharp more from habit than necessity. "I did.
"I turned the mirrorbox, and it brought me here."
There's silence again, and then Lex asks the question Clark's been preparing himself for for months, ever since he'd first picked up that box.
"If- if you're here," he's saying, eyes locked somewhere in the middle distance of his thoughts, "then where's Colin?"
***
One
What he truly sees upon opening his eyes are the high wood beams of the castle's ceiling, but what he wants to remember as his first impression of this, another world, is the deep red of auburn hair lying like a silken curtain or puddle of wine or small pool of too-dark blood right across his naked chest. More than anything else so clearly off about where he is in this moment-such as the fact that he's naked in a bed, in the Smallville castle, with someone else draped over him, who's also naked, who's not Lex, who's a woman-it's the hair that both unsettles and centers him. This is a different world, and that fact is clear right from the get-go.
And whoever this other Lin is, he clearly bats for both teams-or perhaps only the one. Perhaps this Lin identifies as completely and unquestionably heterosexual. Although, he has a tough time believing there's a world in existence wherein he, or some version of him, is not madly in love with Lex, or some version of him. It's simply too incredible to contemplate.
What is rapidly becoming an issue, however, is the situation he's currently landed himself in. He doesn't have anything against women per se, but being naked with them is not something that's ever really appealed to him. The same is true of men, honestly. Actually, apart from Lex, Lin would be happy to remain dressed around everyone really. He's spent enough of his life naked in both the literal and figurative sense, and as he lies here in this tasteless and overdone monstrosity which dares call itself a bed, with this stranger who, though in possession of some truly lovely hair, is definitely not welcome, Lin is fast approaching the point where his desire not to rock the boat here in another world will be eclipsed by his need to get. Out. Of. This. Bed. Right. Now.
He clears his throat-loudly. When that doesn't work, he shrugs, contorting his body in the hopes of creating an uncomfortable place to rest one's head and thereby disturbing the sleep of one redheaded bedmate.
"Mmm," is what he gets in response. It's a low sound from the back of the woman's throat that issues through barely parted lips, and Lin can suddenly see this as it happens because said woman has shifted her position atop and against him, and so now her face is no longer hidden by her hair.
She's attractive, at least. The roots of her hair are just as red as the tips, which points in the direction her being a natural redhead. Her voice, when she speaks, is also appealing.
This Lin at least has decent taste in women.
"Unusual," the woman says, her eyes still closed, "you being awake before me." There's a pause, and then she asks in a voice full of familiarity and not a little concern, "Something wrong?"
Lin debates his next course of action for all of five seconds before remembering something Lex once told him about his inability to lie convincingly. And that's true in some circumstances and not in others, but it's especially apparent when he has to actively tell lies, using words and tone in addition to nonverbal cues. Lin can lie by omission like no one's business; he can deflect and redirect almost any conversation; and if he stays silent, only a few people alive would be able to guess at his thoughts.
But, Lin can almost never say something false believably, and that is now the situation he finds himself in. Does he attempt to lie to this woman, who seems to be some kind of girlfriend-or, God forbid, wife-of this other Lin, and then sneakily try to figure out how to get back to his own world, his own life? Or does he admit defeat beforehand and just do what he does best-survive?
His mind's made up for him, though. Probably due to his silence in response to her question, the woman opens her eyes, and Lin's appearance must differ noticeably from his doppelganger's, if her widening eyes and gaping mouth are any indication.
She scrambles away from him, clutching the bedclothes in an attempt to cover her nakedness, which of course leaves Lin completely exposed.
But, then, he used to do this all the time, didn't he-strut naked around a room much like this one and play the part of insolent teenager.
"Wh- who are you?" the woman stammers, and she might be terrified, but her voice isn't shrill or breathless, and her body language speaks more to her coiling up like a snake, waiting for the right moment to strike, than to any sort of helpless cowering.
This Lin has excellent taste in women, which makes things much, much more difficult. A weak, stupid, or unfamiliar woman in bed with him wouldn't have presented too much of an obstacle. This one, though-Lin's not getting past her easily, likely not without a lot of explaining and postulating and begging.
That's when Lin decides to trust in not only himself, but also his other self. Lin left Lex for his double to deal with, so in a way it's only right that he be required to get past a gatekeeper too. So, until he can figure out a more effective method, he'll just treat this woman how he treats-Lex.
And, distantly, like an afterthought immediately forced to the side in the face of more pressing concerns like getting out of this bed, getting some clothes on, and getting the hell back to his own life, Lin wonders about the Lex living over here.
But, he pushes that away and holds the eyes of this Lin's lover, and he says with his hands held up beseechingly, "I'm not your Lin-clearly." The woman's eyes narrow at this as she gets to her feet, the sheet draped around her like a cloak or Roman toga, and Lin is struck with the desire to capture this moment-the ferocity and vulnerability warring within this beautiful stranger. His fingers itch for something messy like chalk, oil pastel, clay, but all he's left with is speech-and memory.
"How did you get in here?" she demands, lifting her chin high. "The security is state of the art. We just updated it last week." The strength she had when speaking of the castle's defenses then slowly melts away, and her voice is thinner but still as loud as she asks, "What do you- what do you mean you're not my-Lin? I don't know anyone named Lin. Who are you?"
"My name is Colin Luthor," he states, and her mouth drops open again, but he continues. "I don't know how I got here exactly, but I know this is the castle in Smallville, and I know your- your version of me, he's in my world. We switched places somehow."
There's something in her eyes when he says that last bit, but he needs to finish, tack on the clincher that will hopefully alleviate any of this woman's fears.
"I just want to get back home," he tells her, and he doesn't fake the note of desperation in his voice. "I don't have any interest in messing with things here, okay? I just want to. . . " he drifts off, sighing, and breaking the eye contact.
"I'm Tess," he hears a few seconds later. When he looks up at her again, she's contained but not cold or unreceptive, and Lin thinks longingly of Lex, his Lex- "And there are some things you need to know, if we're going to get through this." Lin's looking at her, so he sees it clearly when she drops her eyes and takes in the fact that he's naked and then looks down at herself and remembers she is too under that sheet-and that they'd just been lying in bed together like that.
"Maybe some pants?" Lin offers, trying a small smile with it.
"And a shirt," Tess answers, her eyes pointedly darting down to her chest and then back to him.
Lin can't help blushing a little in embarrassment at forgetting, but Tess just quirks her lips, so he counts it as a point in his favor. He watches off and on as she makes her way across the room to what appears to be the adjoining bathroom. She disappears inside and comes back out with a blue robe on and holding another, larger one in her hands.
"Here," she says, holding the green robe out to him, and Lin quickly pulls it on and ties it tight. "First things first," Tess says, standing next to where Lin is still sitting on the bed, "you said 'Luthor.'" When Lin raises his eyebrows, she clarifies, "When giving your name, you very clearly said 'Colin Luthor.'"
"Yeah," he confirms. "That's how I know where we are." Lin waves his hand in a sweeping gesture at the ceiling. "Well, what house we're in. I don't know which room or even what wing this is, but it's definitely the castle."
Tess nods, moving to sit a clear distance away from him on the bed. Then she sighs and grimaces, swallowing as though trying and failing to keep some thought or emotion away.
"Yeah, I got that," she says. "The problem is-okay, here's the deal," and she turns her head to lock eyes with him once more. This time, though, there's definite warning in her expression. It is the clearest example of foreboding that Lin has ever seen. "You're a Luthor, and as awful as it sounds I hope your world isn't that different from this one because, otherwise, you are in for one hell of a wake-up call."
A chill takes up residence in Lin's bones, and it's then he remembers that conversation with Lucky on the balcony a few weeks ago. Such severe caution can really only mean one thing.
"You're referring to Lionel," Lin states, and when she nods his stomach shrivels up and his heart starts pounding faster and faster in his chest.
But then she adds, "And Lex."
And Lin feels confusion, followed by fear, then sadness, and finally anger-and determination.
"You need to-no, we need to be careful of them, steer clear. They're dangerous. You know that, right?" And she looks at him, assessing and critical. "They're not to be trusted."
"And you are?" he shoots back, before he can think better of it.
But, Tess doesn't seem too offended when all Lin gets in response is a serene smile.
"By you, yes," she says. Then, her expression hardens again, and Lin can see the steel in her readily enough, the core within that keeps her upright in what is shaping up to be quite the Luthor cesspool. "Make no mistake, Lin," and she of course stresses his name, reminding them both why they're really having this conversation, "my goal is to see you gone and Clark back here where he belongs. I have no problem helping you get home, but only for the endgame."
Lin nods, glad at least for her honesty. Pragmatism, he can work with. As long as things stay parallel like they have so far, Lin and Tess will both want the same thing. He just prays no other complications arise with the world-travelling.
"So, his name's Clark," Lin checks.
Tess smiles. "Yes. Clark Marcus Luthor."
"At least the middle name's the same," Lin mutters.
To which, Tess, devoid of any true humor, chuckles, saying, "And the last name, as well."
Lin looks around the huge, gaudy bedroom as he recalls first her warnings then Lucky's. Stay clear of Lionel, who's still alive in this world.
And be careful of Lex, who's somehow ended up on the wrong side this time around.
Part Two
_______________________________________________________________________
Note: In Clark Luthor's world, yes, Lex is still alive. This fic takes place in 2008. In other words, the events mentioned in season ten's episodes "Luthor" and "Kent" (i.e. Lex's brand on Clark's arm, Gold Kryptonite, and Lex's death) are still a ways down the road-if they ever happen at all. Time travel is tricky enough, but crossing back and forth between dimensions? Now that's complicated.