Chapter Text
He's sitting in the same place Chloe left him in when he hears the gravel shift under another pair of footsteps. Slower than Chloe's. Longer strides.
Thought they were beyond this now.
Thought the punches they threw the other night were the last two nails hammered in by their fists.
The wood stairs creak underneath him and Clark hears a heart beating far too quickly. Still there apparently. That old worry. Concern. For how breakable he is. For how fucking often he tests those limits.
"I'm not in the mood, Lex," Clark says to the wood between his bare feet.
"You almost died, Clark."
It's barely held together. His voice. Clark can't help but pick his head up to look for it. To search for it. The hint of something still there. Some residual trace of the Lex he used to know. The Lex who was his friend with no strings attached.
But it's like looking at a cracked mirror. He can't unsee everything he's done. All his attempts to catch Clark up in his lies.
His lies.
Is that what Lex sees when he looks at him?
All of those rickety, string-and-paperclips stories that were so full of holes they might have gone well with ham on a sandwich?
He can't blame him for the punch.
Just wish he'd have tried that before setting up the fucking hostage situation.
Why did Lex always try to make everything so complex?
If he was so convinced. So sure.
Why put his parents and Lana in the middle of it? Why not just take a swing at him? He would shatter all the bones in his hand if he was right. But Lex was never one to prioritize his safety above anyone else's. Especially not anyone Clark cared about. When he'd found out his parents had collapsed from the Luthorcorp toxin that'd been released into Smallville's air supply, Lex didn't hesitate to inject himself with the untested antidote.
He could have died and he didn't care.
"Did you put Gabriel up to this, too?" Clark asks when Lex sits down beside him, still not quite ready to give up that bitterness that boils his blood. "If you did, might I recommend employing more mentally stable variables in your experiments next time around? Unless your goal really is to kill me, in which case—"
"Enough, Clark," Lex interrupts him, a plea in his voice for mercy.
Mercy. Clark's shown Lex enough mercy.
But fine.
Fine.
He shuts his mouth and grinds his molars together, relishing the pressure against his jaw.
Lex stares at him with his incisive eyes that seem to know what Clark is thinking before he even knows it himself. "You have to know," he starts to say with a heft to his tone, "that if I thought you were capable of being hurt—"
"And why wouldn't I be capable of being hurt, Lex?"
It's their fight again, from the other night. It felt good to bait him then. With the fact that Clark knew exactly what Lex was talking about, but Lex couldn't prove it. He was missing a variable. And Clark wanted to hurt Lex the same way Lex had hurt him. Prioritizing what Lex felt he was entitled to over what Clark was willing to give him. He was willing to take something from Clark, against his will. The same way Alicia had when she put that red necklace on him.
Did Lex not think that was just as capable of hurting him as any bullet?
Stealing his choice from him?
Lex stares at him and there's a desolation in his gaze that—
Some days I don't know why I even keep going.
It was like a wall went up around his head and his heart when Lex had said that, preventing the words from really sinking in. Clark laid awake in bed that night thinking about what he said. Some shit his parents might have come up with. Just do good, Lex, and the good feelings will come with it.
It was just—
He couldn't accept that. That Lex—
That he'd thought about it.
That he even contemplated it.
A world without him in it.
Clark couldn't—
Clark couldn't.
Contemplate it.
He couldn't accept it, so he denied it.
Was that any less reprehensible than the things Lex had done?
Probably. Maybe.
Did it matter?
They'd hurt each other. Lied to each other. Betrayed each other. Punched each other.
And now they sat next to each other, animosity all used up.
"I thought it was the worst thing," Lex says, his voice far away. "It ate me alive. Knowing you were keeping things from me. And then you died."
Clark turns to look at him but Lex still stares straight ahead, his throat bobbing up and down. He knows the feeling. Fearing for the lives of people he loves has been Clark's constant companion. Used to be a sharp ache in his gut. Now it's just a dull ache behind his eyes.
Who will it be next? Will he get there fast enough?
In some ways Jor-El's promise changes nothing. He's always been working under the assumption that the people he loves are on the brink of being taken from him.
"I had someone in the hospital working for me," Lex says.
"Spying for you," Clark snipes.
"They told me you were pronounced dead," Lex continues, not taking the bait. "And I —" he breaks off, clearing his clogged throat. "Well, I realized it was far from the worst thing. Not having your trust."
Lex swipes a hand under his eye and clears his throat again while Clark breathes steadily, trying not to move. Trying not to spook him. It's rare that Clark has seen Lex like this. Vulnerable. The only time Clark can really remember is when he wasn't in his right mind. Drugged by his own father.
And Clark doesn't like to remember those times.
Lex looks at him, pale blue eyes made iridescent by unshed tears. "I'm sorry, Clark. For all of it."
Clark holds his gaze and for once he's not trying to figure out what's behind it. Everything is there on Lex's face, ripe for the picking. Not a single thing hidden from him.
His hands move before he can think twice about it. About the consequences.
Lex's eyes shift toward his abdomen where Clark is lifting his shirt, exposing his bandage.
With one hand, he keeps his shirt lifted.
With the other, he peels up the bandage.
Just like Chloe, Lex furrows his brow.
Just like Chloe, he reaches his hand out to touch Clark's skin. Feel the smooth surface where the bullet wound's supposed to be.
Unlike with Chloe, Clark feels Lex's touch resonate all the way down to his toes.
He can't even hear what Lex says over that buzzy feeling in his head. The same one he feels when Lana's teeth pull at his bottom lip. Same one he feels when she slides her hand down his stomach, snaking her fingers beneath the waist of his jeans.
Oh.
He's torn between wanting to let Lex keep touching him and tearing himself away so that he can adjust himself and pull his shirt to cover what's starting to become a bulge in his jeans but—
The pads of his fingers are so soft. Each point of contact feels as though it's searing his skin. Like there will be red marks when Lex pulls his hand back.
But then Lex does pull it back. He yanks it back. As if Clark has shocked him, which — isn't one of his abilities. Not that he knows of.
"I don't… understand," Lex says carefully, looking at Clark expectantly. His skin is flushed in a way that doesn't seem like—
Well, it doesn't seem like fear.
Or disgust.
It seems more like a physical manifestation of the swirling arousal Clark feels in his gut.
Fuck.
What the fuck?
Clark retapes the bandage and lets his shirt drop to cover it, trying to steady his breath. He keeps his eyes trained on the floor so his blown pupils don't betray him.
They were just—
When did this—
Fuck.
What the fuck?
"Clark?"
"I'm not ready to explain it to you," Clark says, trying to get himself back on track.
Lex. He's. Lex. He's. Girlfriend. Lana. He has a girlfriend. Lana. Lana. Who he's loved for—
Years.
Who he's loved for years.
Clark swallows and turns to look at Lex.
Fuck.
What the fuck?
"Clark, I don't — no," Lex shakes his head. "That's not quite true."
Revising his thoughts as he goes. He's so much better at that than Clark is. At being careful with his words. If he chose to, he could cut with them. Cut deep enough that you couldn't come back from them. But he doesn't. He exercises restraint. Perhaps as much as Clark does. Every day.
Did he ever give Lex credit for that?
"Of course I care about why there's not even a bruise under that bandage. Of course I want to understand. I'm—"
"In desperate need of controlling every situation? Oh, I know Lex. You think you're entitled to everyone's pressure points."
Lex smirks, revealing a few teeth, and oh. Okay. So that's. Not just when he's touching him, then.
"Sure. Yes. But it has less to do with entitlement and more to do with—" Lex cuts off, sucking in a breath. "Luthor family things. You wouldn't understand."
"I might."
Lex tilts his head, looking at Clark expectantly. Waiting for him to go on. Clark rubs a hand up through his hair and tugs at it, trying to ground himself and drive away the panic that nudges at the margins of his attention.
My dead father posessed your father in order to tell me that in exchange for missing my curfew by five minutes and forsaking my powers, someone I love will die.
"Not ready to explain that, either."
Lex watches him for another moment before nodding once and leaning back from Clark, crossing his arms over his knees and propping his chin on clasped hands. "Okay."
"Okay," Clark parrots, daring him.
"Yes, Clark. Okay."
"I don't believe you."
"I miss it."
Lex says it the same time as Clark's saying he doesn't believe him and it takes a minute to process it.
A minute in which his breath stutters.
I miss it.
He has a pretty good idea of what Lex is referring to. But still, he prompts him. "It?"
"You."
And that—
Isn't.
That isn't what Clark thought he was going to say.
He thought he was going to say talking to you.
Or maybe, our friendship.
Not: you.
Not just: you.
He's not prepared for the way that makes his stomach flip.
I miss you.
"The way you looked at me the other night," Lex turns to him, letting his hands fall and dangle between his knees. "I think it'll haunt me for the rest of my life."
His gut twists, remembering. Remembering walking out on him. He'd wanted to turn around almost immediately but pride prevented him. Spite prevented him. Pride and spite, the two most becoming traits of a budding superhero. That's what Chloe called him, isn't it?
"I should have never punched you," Lex says, eyes fixed on his.
"Can't have been the first time you wanted to."
"Oh, no. Thousands of times. That term paper you were always writing?"
A laugh escapes Clark before he even feels it building.
"I'm not questioning your decision not to trust me, Clark. God knows I've done my fair share of proving you right. But it would have come with some benefits. Like teaching you how to lie more believably."
"You keep saying you didn't have my trust. But you did, Lex. Just because I didn't give you this one thing. This one thing that I haven't given to anyone else. That didn't mean you didn't have it."
Lex's eyes roam his face. "No one."
Chloe, he means. Chloe, who Lex saw in the caves. Chloe, who was miraculously transported to the Arctic in the middle of a meteor shower that shut down highways and grounded planes.
"I didn't tell Chloe. She found out on her own."
Lex seems skeptical of this at first, eyes narrowing on Clark's, but Clark doesn't break eye contact. And this is what sells it, apparently.
The thing about tells is: knowing what yours is doesn't stop you from doing it.
Clark always looks away from the person he's lying to.
But he's not lying now. Lex knows that. Though, if Clark knows him the way he thinks he does, he knows Lex isn't entirely satisfied with this, even if it is the truth. He wants more. Wants to know how Chloe found out. How she was able to when he wasn't. One revelation opens another opens another. Clark really should have thought this out more. Planned it out better. Started from the beginning. Tried to gauge how much Lex already knew.
"And Lana?"
Clark shakes his head. "She doesn't know."
Shock and something else pass over Lex's face.
Shock and…relief.
Relief.
It has less to do with entitlement…
Lex thought that he was the last to know.
And when it became clear that Chloe knew…
He'd become sloppier since then. Cutting more corners in his attempts to find out the truth.
Not because he felt entitled to it but because he thought that Clark not telling him…
He thought it said something.
About how much he meant to Clark.
Or how much he didn't.
"I did trust you, Lex," Clark tells him, turning his body fully toward him. "From the very beginning. Despite every time everyone else told me I shouldn't. Even after I saw your secret room, when my gut was telling me not to trust you ever again. Even after that I trusted you."
"You trusted me when I came to this loft right before the meteors hit? When I wanted to give your parents safe passage?"
"That's really all you wanted? To give my parents safe passage? You weren't trying to use that as leverage to get me to tell you about the caves?"
Lex looks away from him, shaking his head.
"There didn't used to be a catch to all your favors."
"I didn't used to have chunks of my memory missing because my father had me drugged and committed to an asylum where he forced a doctor to fry my brain," Lex says, voice whipping out toward Clark like a knife.
"That same father who you told about my efforts to regain my memories back, by the way. If you want to talk about going behind each other's backs. You don't know what it's like to have a hole in the center of your memories and for your father to want to keep it there. For your best friend to help him do it. And why, Clark? Because I saw something I shouldn't have?"
"I thought he would have you killed, Lex." He barely gets the words out, the guilt over what he'd done choking him. It's worse, when Lex looks at him. The guardedness in his expression. It tears up Clark's insides.
"I tried to help you, Lex. I believed you. When no one else did. You told me you weren't crazy, you asked me to make a choice, and I did. I chose you. I went with you. I know that I—"
"Hey," Lex says, reaching for him, but Clark brushes him off.
"You say you have a hole in the center of your memories. I have a spotlight on those few weeks. A thousand what ifs. Regrets. About not acting sooner. About the choices I made. About—"
"Clark," Lex says, putting a hand to his shoulder, and this time Clark lets him. "None of what happened was your fault. It was my father's."
And why, Clark? Because I saw something I shouldn't have?
"I could have prevented you from ever being committed."
"That would have been the most idiotic thing you've ever done. And you've done a lot of idiotic things."
Clark lifts his eyes up to his and they're — they're Lex's eyes. Incisive, yes. But also soft. Soft like his hands. Soft like his voice, when he knows you need it to be. On the border between blue and grey, depending on the light in the room and what he's wearing.
"How did we get here," Clark asks him. He watches Lex trace his face with his gaze, looking from his eyes to his lips to his cheeks to the swoop of hair falling across his forehead and back again. His jaw burns with the need for Lex to bring his thumb there and rub.
And Lex—
He has to know that, doesn't he?
His thumb has to burn with that same need.
But if he does, he ignores it. Lex lets his hand fall away and Clark tries not to make a sound when he does.
"I've been some pretty terrible places, Clark. I wouldn't rank this among them."
Clark allows himself to smile. "I miss it, too."
Lex raises his eyebrows and then his lips curve into that feline smirk that raises the hair on the back of Clark's neck.
"It," he says.
Clark nods. "It."
Lex flicks his eyes across Clark's face then nods once to himself, still smirking, just a little more subdued. Faintly, he says, "I'll take that."
And then he's reaching his hand across him. Toward Clark.
"Truce?"
Clark shakes his head. "Let's go a week without any attempts on my life. This time next week. Same place. I might be up for a handshake then."
"Simple enough. And whatever's bothering you — a week from now, you'll tell me about it?"
Whatever's bothering you.
So he was still there, then.
The Lex who was his friend.
"Maybe," Clark tells him.
Lex nods. He pushes up to stand, brushing the dust off his black dress pants and Clark has to stop himself for reaching for a spot he's missed.
Fuck.
What the fuck?
"Lex?" He calls to him as he starts down the stairs and Lex stops. Looks up over the railing.
"Drive carefully, okay?"
Lex breaks into a toothy smile. "I always do."
"Seriously."
"Any reason in particular you're telling me this, now?"
Someone close to him.
Someone he loves.
That's what Jor-El had promised him.
He'd been thinking about his parents this whole time. Lana. Chloe. Lois.
But Lex—
Lex, with the death wish.
Lex, who told Clark sometimes he didn't know why he kept going.
"Chalk it up to my recent near death experience."
Lex nods. "I'll take my turns slow. Next week, then?"
"Unless I need a favor before then."
Lex laughs. "Door's always open."