![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Section 1
Section 2
Section 3
Section 4
A bit shorter this time, I'm afraid.
Once the fire was out and Clark was able to check in at the Fortress, he realized that he needed to deal with his *other* big problem. Maybe it was abusing his Justice League credentials to use Batman's contact information this way, but the whole mess was making him paranoid, and he needed not to be distracted right now. Thankfully, the Fortress put the call through without any commentary on the madness that was his life.
"We need to talk," he said when he heard Bruce pick up the phone.
"Come to Gotham," Batman said. "You know where I am."
Clark's jaw clenched reflexively. "That's what I wanted to talk about."
"Is it that important to you?" Batman sounded indifferent. Clark just hated this macho bullshit. Not that honesty was always the best policy, but they were supposed to be allies. He'd just helped Batman clean out half the bad guys in Gotham, for goodness' sake. They needed to come to a mutual understanding.
Okay, so maybe he should implement his own ethic. "We need to understand each other," he said. "And I think it would be easier face to face." Thank God he was old enough not to flush with embarrassment as he flashed back to being face to face with Bruce.
"I'll see you in a few minutes, then."
This was so not a good time, not with Lex newly risen and plainly still very angry. (Clark was aware that this was something of an understatement, but defining Lex's emotions had been a losing battle for him even in their best days.) Clark didn't need to deal with *two* brilliant, screwed-up men with virtually no resource constraints.
Maybe, he thought, I should have considered that before I came on to him. I did know he had the money, even if I didn't know the other thing.
That would teach him to underestimate humans.
Really, it had seemed like a bright idea at the time. He had known Lex would find out, and there had been a nasty thrill from that, thinking of Lex shaking hands with Bruce at some business meeting. More than that, Bruce was gorgeous and sex was fun; Clark was good at it; it was a way to make people happy instead of just saving them from death and dismemberment. It was nice to be good at something not associated with painful revelations or just pain.
Casual sex was more honest. He was careful, not careless like Lex had been. He picked only men and women who were just looking for a night outside their own heads. That way, he didn't have to make promises he was sure to break or pretend to share what he was thinking. He didn't even have to choose who to be, Superman or Clark Kent, since he didn't have to wear a costume at all.
He'd thought Bruce understood. Bruce had seemed to be having fun, too, and fun was not an activity that Clark had ever associated with Batman. Bruce hadn't seemed like the type to go psycho on him. Though as it turned out, that was only because he already *was*.
As usual, Clark's judgment sucked.
This was so unfair. Who would have thought that Bruce Wayne, the male equivalent of Paris Hilton (minus the widely distributed sex tape, though there were always rumors), would moonlight as a superhero? Conversely, who would have thought that Batman's special powers were composed of weirdness and money?
Clark had the irritating suspicion that *Lex* was probably the answer to those questions.
He flew to Gotham.
Bruce's – Batman's – creepy butler let him in. Lex never had a butler. Maybe it was an old money thing. "Master Bruce is waiting for you in the study," the man intoned, as nonchalant as if men in superhero costumes came by every day. He led Clark into the labyrinthine mansion.
Bruce had his back to the door to his den, looking out the window over his enormous dank gardens. He was wearing a suit tailored with exquisite care to make him look slimmer and weaker than he was. Clark felt a flash of resentment – money made things so *easy*. Sure, alien technology was helpful, especially with the appearance distorter he used with the suit, but the Fortress didn't print money and it couldn't replace all the clothes he destroyed running to rescues. It was money that provided Batman's nice toys; without it, all the attitude and genius in the world wouldn't have outfitted him to play on the League's level.
"This is awkward," he began.
Bruce didn't turn. "I know."
Clark closed his eyes. Bruce was deliberately being aggravating, and Clark was not going to play. "I didn't know until a few days ago. If I had –"
"I knew I should have lined the mask with lead."
Clark shook his head, even though Bruce couldn't see – except, Clark saw, Bruce was looking at the window, and there was a reflection in the glass.
Breathe.
"That's not how – that's not the point. I need to know if we can still work together."
"That depends," Bruce said, turning at last. "Whose side are you on?"
"I believe in the Justice League and what it stands for," Clark said.
"And Luthor?"
Clark stared at Bruce. "I don't know what's going to happen with Lex. But I am – I'm going to do everything I can to make it work."
"Have you considered another round of electroshock?"
Clark didn't think, just moved, grabbing Bruce and shoving him against the nearest wall so hard that he heard the creak of aristocratic wood. "You think that's *funny*? Lex's father tortured him, as bad as the Joker did – his *father*, his own father. Yes, Lex has done bad things. Yes, Lex hasn't tried hard enough to escape his legacy. But I will not believe that it's too late for him. I'm sorry if that makes you jealous or – or whatever it is with you, but *I* *didn't* *know* who you were, and I sure as hell wouldn't have had sex with you if I had. I've got about all I can handle with one obsessive psycho genius, thanks a lot. You were supposed to be this gorgeous pinhead, and, you know what? It's your own damn fault if false advertising gets you in relationships you don't like."
Clark paused for breath.
Bruce's blank face broke into a smile.
"Freak," Clark said, but he was already smiling back, helpless against the mockery, which was almost gentle – as close as the Batman could get to gentle, anyway.
"You see?" Bruce asked, pushing Clark back and stepping forward. "Now we have a basis for communication."
"Then I guess it's your turn," Clark said, regaining his composure as he folded his arms across his chest.
"I didn't know either," Bruce said, making it sound like an insight instead of a confession of ignorance. "Not until recently. I don't know what I would have done if I'd known. I don't trust you and I don't trust Luthor, not separately and definitely not together. You're too powerful and he's too ambitious. I'm not going to stand by and let him use you to take over the world, or let you enforce your own vision of morality on it. However attractive that morality may be."
Clark shut his mouth, considered, and nodded. "I wouldn't expect anything else. But I'm worried that you'll do something preemptive against me or Lex, and you're very good. You need to understand that I'm uncertain about you, the same way you're uncertain about me."
"Fair enough," Bruce said. "We worked well together, these last few weeks. I'm not averse to trying it again, when necessary."
That sounded like the best he was going to get, right now. Trust had to be built slowly – at least Clark thought so; he still wasn't all that good at it. If all went well, he could make sure the Batman had access to Kryptonite, just in case. It might make Bruce more confident. Maybe Bruce would even see that Lex's presence in Clark's life could be the same kind of balance. Bruce didn't seem to have grown up with all that mythic prophecy stuff, so maybe he didn't understand how Clark and Lex had these roles to play, no matter how hard it was.
"So," Bruce said, "can I offer you dinner?"
Clark laughed. "Thanks," he said, meaning it. "But I should get back. I'll – be in touch, okay?"
Bruce seemed willing to let it go at that.
****
Clark wrote the story of Lex's miraculous return from the dead. He had to; he'd established himself as Superman's media contact long ago, and Superman's adventures in Gotham had been fairly public. And he did have all the background research about the search for Lex, which Lois knew. Superman did refuse to discuss Lex. Clark made up a sharp quote about privacy and letting Lex reclaim his life.
How many resurrections did this make?
Lois made the routine call to Lex's office, asking for comment. She liked to be the one who did that because she liked the creativity of the responses – sorry, but Mr. Luthor has gone fishing. Sorry, he's almost got the meaning of life figured out and he can't be interrupted. Sorry, he's journeying to the center of the earth, out of cellphone range. Sorry, he's getting a haircut. Sorry, he's got bubonic plague.
Lois was wide-eyed, her customary wry smile missing, as she listened to Lex's assistant. Covering the receiver with her hand, she turned to Clark. "Luthor says he'll talk to you at three o'clock today."
Clark stared at her, equally taken aback. He nudged his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. Lois hastily turned back to the phone. "He'll be there," she said, listened for a minute more, and hung up.
"So, Kent," she said, her eyes bright with speculation, "tell me more about your childhood friend Lex Luthor."
He looked down, casting his hearing around just in case he could go to someone's rescue.
"Listen," she said, scooting her chair across the floor so that their knees were almost touching. "I watched you go into mourning for months and I didn't say anything. I even let you have your little Search for Spock thing – good call, by the way. But he's not dead any more and you are a journalist about to have an exclusive interview with the biggest story of the year. I'm your partner and I deserve to know how your reporting is going to be affected by your personal life."
Clark looked up, trying to figure out what he could say. Her eyes were hazel, green spiked with brown like petrified wood, patient and hungry all at once.
It was something of a miracle that she hadn't asked before. She'd never had any hesitation teasing him about Lana, asking him about being adopted, and otherwise prying into his thoughts. He hadn't noticed that Lex was the only topic she skipped.
"We were best friends," he blurted. "When he first arrived in Smallville. Until – he changed, and I couldn't –"
Lois's eyes unfocused as she thought. "You were – what, fifteen? And he was already running that LuthorCorp plant. How'd you get to be best friends?"
"Smallville's not like other places," he said, even though everyone in Smallville had asked the same question. And mostly come up with the answer Lois was about to generate.
His history in Smallville hadn't been a problem for him in years. The Metropolis papers had never printed his name as Lex's rescuer, and he'd burned down the building where the Ledger archives had been kept when he was home for fall break his junior year of college. He'd blown out the fire as soon as the records were destroyed, and there were no human casualties. There was no need to worry about back-up copies. His interests had been aligned with Lex's on that – destroying the electronic versions up through 2005 was probably the last thing Lex had done to help him, however inadvertently, until Clark had received his bequest of useful information.
"You weren't –" Lois said, then swallowed and barrelled onwards – "fucking him?"
Clark shook his head. "Lex wouldn't do that. Lex had scruples, just not normal ones."
"It sounds," she said slowly, "like you wanted him."
Clark didn't say anything.
"You're both grown-ups now," she pointed out.
"He's Lex Luthor now."
Lois wouldn't tell him that maybe all Lex needed was the love of a good man.
"So," she said at last, "can you do this story?"
He nodded. He could do anything. He had ten years of superheroing to prove it.
****
Clark had never entered the LexCorp building from the bottom. The security was impressive: discreet but all-pervasive metal detectors, cameras, pressure sensors, heat sensors, and machines whose functions were unknown to him. The lacquer-perfect receptionist (cross-draw holsters and stiletto in a thigh sheath) examined his credentials without comment, then gave him a badge with the date and his picture on it, the word "Visitor" written across it in large red letters. The elevator to the top floor had a human operator (one gun at his waist, another at the ankle) and Clark had to give his badge to be scanned before the doors would close.
All this, and Lex hadn't been paranoid enough. Clark looked at the elevator operator and wondered if he'd been one of the men who let Lex be taken.
At last, the elevator decanted Clark into an empty, dimly lit waiting area. Up by the ceiling, in between camera lenses, there were small holes for gas, either poison or simply incapacitating or, most likely, a choice of both. As he remembered, the walls were lead-lined; either they hadn't been destroyed in the Joker's attack, or they'd been replaced. Since he couldn't see out, all he could do was test the batteries in his recorder and wait.
A section of silvery-gray wall slid aside, revealing Hope standing in a corridor. The lights were bright enough to make a human blink after the twilight of the waiting area. She'd changed her hair, twists instead of braids, and her fingernails were polish-free and bitten, as if she hadn't quite come back up to speed. "Come this way," she told him, and watched as he walked past her.
Their footsteps were swallowed by the black flooring.
He didn't notice whether she even entered Lex's office or said anything before she closed the door.
Seated behind his massive exotic-wood desk, Lex looked just the same as ever, though a quick X-ray revealed that his chair was actually an extremely well-made wheelchair. He'd been wearing leather driving gloves that day on the bridge, Clark recalled. Today's black leather pair covered Lex's hand and his prosthesis, disappearing into the sleeves of his fine suit. When Clark shifted his eyesight to look through the fabric, he saw plastic straps biting into the flesh of Lex's forearm.
Lex followed his gaze and held his arm up, turning it so that the prosthesis moved. With its fingers in fixed positions, it looked more unnatural in motion than it had resting on the desk.
"I'm still working on the bionic hand," Lex said lightly. "I could get some mobility with a claw-type arrangement, but it makes most people uncomfortable and I need to reassure people more than I need to be able to tie my own shoes."
Clark controlled his wince. "I hope that works out, Lex."
"Thank you." Amazingly, Lex's tone was irony-free. But he wasn't done surprising Clark. "I want to apologize for the way I spoke to you at the hospital."
Clark gaped at him.
"I was extremely angry and I lashed out at you when in reality I once again owe you my life."
This was the part where Clark was supposed to say something about repaying him by becoming a productive member of society. "You don't owe me anything."
Before, Lex had been so wrapped up in his own suffering that his smooth manipulativeness hadn't been functioning properly, stripped away like his flesh. Now Clark could feel Lex turn it on, extending across the desk like a magnetic field. "I didn't expect you to save me. It wasn't your fault. It's never been your fault."
Lex was a liar, so good a liar that he himself believed every word just as long as he needed to. Clark knew that, so Lex's sincerity shouldn't have felt like a Kryptonite-fueled punch in the stomach.
"We should – we should get started," he said, back to stuttering like a farm-fresh kid.
Lex's brows raised a fraction, but all he said was, "Very well."
Clark raised the recorder, preparing to turn it on.
"I'd prefer it if you didn't record our conversation."
Clark closed his hand and let the crushed pieces fall to the floor. Lex's eyes lowered in satisfaction.
Oddly, the interview began well. Lex's answers, declining to go into detail about his ordeal, were eloquent and would come across in print as charming and sincere. When he wasn't actively raging, Lex probably had a hard time turning off his charm. It had been years since Clark had been caught in the sweep of Lex's seduction, like a beam of light from a lighthouse, guiding ships to their doom. He'd forgotten how Lex could electrify the air, making everything sharp and alive, like the snap in the air of a brisk fall day or the view from the top of a high mountain.
"What?" Lex looked at him suspiciously, as if wondering whether Clark was reading the documents stashed in Lex's desk.
Clark blushed, not having realized that he'd let the pause between questions go on so long that he was just staring at Lex like a moonstruck calf. They weren't friends any more. Smallville was a lot further away in time than in space. He'd do well to remember that.
He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, trying to be professional. Lex kept saying that he wanted people to stop thinking of him as a victim and remember that he was a businessman, so -- "Moving on to current events, what's your reaction to allegations that LexCorp is indifferent to the human costs of its business decisions, specifically regarding the job cuts that came two weeks after the buyout of GreenTech was finalized?"
Lex, whose relaxed demeanor had disappeared while Clark was trapped in nostalgia, snarled. "You know, I am fucking sick and tired of being treated like Attila the Hun because I run a growing business. Hasn't anyone been paying attention? Twenty percent of American children go to bed hungry, it's worse elsewhere, and I. Feed. People. Global warming is making the summers hotter and the storms worse. Half the country doesn't have working aquifers anymore. Whole towns are poisoned by factory farming. The only way to save the environment is to grow more food on less land."
He turned towards the window, gesturing out at the city with his living hand as he talked. "The fat times are over, and the lean times are going to last a lot longer than seven years. We need new weather-resistant strains of rice and wheat, new fertilizers for worked-out soil, new desalinization technology, new distribution methods, and LexCorp provides them. I feed people. When I fire employees, it's because they're bad at feeding people. The real price of a dozen basic foods have dropped nearly ten percent in the U.S. in three years because LexCorp leads the market.
"If I have to fire a thousand people every month to make sure that progress continues, I'll do it. I make it possible -- I make it *easy* -- to eat. I'm the best at it, and I won't stop because it's so basic as to be unpopular with college student activists." He was panting, shaking with fury. Clark half expected him to start throwing objects from his desk.
"Well?" he demanded, hunching his shoulders as if he expected to be hit.
It was fitting that Lex would be obsessed with hunger. In so many ways, he'd been starving since he was a little boy.
But that was flippant. This was far more than armchair psychology.
Clark looked him in the eye. "I didn't know you felt that strongly about it."
Lex had recovered himself enough to give an ironic little smile. Clark wondered again why the scar on his lip was the only survivor of all Lex's misadventures, then barely stopped himself from wincing as he remembered Lex's more recent loss.
Lex's next words were a relief, because if it had been up to Clark to restart the conversation they might have been sitting in silence for months. "Though you may find it hard to believe, the only retroviruses I want to work on insert benign genes into plants."
Wait, was Lex feeling *guilt*? Guilt over helping the Joker, when he hadn't flinched at ruining lives and reputations to build his own empire – it was ridiculous, and perfectly Lex.
Clark had the feeling that "I believe you" would go across very badly, for a variety of reasons. "It's an important project, Lex. And you're probably the only person who could do it."
Lex blinked at this compliment, as well he might. "Why did you come here, Clark? What do you want?"
Again, Lex was ignoring his role in the whole thing, as if Clark had just shown up unannounced the way he'd done too many times when Superman had to curtail some Lexian experiment. Still, Lex deserved an answer. Try honesty. What the hell, you've tried everything else. "I missed you."
A muscle in Lex's jaw twitched; a vein pulsed on the side of his head (which must be a really annoying tell, Clark thought, since most people didn't have that exposure). Lex exhaled, swallowed – Clark must have really fazed him with that. Lex probably thought that was why he said it.
"I knew you'd figure it out eventually, you and the Batman." Lex's voice was as even as if it had been sanded down.
Clark leaned forward in his chair. "I missed you longer than that."
"I don't know what you –"
"It's not too late," Clark said.
"Sometimes," Lex said, looking down at his desk, "I think it was too late the moment you pulled me out of the water."
"Sometimes," Clark said, "I think the most amazing thing about you is your inability to accept a happy medium. You weren't born doomed, and you weren't born saved. You have choices every day. I only wish you believed that."
"I don't need your pity," Lex sniped, looking angry more at himself for losing his composure than at Clark.
"I don't pity you."
"You're not going to tell me you *admire* me."
Clark shook his head, wondering how Lex could think that there were only two options other than fear. "You've lived so many times when you should have died. You lived when no one else would have; you've lived when it was crazy to survive. Don't you think it means something? Don't you think you're meant for something more than tormenting Superman and dodging the law?"
"It means that I'm a freak. But you knew that already."
"Meteor mutants die all the time, Lex. I saw a lot of them die. It's not that."
Lex was silent. Behind him, Clark could see the highest part of the Metropolis skyline, the view he got when he was flying above the rest of the world. The sun was out of sight, but the light was still bright and welcoming.
Screams in the distance –
"I have to go. Emergency," he said awkwardly, unused to explaining his departures. "If you want to talk, or – anything, you know where to find me."
He thought Lex almost smiled at that, though he could have been imagining it, as he rose from his chair and Lex punched a button that opened half the wall for him.
Clark's dad was a bit set in his ways, but about one thing Clark had learned he was absolutely right: You can't make a man's choices for him. They're what make him a man, for better or worse. Clark could only hope that, for Lex, they'd get better.
End Part II
Section 2
Section 3
Section 4
A bit shorter this time, I'm afraid.
Once the fire was out and Clark was able to check in at the Fortress, he realized that he needed to deal with his *other* big problem. Maybe it was abusing his Justice League credentials to use Batman's contact information this way, but the whole mess was making him paranoid, and he needed not to be distracted right now. Thankfully, the Fortress put the call through without any commentary on the madness that was his life.
"We need to talk," he said when he heard Bruce pick up the phone.
"Come to Gotham," Batman said. "You know where I am."
Clark's jaw clenched reflexively. "That's what I wanted to talk about."
"Is it that important to you?" Batman sounded indifferent. Clark just hated this macho bullshit. Not that honesty was always the best policy, but they were supposed to be allies. He'd just helped Batman clean out half the bad guys in Gotham, for goodness' sake. They needed to come to a mutual understanding.
Okay, so maybe he should implement his own ethic. "We need to understand each other," he said. "And I think it would be easier face to face." Thank God he was old enough not to flush with embarrassment as he flashed back to being face to face with Bruce.
"I'll see you in a few minutes, then."
This was so not a good time, not with Lex newly risen and plainly still very angry. (Clark was aware that this was something of an understatement, but defining Lex's emotions had been a losing battle for him even in their best days.) Clark didn't need to deal with *two* brilliant, screwed-up men with virtually no resource constraints.
Maybe, he thought, I should have considered that before I came on to him. I did know he had the money, even if I didn't know the other thing.
That would teach him to underestimate humans.
Really, it had seemed like a bright idea at the time. He had known Lex would find out, and there had been a nasty thrill from that, thinking of Lex shaking hands with Bruce at some business meeting. More than that, Bruce was gorgeous and sex was fun; Clark was good at it; it was a way to make people happy instead of just saving them from death and dismemberment. It was nice to be good at something not associated with painful revelations or just pain.
Casual sex was more honest. He was careful, not careless like Lex had been. He picked only men and women who were just looking for a night outside their own heads. That way, he didn't have to make promises he was sure to break or pretend to share what he was thinking. He didn't even have to choose who to be, Superman or Clark Kent, since he didn't have to wear a costume at all.
He'd thought Bruce understood. Bruce had seemed to be having fun, too, and fun was not an activity that Clark had ever associated with Batman. Bruce hadn't seemed like the type to go psycho on him. Though as it turned out, that was only because he already *was*.
As usual, Clark's judgment sucked.
This was so unfair. Who would have thought that Bruce Wayne, the male equivalent of Paris Hilton (minus the widely distributed sex tape, though there were always rumors), would moonlight as a superhero? Conversely, who would have thought that Batman's special powers were composed of weirdness and money?
Clark had the irritating suspicion that *Lex* was probably the answer to those questions.
He flew to Gotham.
Bruce's – Batman's – creepy butler let him in. Lex never had a butler. Maybe it was an old money thing. "Master Bruce is waiting for you in the study," the man intoned, as nonchalant as if men in superhero costumes came by every day. He led Clark into the labyrinthine mansion.
Bruce had his back to the door to his den, looking out the window over his enormous dank gardens. He was wearing a suit tailored with exquisite care to make him look slimmer and weaker than he was. Clark felt a flash of resentment – money made things so *easy*. Sure, alien technology was helpful, especially with the appearance distorter he used with the suit, but the Fortress didn't print money and it couldn't replace all the clothes he destroyed running to rescues. It was money that provided Batman's nice toys; without it, all the attitude and genius in the world wouldn't have outfitted him to play on the League's level.
"This is awkward," he began.
Bruce didn't turn. "I know."
Clark closed his eyes. Bruce was deliberately being aggravating, and Clark was not going to play. "I didn't know until a few days ago. If I had –"
"I knew I should have lined the mask with lead."
Clark shook his head, even though Bruce couldn't see – except, Clark saw, Bruce was looking at the window, and there was a reflection in the glass.
Breathe.
"That's not how – that's not the point. I need to know if we can still work together."
"That depends," Bruce said, turning at last. "Whose side are you on?"
"I believe in the Justice League and what it stands for," Clark said.
"And Luthor?"
Clark stared at Bruce. "I don't know what's going to happen with Lex. But I am – I'm going to do everything I can to make it work."
"Have you considered another round of electroshock?"
Clark didn't think, just moved, grabbing Bruce and shoving him against the nearest wall so hard that he heard the creak of aristocratic wood. "You think that's *funny*? Lex's father tortured him, as bad as the Joker did – his *father*, his own father. Yes, Lex has done bad things. Yes, Lex hasn't tried hard enough to escape his legacy. But I will not believe that it's too late for him. I'm sorry if that makes you jealous or – or whatever it is with you, but *I* *didn't* *know* who you were, and I sure as hell wouldn't have had sex with you if I had. I've got about all I can handle with one obsessive psycho genius, thanks a lot. You were supposed to be this gorgeous pinhead, and, you know what? It's your own damn fault if false advertising gets you in relationships you don't like."
Clark paused for breath.
Bruce's blank face broke into a smile.
"Freak," Clark said, but he was already smiling back, helpless against the mockery, which was almost gentle – as close as the Batman could get to gentle, anyway.
"You see?" Bruce asked, pushing Clark back and stepping forward. "Now we have a basis for communication."
"Then I guess it's your turn," Clark said, regaining his composure as he folded his arms across his chest.
"I didn't know either," Bruce said, making it sound like an insight instead of a confession of ignorance. "Not until recently. I don't know what I would have done if I'd known. I don't trust you and I don't trust Luthor, not separately and definitely not together. You're too powerful and he's too ambitious. I'm not going to stand by and let him use you to take over the world, or let you enforce your own vision of morality on it. However attractive that morality may be."
Clark shut his mouth, considered, and nodded. "I wouldn't expect anything else. But I'm worried that you'll do something preemptive against me or Lex, and you're very good. You need to understand that I'm uncertain about you, the same way you're uncertain about me."
"Fair enough," Bruce said. "We worked well together, these last few weeks. I'm not averse to trying it again, when necessary."
That sounded like the best he was going to get, right now. Trust had to be built slowly – at least Clark thought so; he still wasn't all that good at it. If all went well, he could make sure the Batman had access to Kryptonite, just in case. It might make Bruce more confident. Maybe Bruce would even see that Lex's presence in Clark's life could be the same kind of balance. Bruce didn't seem to have grown up with all that mythic prophecy stuff, so maybe he didn't understand how Clark and Lex had these roles to play, no matter how hard it was.
"So," Bruce said, "can I offer you dinner?"
Clark laughed. "Thanks," he said, meaning it. "But I should get back. I'll – be in touch, okay?"
Bruce seemed willing to let it go at that.
****
Clark wrote the story of Lex's miraculous return from the dead. He had to; he'd established himself as Superman's media contact long ago, and Superman's adventures in Gotham had been fairly public. And he did have all the background research about the search for Lex, which Lois knew. Superman did refuse to discuss Lex. Clark made up a sharp quote about privacy and letting Lex reclaim his life.
How many resurrections did this make?
Lois made the routine call to Lex's office, asking for comment. She liked to be the one who did that because she liked the creativity of the responses – sorry, but Mr. Luthor has gone fishing. Sorry, he's almost got the meaning of life figured out and he can't be interrupted. Sorry, he's journeying to the center of the earth, out of cellphone range. Sorry, he's getting a haircut. Sorry, he's got bubonic plague.
Lois was wide-eyed, her customary wry smile missing, as she listened to Lex's assistant. Covering the receiver with her hand, she turned to Clark. "Luthor says he'll talk to you at three o'clock today."
Clark stared at her, equally taken aback. He nudged his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. Lois hastily turned back to the phone. "He'll be there," she said, listened for a minute more, and hung up.
"So, Kent," she said, her eyes bright with speculation, "tell me more about your childhood friend Lex Luthor."
He looked down, casting his hearing around just in case he could go to someone's rescue.
"Listen," she said, scooting her chair across the floor so that their knees were almost touching. "I watched you go into mourning for months and I didn't say anything. I even let you have your little Search for Spock thing – good call, by the way. But he's not dead any more and you are a journalist about to have an exclusive interview with the biggest story of the year. I'm your partner and I deserve to know how your reporting is going to be affected by your personal life."
Clark looked up, trying to figure out what he could say. Her eyes were hazel, green spiked with brown like petrified wood, patient and hungry all at once.
It was something of a miracle that she hadn't asked before. She'd never had any hesitation teasing him about Lana, asking him about being adopted, and otherwise prying into his thoughts. He hadn't noticed that Lex was the only topic she skipped.
"We were best friends," he blurted. "When he first arrived in Smallville. Until – he changed, and I couldn't –"
Lois's eyes unfocused as she thought. "You were – what, fifteen? And he was already running that LuthorCorp plant. How'd you get to be best friends?"
"Smallville's not like other places," he said, even though everyone in Smallville had asked the same question. And mostly come up with the answer Lois was about to generate.
His history in Smallville hadn't been a problem for him in years. The Metropolis papers had never printed his name as Lex's rescuer, and he'd burned down the building where the Ledger archives had been kept when he was home for fall break his junior year of college. He'd blown out the fire as soon as the records were destroyed, and there were no human casualties. There was no need to worry about back-up copies. His interests had been aligned with Lex's on that – destroying the electronic versions up through 2005 was probably the last thing Lex had done to help him, however inadvertently, until Clark had received his bequest of useful information.
"You weren't –" Lois said, then swallowed and barrelled onwards – "fucking him?"
Clark shook his head. "Lex wouldn't do that. Lex had scruples, just not normal ones."
"It sounds," she said slowly, "like you wanted him."
Clark didn't say anything.
"You're both grown-ups now," she pointed out.
"He's Lex Luthor now."
Lois wouldn't tell him that maybe all Lex needed was the love of a good man.
"So," she said at last, "can you do this story?"
He nodded. He could do anything. He had ten years of superheroing to prove it.
****
Clark had never entered the LexCorp building from the bottom. The security was impressive: discreet but all-pervasive metal detectors, cameras, pressure sensors, heat sensors, and machines whose functions were unknown to him. The lacquer-perfect receptionist (cross-draw holsters and stiletto in a thigh sheath) examined his credentials without comment, then gave him a badge with the date and his picture on it, the word "Visitor" written across it in large red letters. The elevator to the top floor had a human operator (one gun at his waist, another at the ankle) and Clark had to give his badge to be scanned before the doors would close.
All this, and Lex hadn't been paranoid enough. Clark looked at the elevator operator and wondered if he'd been one of the men who let Lex be taken.
At last, the elevator decanted Clark into an empty, dimly lit waiting area. Up by the ceiling, in between camera lenses, there were small holes for gas, either poison or simply incapacitating or, most likely, a choice of both. As he remembered, the walls were lead-lined; either they hadn't been destroyed in the Joker's attack, or they'd been replaced. Since he couldn't see out, all he could do was test the batteries in his recorder and wait.
A section of silvery-gray wall slid aside, revealing Hope standing in a corridor. The lights were bright enough to make a human blink after the twilight of the waiting area. She'd changed her hair, twists instead of braids, and her fingernails were polish-free and bitten, as if she hadn't quite come back up to speed. "Come this way," she told him, and watched as he walked past her.
Their footsteps were swallowed by the black flooring.
He didn't notice whether she even entered Lex's office or said anything before she closed the door.
Seated behind his massive exotic-wood desk, Lex looked just the same as ever, though a quick X-ray revealed that his chair was actually an extremely well-made wheelchair. He'd been wearing leather driving gloves that day on the bridge, Clark recalled. Today's black leather pair covered Lex's hand and his prosthesis, disappearing into the sleeves of his fine suit. When Clark shifted his eyesight to look through the fabric, he saw plastic straps biting into the flesh of Lex's forearm.
Lex followed his gaze and held his arm up, turning it so that the prosthesis moved. With its fingers in fixed positions, it looked more unnatural in motion than it had resting on the desk.
"I'm still working on the bionic hand," Lex said lightly. "I could get some mobility with a claw-type arrangement, but it makes most people uncomfortable and I need to reassure people more than I need to be able to tie my own shoes."
Clark controlled his wince. "I hope that works out, Lex."
"Thank you." Amazingly, Lex's tone was irony-free. But he wasn't done surprising Clark. "I want to apologize for the way I spoke to you at the hospital."
Clark gaped at him.
"I was extremely angry and I lashed out at you when in reality I once again owe you my life."
This was the part where Clark was supposed to say something about repaying him by becoming a productive member of society. "You don't owe me anything."
Before, Lex had been so wrapped up in his own suffering that his smooth manipulativeness hadn't been functioning properly, stripped away like his flesh. Now Clark could feel Lex turn it on, extending across the desk like a magnetic field. "I didn't expect you to save me. It wasn't your fault. It's never been your fault."
Lex was a liar, so good a liar that he himself believed every word just as long as he needed to. Clark knew that, so Lex's sincerity shouldn't have felt like a Kryptonite-fueled punch in the stomach.
"We should – we should get started," he said, back to stuttering like a farm-fresh kid.
Lex's brows raised a fraction, but all he said was, "Very well."
Clark raised the recorder, preparing to turn it on.
"I'd prefer it if you didn't record our conversation."
Clark closed his hand and let the crushed pieces fall to the floor. Lex's eyes lowered in satisfaction.
Oddly, the interview began well. Lex's answers, declining to go into detail about his ordeal, were eloquent and would come across in print as charming and sincere. When he wasn't actively raging, Lex probably had a hard time turning off his charm. It had been years since Clark had been caught in the sweep of Lex's seduction, like a beam of light from a lighthouse, guiding ships to their doom. He'd forgotten how Lex could electrify the air, making everything sharp and alive, like the snap in the air of a brisk fall day or the view from the top of a high mountain.
"What?" Lex looked at him suspiciously, as if wondering whether Clark was reading the documents stashed in Lex's desk.
Clark blushed, not having realized that he'd let the pause between questions go on so long that he was just staring at Lex like a moonstruck calf. They weren't friends any more. Smallville was a lot further away in time than in space. He'd do well to remember that.
He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, trying to be professional. Lex kept saying that he wanted people to stop thinking of him as a victim and remember that he was a businessman, so -- "Moving on to current events, what's your reaction to allegations that LexCorp is indifferent to the human costs of its business decisions, specifically regarding the job cuts that came two weeks after the buyout of GreenTech was finalized?"
Lex, whose relaxed demeanor had disappeared while Clark was trapped in nostalgia, snarled. "You know, I am fucking sick and tired of being treated like Attila the Hun because I run a growing business. Hasn't anyone been paying attention? Twenty percent of American children go to bed hungry, it's worse elsewhere, and I. Feed. People. Global warming is making the summers hotter and the storms worse. Half the country doesn't have working aquifers anymore. Whole towns are poisoned by factory farming. The only way to save the environment is to grow more food on less land."
He turned towards the window, gesturing out at the city with his living hand as he talked. "The fat times are over, and the lean times are going to last a lot longer than seven years. We need new weather-resistant strains of rice and wheat, new fertilizers for worked-out soil, new desalinization technology, new distribution methods, and LexCorp provides them. I feed people. When I fire employees, it's because they're bad at feeding people. The real price of a dozen basic foods have dropped nearly ten percent in the U.S. in three years because LexCorp leads the market.
"If I have to fire a thousand people every month to make sure that progress continues, I'll do it. I make it possible -- I make it *easy* -- to eat. I'm the best at it, and I won't stop because it's so basic as to be unpopular with college student activists." He was panting, shaking with fury. Clark half expected him to start throwing objects from his desk.
"Well?" he demanded, hunching his shoulders as if he expected to be hit.
It was fitting that Lex would be obsessed with hunger. In so many ways, he'd been starving since he was a little boy.
But that was flippant. This was far more than armchair psychology.
Clark looked him in the eye. "I didn't know you felt that strongly about it."
Lex had recovered himself enough to give an ironic little smile. Clark wondered again why the scar on his lip was the only survivor of all Lex's misadventures, then barely stopped himself from wincing as he remembered Lex's more recent loss.
Lex's next words were a relief, because if it had been up to Clark to restart the conversation they might have been sitting in silence for months. "Though you may find it hard to believe, the only retroviruses I want to work on insert benign genes into plants."
Wait, was Lex feeling *guilt*? Guilt over helping the Joker, when he hadn't flinched at ruining lives and reputations to build his own empire – it was ridiculous, and perfectly Lex.
Clark had the feeling that "I believe you" would go across very badly, for a variety of reasons. "It's an important project, Lex. And you're probably the only person who could do it."
Lex blinked at this compliment, as well he might. "Why did you come here, Clark? What do you want?"
Again, Lex was ignoring his role in the whole thing, as if Clark had just shown up unannounced the way he'd done too many times when Superman had to curtail some Lexian experiment. Still, Lex deserved an answer. Try honesty. What the hell, you've tried everything else. "I missed you."
A muscle in Lex's jaw twitched; a vein pulsed on the side of his head (which must be a really annoying tell, Clark thought, since most people didn't have that exposure). Lex exhaled, swallowed – Clark must have really fazed him with that. Lex probably thought that was why he said it.
"I knew you'd figure it out eventually, you and the Batman." Lex's voice was as even as if it had been sanded down.
Clark leaned forward in his chair. "I missed you longer than that."
"I don't know what you –"
"It's not too late," Clark said.
"Sometimes," Lex said, looking down at his desk, "I think it was too late the moment you pulled me out of the water."
"Sometimes," Clark said, "I think the most amazing thing about you is your inability to accept a happy medium. You weren't born doomed, and you weren't born saved. You have choices every day. I only wish you believed that."
"I don't need your pity," Lex sniped, looking angry more at himself for losing his composure than at Clark.
"I don't pity you."
"You're not going to tell me you *admire* me."
Clark shook his head, wondering how Lex could think that there were only two options other than fear. "You've lived so many times when you should have died. You lived when no one else would have; you've lived when it was crazy to survive. Don't you think it means something? Don't you think you're meant for something more than tormenting Superman and dodging the law?"
"It means that I'm a freak. But you knew that already."
"Meteor mutants die all the time, Lex. I saw a lot of them die. It's not that."
Lex was silent. Behind him, Clark could see the highest part of the Metropolis skyline, the view he got when he was flying above the rest of the world. The sun was out of sight, but the light was still bright and welcoming.
Screams in the distance –
"I have to go. Emergency," he said awkwardly, unused to explaining his departures. "If you want to talk, or – anything, you know where to find me."
He thought Lex almost smiled at that, though he could have been imagining it, as he rose from his chair and Lex punched a button that opened half the wall for him.
Clark's dad was a bit set in his ways, but about one thing Clark had learned he was absolutely right: You can't make a man's choices for him. They're what make him a man, for better or worse. Clark could only hope that, for Lex, they'd get better.
End Part II
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
*hugs*
From:
no subject
*gapes*
The visuals I got of Lex on that table are going to haunt me for a very long time.
From:
no subject
Excellent work, as always, and thanks for sharing.
From:
no subject
Weirdness and money, indeed!
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
Also, loved you Lex. He speaks in such grand scale. You can tell he's going to rule the world one day if not other wise occupied. *smirk*
Going into all of the parts of you fic I adore would be commenting on almost every scene. It's just so wonderful.
From:
no subject
Hope
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
quality not quantity
"It's not too late," Clark said.
"Sometimes," Lex said, looking down at his desk, "I think it was too late the moment you pulled me out of the water."
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
I wanna see Bruce's sex tape! ;)
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
I love how matter-of-fact this statement is, the way it packs an emotional punch regarding what Clark's life as a reporter/superhero has turned into.
He was careful, not careless like Lex had been
*snickers* Did Clark *know* he was acting like a jealous bitch then, or did he just realize that *after* the Rift in this story?
Oddly, the interview began well. Lex's answers, declining to go into detail about his ordeal, were eloquent and would come across in print as charming and sincere. When he wasn't actively raging, Lex probably had a hard time turning off his charm. It had been years since Clark had been caught in the sweep of Lex's seduction, like a beam of light from a lighthouse, guiding ships to their doom. He'd forgotten how Lex could electrify the air, making everything sharp and alive, like the snap in the air of a brisk fall day or the view from the top of a high mountain.
Wow. Just--wow. Breathtaking description.
And. Sexy!Lex after Dissected!Lex. You loves us a *lot*, don't you?
From:
no subject