1. For ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mareen: Revenge: Nolan joins Jack and a couple of rich kids on a trip of the Amanda. They end up stranded on an island. Nolan is the least annoying of the bunch, to Jack's suprise. Could be the Rum though. Note: all sailing-related stuff is purely made up. Sorry!
To Have and Have Not
“If you start whistling the theme from Gilligan’s Island I’m not going to be responsible for my actions,” Jack warned without turning around when Nolan stepped into the cabin. He could still hear the Wonder Twins (or maybe that ought to be the No Wonder Twins) whining off in the distance, but they weren’t making any less sense now that he couldn’t make out individual words. In a couple more hours he’d have the repairs figured out—if Nolan didn’t get in his way, which he wouldn’t even bet Nolan’s money on.
“Oh, Jack,” Nolan said, amused like he almost always was. “I never stoop to whistle.” Jack turned, because obviously he wasn’t going to get out of this without talking, never mind that the navigation system wasn’t going to fix itself, and caught Nolan licking his lips. Odd thing to notice, but then Nolan was an odd duck even among the Richie Riches.
Jack shifted on his feet. “Tell you what, then,” he said, because he wasn’t interested in—he didn’t need to be distracted right now. “If I need your help, I’ll whistle.”
“You will?” Nolan asked, with what sounded like genuine delight. “Then you do know how.”
Jack’s brain itched. Once again, he was missing something, and it was probably a joke at his expense, the way it always was with these people (and, sure, Nolan wasn’t exactly like the rest of them, but close enough, and it was his close-enoughness that had them stranded out here with a couple of spoiled heirs, the Amanda limping from the storm, so Jack was not going to let his irritation go any time soon). “Yeah, I know how.”
“Well,” Nolan said, and paused significantly. Jack stared at him, waiting. “If you need any pointers, I’d be happy to demonstrate.”
Jack didn’t know why, but he could feel his skin getting hotter. He really hoped the light was bad enough that Nolan couldn’t tell. “Why do I always have the feeling that you’re having a different conversation with me than the one I’m having with you?”
Nolan laughed, a cut-glass sound, and it was like he was moving away from Jack without taking a step. “Maybe because you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, Jack. Let me know if I can be of any assistance.”
“Unless you can conjure up a circuit board, I think you’d better leave it to me.”
“Circuits? Let me take a look.” Jack gestured his permission, even though he was never 100% happy about letting anyone else work on the Amanda, and Nolan leaned over and peered into the console. “Oh my God! Is this stuff from the 1970s?”
“She was refitted in the 1990s,” Jack snapped.
“By whom? Soviet surplus?”
“Hey, if you can’t –”
“Cool your jets, captain,” Nolan said absently. “I’m working.”
There were plenty of other potential safety hazards to worry about, so Jack reluctantly left Nolan to go inspect the rest of his boat.
Naturally, Tweedledum and Tweedledumber had found Jack’s stash of booze—his only consolation was that it was much lower-class than they were used to—and in their drunken exuberance they insisted that there should be a fire, even though Jack pointed out that any driftwood they could find would be sea-soaked and that they weren’t actually aground on a real island, but a sandbar.
“What will we do for food, then?” the blonder one said, as if he’d actually thought that there’d be coconuts waiting instead.
Jack rolled his eyes. “If you’re that hungry, check out the cabinet opposite from where you found the rum,” he recommended. He could replace the Powerbars—hell, he’d make Nolan pay for them.
Clomping back to the cabin, he told Nolan, “if we are stuck here, I say we eat them first,” not bothering to lower his voice.
Nolan looked up and smirked. “I didn’t pick them for their conversational skills.”
Jack almost asked, but realized that he didn’t want to know. “Any progress?”
“Eh,” Nolan said. “I should have the GPS back online in just a minute.”
“Make it fast,” Jack said. “Or I make no promises about your friends.”
For some reason, that made Nolan chuckle, and Jack as usual was torn between wanting to punch him and wanting to demand an explanation—why me, what did I do to deserve you. “Can’t you just navigate the old-fashioned way?”
“I could,” Jack said, “but I don’t know this area because we got blown way off course, and the clouds make it impossible to see anything, so my sextant won’t work.”
Nolan opened and closed his mouth. “You have no idea how filthy the joke I just refrained from making was.”
Jack thought about that, then made himself stop. “I’ll let you get back to your work. We’re seaworthy, so as soon as you’ve got us GPS, we can get moving.” And I can get you out of my hair, he added, a thought he was pretty sure Nolan could pick up just from his expression.
“Great,” Nolan said, unconvincingly.
“It’s just—if we don’t get moving soon, those two idiots are going to break something more important than the radio,” Jack explained, feeling obscurely guilty. “Next time, how about you leave them back at your swimming pool, where they can’t do as much damage?”
Nolan pursed his lips. “You mean you’d take me out all on our own?”
Jack hesitated; this was one of those moments Nolan generated on a regular basis, where Jack wasn’t even sure that they were speaking the same language. “Sure,” he said, because—he didn’t really know why, but Nolan seemed to care so much, and he was fixing the Amanda, which bought him a lot of goodwill in Jack’s book, and—well, anyway. “You get us back safe and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Nolan said, more to himself than to Jack, but he was smiling anyway.
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margueritem: Fringe, Astrid kicking ass. ♥ G.
Dana Scully and Clarice Starling notwithstanding, most people don’t expect an FBI agent to be Astrid’s size. Or to have many of Astrid’s other salient features. It’s created more than one hassle in the field, and she’s learned to recognize who’s going to be a problem. The correlation with being a good ol’ boy is there, but well under one.
Like many of the women in the FBI she knows, she went through a period of being deliberately the most aggressive one in the room. That can easily backfire, though, and it’s not who she is. These days she mostly just repeats herself when necessary, shows her badge, and confounds the local law enforcement with tech-speak; in combination those techniques do most of the requisite work.
Then there are days like today, when the suspect lunges in her direction (possibly because she’s the one who looks easiest to knock down, but he’s not giving explanations and she’s not necessarily willing to credit him with that much forethought) and she has to twist to avoid his fist while sticking her foot out to trip him up. He faceplants so hard she winces even as she’s getting out her cuffs.
Olivia has her gun out. “Don’t move!” she snaps, and even Astrid wants to obey that voice. She tightens the cuffs, not as a punishment but not particularly careful of the guy’s comfort either, and straightens back up while Olivia calls for backup.
“What’s going on?” Walter says in her ear, with the barely concealed panic that either means she’s been ignoring his questions in the heat of the moment or he’s been experimenting with his meds again.
“It’s fine, Walter,” she says. After looking more closely at the back of the guy’s neck, where the same strange rash they’d already seen on three corpses is bright and fresh, she continues, “Looks like we’ve got another subject for you to examine. This one’s alive.”
“Really,” Walter says, wonder like a little child’s in his voice. “Well, we already know it’s not transmitted skin-to-skin, but keep an eye on him. If he dies on the way I need you to tell me exactly how it happens.”
“Yes, Walter,” she says, because that’s her job, and closes the channel.
“Back to the lab,” she tells Olivia, who smiles distractedly.
All in all, it’s not a bad day. At least, if you leave out the part where the corpses reanimated, which Astrid feels is fully justified. It’s not like she could tell anyone who doesn’t already know without getting put on involuntary hold, and also zombies are just embarrassing.
So she goes home, has a glass of white wine, and does another couple of rows on the sweater she’s knitting for her brother. “Where do you get the patience to do all that,” he’d asked last year when she’d showed up for Christmas with a dress and beret she’d made herself.
“I find it relaxing,” she’d said.
“But are badass FBI agents allowed to relax?”
She’d laughed and jostled his shoulder, pouring herself more eggnog. Now she thinks that the question was more important than she’d realized even then. When you spend your days secretly saving the world, you’ve got to take care of yourself. It can be hard to remember that, surrounded by Walter and Olivia and now Lincoln, who’s the closest they have to normal (and he’s at least a couple of blocks away).
Astrid’s going to get up in the morning and do battle with Accounts Receivable—there’s a new supervisor who hasn’t yet been socialized into Fringe Division’s sometimes creative expenses, and Astrid foresees a long conference call in her near future. But for now, she’s got her warm slippers and the comfort of making something with her hands, and that makes everything all right.
3. Forjakrar: What-If Fic, Smallville: After Clark destroys the spaceship at the end of season two, he flees the scene to steal the red-K ring in Chloe’s desk. Clark decides that if he’s leaving Smallville for better surroundings, he wants some entertaining company, and that (perhaps more importantly) he isn’t about to lose someone like Lex Luthor to some undeserving interloper like Helen Bryce. PG-13.
Clark was disappointed that he’d missed the wedding. It would have been great to walk up the aisle and let everyone know that there’d be no vows today, not when Lex belonged to him.
After that, though, there was no reason to hurry. He liked the idea of a vacation with Lex, far away, plenty of time to explain to Lex how things had changed. Lex had sold him out last time, refusing to run away to Metropolis together, so this time Lex wasn’t going to get a chance to object. As a bonus, they could dump Helen somewhere even farther away.
So he supersped into the back of the airplane, where all the extra drinks and snacks were stowed, right after the pilot finished his final check.
When they boarded, Lex and Helen didn’t act like he expected newlyweds to do. They were as polite as if they’d just finished a big fight. Clark smirked to himself. He should’ve known that Lex wouldn’t really have married for love. There was some other motive here, and it was probably all about Clark.
Lex was lucky. Now, he could cut out the middleman and get Clark directly.
But Clark still had some questions, and Lex wasn’t likely to answer all of them if Clark just asked. Even if they weren’t in love, Lex and Helen were definitely sleeping together—no way would Lex give that up—and Clark realized now that he wanted to see Lex in action. Lex’s mouth, his hips, his eyes; everything about him down to the cut of his pants promised that he really knew what he was doing. Clark wanted the benefit of that experience.
Lex wouldn’t really mind if Clark watched, Clark knew, even if he squawked about it at first. Lex hardly had any ground to stand on, what with him always prying and interfering, trying to get Clark and Lana together.
Then the strangest thing happened: Lex put down his champagne glass, looked confused, and slumped back into his seat. Helen watched him closely for a minute, then stood and went towards the front of the plane. “Ready?” she asked the pilot, who nodded, and they both got out—Clark X-rayed--parachutes, of all things.
Clark thought these things only happened in James Bond movies; it was a new level of weird even for Smallville. He could’ve gone out and stopped them, or even put holes in their parachutes and then seen how well they liked abandoning Lex on a pilotless plane. Except that this was an even better chance to get Lex far away from everyone else while Clark explained how things were going to be from now on. Helen had betrayed herself drugging Lex; Clark would save him, and after that no one would separate them. Lex wouldn’t let them.
If there was anyone who could figure out how to get Clark’s Kryptonian heritage off his back—and, more to the point, off his chest—it would be Lex.
Of course, Clark didn’t exactly know how to pilot a plane, and while he definitely wouldn’t bet that Lex didn’t, Lex was currently out of it. Clark focused his vision further, which seemed a lot easier with the ring on since he wasn’t doing so much stupid worrying about his powers, and saw mostly water around them. But there, in the distance, was an island big enough to be covered with trees. They’d probably be fine there, and if necessary Clark was sure he could swim to someplace more populated once Lex understood the new order of things.
So he allowed Helen and her co-conspirator to leave (though he was looking forward to Lex’s no doubt epic revenge). After a few more minutes he picked Lex up, honeymoon style—it was appropriate for the day, after all, and Lex looked good all sleepy and compliant—and followed them out the door.
The less said about the swim to the island, the better. Even though Clark couldn’t get tired, it was still possible for him to have to bend at awkward angles, and Lex nearly swallowed a lungful of water more than once. And then they were both soaked, which on the one hand was a good excuse to get Lex stripped down to his boxer-briefs, but on the other meant that Clark had to choose between a wet shirt and exposing his newly seared chest. Even with Lex still unconscious, he didn’t like that idea.
Fortunately, zipping around the island gathering dried driftwood for a fire got him most of the way dry. The Boy Scout training his dad—Jonathan Kent, he corrected himself, he didn’t have a dad any more, but that was okay because he had Lex—anyway, his years of studying knots and lean-tos had a payoff, especially since he didn’t have to bother with starting a fire using sticks and fluff.
Even better, Lex started to stir not long after Clark got the fire going, before he’d really gotten a chance to become impatient.
Lex pushed himself upright, his lean muscles highlighted by the flickering flames. He drew in a sharp breath as he met Clark’s eyes, then quickly glanced around.
“I’m sure you have a really good explanation for this,” he said, making it sound like an insult.
“Helen’s a bitch and she was going to let you die,” Clark told him, which he thought was a fair summary.
Lex blinked. “That’s unusually … forthright of you.”
Clark shrugged and rose from his crosslegged position where he’d been waiting for Lex. “I’ve finally figured out what I need,” he said. “I need a life of my own, away from the farm, away from all those people who think they know who I am. I need to use my abilities to take care of myself. I need to get out of Smallville.”
“Mission accomplished,” Lex pointed out.
Clark snorted. “Yeah, no kidding.”
“Clark,” Lex said carefully. “How did we get here?”
“After Helen knocked you out—Lex, you have the worst taste in women—I took you out of the plane and swam here.”
Lex’s mouth worked, as if he were trying out several different reactions. “When you say you took me, what exactly do you mean?”
Clark took the few steps necessary to be by Lex’s side, and then sat down again. He was still in charge, sitting or not. Feeling the thrill of Lex’s eyes on him, he arranged himself carefully, crossing his legs at the ankle and draping his hands over his knees. “I think you know what I mean, Lex.”
“It would be all but impossible for a human being to hang on to another person through a fall like that, and then swim safely to shore,” Lex said.
Clark rolled his eyes. “Really?”
“Clark, are you--?” Lex stopped himself, because he wasn’t dumb. “Fine. Clark, is this your way of admitting that you have the benefit of some extraordinary attributes?”
“You could say that,” Clark agreed. “Or you could say I’m an alien from the dead planet Krypton.”
Lex froze like he’d been stopped in time. A stick snapped in the fire. Clark waited. He didn’t think Lex would freak out, but he was beginning to worry that he’d actually broken Lex. Humans were so fragile, but he’d thought Lex was the exception, nothing like the rest of them back in—
“Clark,” Lex said, his voice shaking, his eyes wild as the sky. Yes, that was it, the expression Clark had aimed for, wanting it even more now that he had it. Lex grabbed Clark’s arm, tugging at him, and Clark turned to face him directly even though there was nothing Lex could have done to make him move. The way Lex’s eyes darted to his own hand on Clark’s shoulder told him that Lex knew as much. “Who else knows?” Lex asked.
“Are you always this jealous?” Clark asked, feeling the surge of red Kryptonite in his blood, making him reckless, making him want to poke Lex until something more happened. “Don’t worry, Lex. Nobody important knows anything.”
Lex didn’t look satisfied.
Clark sighed. “Look, we should probably work out a plan to take care of Helen and Lionel. They’re dangerous. But I don’t want to think about that right now, and I don’t think you do either. We can just stay here for a while. Now’s not the time to worry.”
Lex’s face got that blankness that meant that he was struggling very hard with himself. “If Helen just tried to kill me and my father might find out your secret, why would I sit around on a desert island?”
Clark brought his hand up to cover Lex’s, still clutched in his shirt. Lex’s hand was so much smaller than his, but long-fingered and beautiful, like the rest of him. His skin was cool compared to the heat of Clark’s. Lex’s eyes grew wider and Clark could feel the shudder go through him even though they were barely touching.
“Because, Lex,” he said and gave Lex his biggest smile, “you’re on your honeymoon.”
mareen: Revenge: Nolan joins Jack and a couple of rich kids on a trip of the Amanda. They end up stranded on an island. Nolan is the least annoying of the bunch, to Jack's suprise. Could be the Rum though. Note: all sailing-related stuff is purely made up. Sorry!To Have and Have Not
“If you start whistling the theme from Gilligan’s Island I’m not going to be responsible for my actions,” Jack warned without turning around when Nolan stepped into the cabin. He could still hear the Wonder Twins (or maybe that ought to be the No Wonder Twins) whining off in the distance, but they weren’t making any less sense now that he couldn’t make out individual words. In a couple more hours he’d have the repairs figured out—if Nolan didn’t get in his way, which he wouldn’t even bet Nolan’s money on.
“Oh, Jack,” Nolan said, amused like he almost always was. “I never stoop to whistle.” Jack turned, because obviously he wasn’t going to get out of this without talking, never mind that the navigation system wasn’t going to fix itself, and caught Nolan licking his lips. Odd thing to notice, but then Nolan was an odd duck even among the Richie Riches.
Jack shifted on his feet. “Tell you what, then,” he said, because he wasn’t interested in—he didn’t need to be distracted right now. “If I need your help, I’ll whistle.”
“You will?” Nolan asked, with what sounded like genuine delight. “Then you do know how.”
Jack’s brain itched. Once again, he was missing something, and it was probably a joke at his expense, the way it always was with these people (and, sure, Nolan wasn’t exactly like the rest of them, but close enough, and it was his close-enoughness that had them stranded out here with a couple of spoiled heirs, the Amanda limping from the storm, so Jack was not going to let his irritation go any time soon). “Yeah, I know how.”
“Well,” Nolan said, and paused significantly. Jack stared at him, waiting. “If you need any pointers, I’d be happy to demonstrate.”
Jack didn’t know why, but he could feel his skin getting hotter. He really hoped the light was bad enough that Nolan couldn’t tell. “Why do I always have the feeling that you’re having a different conversation with me than the one I’m having with you?”
Nolan laughed, a cut-glass sound, and it was like he was moving away from Jack without taking a step. “Maybe because you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, Jack. Let me know if I can be of any assistance.”
“Unless you can conjure up a circuit board, I think you’d better leave it to me.”
“Circuits? Let me take a look.” Jack gestured his permission, even though he was never 100% happy about letting anyone else work on the Amanda, and Nolan leaned over and peered into the console. “Oh my God! Is this stuff from the 1970s?”
“She was refitted in the 1990s,” Jack snapped.
“By whom? Soviet surplus?”
“Hey, if you can’t –”
“Cool your jets, captain,” Nolan said absently. “I’m working.”
There were plenty of other potential safety hazards to worry about, so Jack reluctantly left Nolan to go inspect the rest of his boat.
Naturally, Tweedledum and Tweedledumber had found Jack’s stash of booze—his only consolation was that it was much lower-class than they were used to—and in their drunken exuberance they insisted that there should be a fire, even though Jack pointed out that any driftwood they could find would be sea-soaked and that they weren’t actually aground on a real island, but a sandbar.
“What will we do for food, then?” the blonder one said, as if he’d actually thought that there’d be coconuts waiting instead.
Jack rolled his eyes. “If you’re that hungry, check out the cabinet opposite from where you found the rum,” he recommended. He could replace the Powerbars—hell, he’d make Nolan pay for them.
Clomping back to the cabin, he told Nolan, “if we are stuck here, I say we eat them first,” not bothering to lower his voice.
Nolan looked up and smirked. “I didn’t pick them for their conversational skills.”
Jack almost asked, but realized that he didn’t want to know. “Any progress?”
“Eh,” Nolan said. “I should have the GPS back online in just a minute.”
“Make it fast,” Jack said. “Or I make no promises about your friends.”
For some reason, that made Nolan chuckle, and Jack as usual was torn between wanting to punch him and wanting to demand an explanation—why me, what did I do to deserve you. “Can’t you just navigate the old-fashioned way?”
“I could,” Jack said, “but I don’t know this area because we got blown way off course, and the clouds make it impossible to see anything, so my sextant won’t work.”
Nolan opened and closed his mouth. “You have no idea how filthy the joke I just refrained from making was.”
Jack thought about that, then made himself stop. “I’ll let you get back to your work. We’re seaworthy, so as soon as you’ve got us GPS, we can get moving.” And I can get you out of my hair, he added, a thought he was pretty sure Nolan could pick up just from his expression.
“Great,” Nolan said, unconvincingly.
“It’s just—if we don’t get moving soon, those two idiots are going to break something more important than the radio,” Jack explained, feeling obscurely guilty. “Next time, how about you leave them back at your swimming pool, where they can’t do as much damage?”
Nolan pursed his lips. “You mean you’d take me out all on our own?”
Jack hesitated; this was one of those moments Nolan generated on a regular basis, where Jack wasn’t even sure that they were speaking the same language. “Sure,” he said, because—he didn’t really know why, but Nolan seemed to care so much, and he was fixing the Amanda, which bought him a lot of goodwill in Jack’s book, and—well, anyway. “You get us back safe and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Nolan said, more to himself than to Jack, but he was smiling anyway.
2. For
margueritem: Fringe, Astrid kicking ass. ♥ G.Dana Scully and Clarice Starling notwithstanding, most people don’t expect an FBI agent to be Astrid’s size. Or to have many of Astrid’s other salient features. It’s created more than one hassle in the field, and she’s learned to recognize who’s going to be a problem. The correlation with being a good ol’ boy is there, but well under one.
Like many of the women in the FBI she knows, she went through a period of being deliberately the most aggressive one in the room. That can easily backfire, though, and it’s not who she is. These days she mostly just repeats herself when necessary, shows her badge, and confounds the local law enforcement with tech-speak; in combination those techniques do most of the requisite work.
Then there are days like today, when the suspect lunges in her direction (possibly because she’s the one who looks easiest to knock down, but he’s not giving explanations and she’s not necessarily willing to credit him with that much forethought) and she has to twist to avoid his fist while sticking her foot out to trip him up. He faceplants so hard she winces even as she’s getting out her cuffs.
Olivia has her gun out. “Don’t move!” she snaps, and even Astrid wants to obey that voice. She tightens the cuffs, not as a punishment but not particularly careful of the guy’s comfort either, and straightens back up while Olivia calls for backup.
“What’s going on?” Walter says in her ear, with the barely concealed panic that either means she’s been ignoring his questions in the heat of the moment or he’s been experimenting with his meds again.
“It’s fine, Walter,” she says. After looking more closely at the back of the guy’s neck, where the same strange rash they’d already seen on three corpses is bright and fresh, she continues, “Looks like we’ve got another subject for you to examine. This one’s alive.”
“Really,” Walter says, wonder like a little child’s in his voice. “Well, we already know it’s not transmitted skin-to-skin, but keep an eye on him. If he dies on the way I need you to tell me exactly how it happens.”
“Yes, Walter,” she says, because that’s her job, and closes the channel.
“Back to the lab,” she tells Olivia, who smiles distractedly.
All in all, it’s not a bad day. At least, if you leave out the part where the corpses reanimated, which Astrid feels is fully justified. It’s not like she could tell anyone who doesn’t already know without getting put on involuntary hold, and also zombies are just embarrassing.
So she goes home, has a glass of white wine, and does another couple of rows on the sweater she’s knitting for her brother. “Where do you get the patience to do all that,” he’d asked last year when she’d showed up for Christmas with a dress and beret she’d made herself.
“I find it relaxing,” she’d said.
“But are badass FBI agents allowed to relax?”
She’d laughed and jostled his shoulder, pouring herself more eggnog. Now she thinks that the question was more important than she’d realized even then. When you spend your days secretly saving the world, you’ve got to take care of yourself. It can be hard to remember that, surrounded by Walter and Olivia and now Lincoln, who’s the closest they have to normal (and he’s at least a couple of blocks away).
Astrid’s going to get up in the morning and do battle with Accounts Receivable—there’s a new supervisor who hasn’t yet been socialized into Fringe Division’s sometimes creative expenses, and Astrid foresees a long conference call in her near future. But for now, she’s got her warm slippers and the comfort of making something with her hands, and that makes everything all right.
3. For
jakrar: What-If Fic, Smallville: After Clark destroys the spaceship at the end of season two, he flees the scene to steal the red-K ring in Chloe’s desk. Clark decides that if he’s leaving Smallville for better surroundings, he wants some entertaining company, and that (perhaps more importantly) he isn’t about to lose someone like Lex Luthor to some undeserving interloper like Helen Bryce. PG-13.Clark was disappointed that he’d missed the wedding. It would have been great to walk up the aisle and let everyone know that there’d be no vows today, not when Lex belonged to him.
After that, though, there was no reason to hurry. He liked the idea of a vacation with Lex, far away, plenty of time to explain to Lex how things had changed. Lex had sold him out last time, refusing to run away to Metropolis together, so this time Lex wasn’t going to get a chance to object. As a bonus, they could dump Helen somewhere even farther away.
So he supersped into the back of the airplane, where all the extra drinks and snacks were stowed, right after the pilot finished his final check.
When they boarded, Lex and Helen didn’t act like he expected newlyweds to do. They were as polite as if they’d just finished a big fight. Clark smirked to himself. He should’ve known that Lex wouldn’t really have married for love. There was some other motive here, and it was probably all about Clark.
Lex was lucky. Now, he could cut out the middleman and get Clark directly.
But Clark still had some questions, and Lex wasn’t likely to answer all of them if Clark just asked. Even if they weren’t in love, Lex and Helen were definitely sleeping together—no way would Lex give that up—and Clark realized now that he wanted to see Lex in action. Lex’s mouth, his hips, his eyes; everything about him down to the cut of his pants promised that he really knew what he was doing. Clark wanted the benefit of that experience.
Lex wouldn’t really mind if Clark watched, Clark knew, even if he squawked about it at first. Lex hardly had any ground to stand on, what with him always prying and interfering, trying to get Clark and Lana together.
Then the strangest thing happened: Lex put down his champagne glass, looked confused, and slumped back into his seat. Helen watched him closely for a minute, then stood and went towards the front of the plane. “Ready?” she asked the pilot, who nodded, and they both got out—Clark X-rayed--parachutes, of all things.
Clark thought these things only happened in James Bond movies; it was a new level of weird even for Smallville. He could’ve gone out and stopped them, or even put holes in their parachutes and then seen how well they liked abandoning Lex on a pilotless plane. Except that this was an even better chance to get Lex far away from everyone else while Clark explained how things were going to be from now on. Helen had betrayed herself drugging Lex; Clark would save him, and after that no one would separate them. Lex wouldn’t let them.
If there was anyone who could figure out how to get Clark’s Kryptonian heritage off his back—and, more to the point, off his chest—it would be Lex.
Of course, Clark didn’t exactly know how to pilot a plane, and while he definitely wouldn’t bet that Lex didn’t, Lex was currently out of it. Clark focused his vision further, which seemed a lot easier with the ring on since he wasn’t doing so much stupid worrying about his powers, and saw mostly water around them. But there, in the distance, was an island big enough to be covered with trees. They’d probably be fine there, and if necessary Clark was sure he could swim to someplace more populated once Lex understood the new order of things.
So he allowed Helen and her co-conspirator to leave (though he was looking forward to Lex’s no doubt epic revenge). After a few more minutes he picked Lex up, honeymoon style—it was appropriate for the day, after all, and Lex looked good all sleepy and compliant—and followed them out the door.
The less said about the swim to the island, the better. Even though Clark couldn’t get tired, it was still possible for him to have to bend at awkward angles, and Lex nearly swallowed a lungful of water more than once. And then they were both soaked, which on the one hand was a good excuse to get Lex stripped down to his boxer-briefs, but on the other meant that Clark had to choose between a wet shirt and exposing his newly seared chest. Even with Lex still unconscious, he didn’t like that idea.
Fortunately, zipping around the island gathering dried driftwood for a fire got him most of the way dry. The Boy Scout training his dad—Jonathan Kent, he corrected himself, he didn’t have a dad any more, but that was okay because he had Lex—anyway, his years of studying knots and lean-tos had a payoff, especially since he didn’t have to bother with starting a fire using sticks and fluff.
Even better, Lex started to stir not long after Clark got the fire going, before he’d really gotten a chance to become impatient.
Lex pushed himself upright, his lean muscles highlighted by the flickering flames. He drew in a sharp breath as he met Clark’s eyes, then quickly glanced around.
“I’m sure you have a really good explanation for this,” he said, making it sound like an insult.
“Helen’s a bitch and she was going to let you die,” Clark told him, which he thought was a fair summary.
Lex blinked. “That’s unusually … forthright of you.”
Clark shrugged and rose from his crosslegged position where he’d been waiting for Lex. “I’ve finally figured out what I need,” he said. “I need a life of my own, away from the farm, away from all those people who think they know who I am. I need to use my abilities to take care of myself. I need to get out of Smallville.”
“Mission accomplished,” Lex pointed out.
Clark snorted. “Yeah, no kidding.”
“Clark,” Lex said carefully. “How did we get here?”
“After Helen knocked you out—Lex, you have the worst taste in women—I took you out of the plane and swam here.”
Lex’s mouth worked, as if he were trying out several different reactions. “When you say you took me, what exactly do you mean?”
Clark took the few steps necessary to be by Lex’s side, and then sat down again. He was still in charge, sitting or not. Feeling the thrill of Lex’s eyes on him, he arranged himself carefully, crossing his legs at the ankle and draping his hands over his knees. “I think you know what I mean, Lex.”
“It would be all but impossible for a human being to hang on to another person through a fall like that, and then swim safely to shore,” Lex said.
Clark rolled his eyes. “Really?”
“Clark, are you--?” Lex stopped himself, because he wasn’t dumb. “Fine. Clark, is this your way of admitting that you have the benefit of some extraordinary attributes?”
“You could say that,” Clark agreed. “Or you could say I’m an alien from the dead planet Krypton.”
Lex froze like he’d been stopped in time. A stick snapped in the fire. Clark waited. He didn’t think Lex would freak out, but he was beginning to worry that he’d actually broken Lex. Humans were so fragile, but he’d thought Lex was the exception, nothing like the rest of them back in—
“Clark,” Lex said, his voice shaking, his eyes wild as the sky. Yes, that was it, the expression Clark had aimed for, wanting it even more now that he had it. Lex grabbed Clark’s arm, tugging at him, and Clark turned to face him directly even though there was nothing Lex could have done to make him move. The way Lex’s eyes darted to his own hand on Clark’s shoulder told him that Lex knew as much. “Who else knows?” Lex asked.
“Are you always this jealous?” Clark asked, feeling the surge of red Kryptonite in his blood, making him reckless, making him want to poke Lex until something more happened. “Don’t worry, Lex. Nobody important knows anything.”
Lex didn’t look satisfied.
Clark sighed. “Look, we should probably work out a plan to take care of Helen and Lionel. They’re dangerous. But I don’t want to think about that right now, and I don’t think you do either. We can just stay here for a while. Now’s not the time to worry.”
Lex’s face got that blankness that meant that he was struggling very hard with himself. “If Helen just tried to kill me and my father might find out your secret, why would I sit around on a desert island?”
Clark brought his hand up to cover Lex’s, still clutched in his shirt. Lex’s hand was so much smaller than his, but long-fingered and beautiful, like the rest of him. His skin was cool compared to the heat of Clark’s. Lex’s eyes grew wider and Clark could feel the shudder go through him even though they were barely touching.
“Because, Lex,” he said and gave Lex his biggest smile, “you’re on your honeymoon.”
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