Chapter Text
Clark wakes as the first traces of sunlight creep through the wide penthouse windows. He looks down at the lithe figure in his arms and startles—Lex is watching him intently, like a cat.
“Do I have you trapped?” Clark raises his arm a bit to allow Lex to break free, if he so chooses, but the other man doesn’t move. After a moment, Clark lowers it again and leans in to kiss him.
Lex accepts the kiss, but does not speak. Clark x-rays him through the tangle of sheets and blankets to check for injuries, but doesn’t see anything beyond some light bruising that might have been there before the previous night.
“Thank you for not stabbing me in my sleep,” says Clark.
“I wouldn’t want to ruin the mattress.”
Clark kisses his throat, fully expecting to be pushed away, but instead Lex tilts his head back to accommodate him. “Heaven forbid.”
It actually is a very nice mattress, and it’s gratifying to know that Lex has reshuffled his priorities enough that “murder Superman” is now ranked beneath “preserve furniture.”
“Kal?”
Call me Clark, he comes dangerously close to saying, but instead he murmurs, “Hm?” into Lex’s neck.
“Did you actually need that musical notation translated?”
“What?” It takes him a moment to stop kissing and start processing the question. “Oh. No, I did.” Clark tries to meet Lex’s eyes, but he’s very deliberately looking at the ceiling now. “My birth parents didn’t have much time to assemble the database. Some things are legitimately missing.”
Clark studies Lex’s face, trying to gauge whether he believes this or not, but he’s unreadable.
“I liked the piece you did on the piano,” offers Clark. “When did you learn to play?”
“Sometime in my early teenage years.” He hesitates, like he’s not sure how much he wants to disclose. “I tried my hand at composing as well. I wasn’t very good at it. And my father didn’t approve.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was only a passing interest.”
“And the violin? Did you learn that at the same time?”
“No, that was another temporary fixation of mine, much later. It only lasted a few months, and I lost interest when they changed my medication.”
“You learned to play the violin in a few months? That’s impossible.”
“The flying man is impressed because I managed to learn to play an instrument a little faster than average,” Lex informs his ceiling. “I neglected to eat or sleep as much as I should have, so that earned me a few extra hours of practice.”
“That sounds a little unhealthy.”
“I went through so many phases, particularly as a teenager. Robotics, naturally. That one never really left me. Chess lasted nearly a year. I made it to a few international tournaments. After that it was cryptography. Chemistry still comes and goes. Ancient history. When I was fifteen, I spent an entire summer in Japan learning from a bonsai master. It might have gone on longer, but my father had me dragged home.”
Clark’s smile broadens. “You’re saying you’ve always been like this?”
“Unfortunately.”
“I don’t think it’s unfortunate. I think it’s incredible.”
Lex doesn’t appear to know how to respond, and Clark doesn’t want to push him for a reply. He closes his eyes again, just to rest them, and falls back asleep.
Really, the mattress is to blame.
When Clark wakes up again, he’s alone.
The lead-lined walls of the penthouse mean that he can’t do a quick sweep to figure out where Lex (or any of his staff, for the matter) might be. Still, he’s not chained down to anything and he can’t sense any kryptonite nearby, so he gets up.
He dresses quickly (counting himself lucky that his suit is draped over a chair where he’d left it and not being disassembled in a research lab somewhere) and checks both phones. There are a few texts, including one from Kara indicating she made it home safely, but nothing that needs his urgent attention.
He finds Lex outside, in the same room where they had their golf-themed confrontation several months ago. This time, he’s sitting on the couch with a laptop, typing furiously. He glances up as Clark enters.
“Oh. You’re still here.”
“Should I go?”
“If you want to.”
Clark does not want to, not at all, so instead he sits down beside Lex. “Is there anything to eat?” he asks hopefully.
One phone call and fifteen minutes later, Clark is working his way through his second breakfast sandwich while Lex sips a black coffee and ignores a spinach wrap.
When Mercy arrives a bit later, she looks between them and sighs.
“Fine,” she says wearily. “Fine, whatever, you win. I don’t care anymore.”
“How do I make him eat?” asks Clark.
“Small pieces. One at a time.”
“I’m not a child,” Lex snaps, but he doesn’t look up from whatever he’s working on. Clark could x-ray through the back of the screen, but that’s not very sportsmanlike, so he leaves it for now.
“Do you remember what Zod said?” Clark asks when he can no longer stand the silence.
Lex doesn’t look up from his screen. “I’ve actually made a special effort to block that entire day out.”
“He thought we were married.”
Lex doesn’t respond.
“And Kara thought the same.”
“Kryptonian relationships must have been contentious,” says Lex flatly.
“No, that’s not—that’s what you’re taking away from it?” Clark is aghast. “No, you don’t actually believe that. You’re just being…”
There’s no missing the spark of interest in Lex’s eyes as Clark fumbles for the correct word. For some reason, Lex suddenly cares about what he has to say. Is he waiting for an insult? Is he expecting an insult?
“…contrarian,” finishes Clark.
“Contrarian?”
“And self-sabotaging.”
Lex raises a pale eyebrow. “Who taught you those words?”
“You are!” says Clark, pleased to have cracked the code. “You’re pushing me away because you’re afraid.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“You’re afraid I might love you unconditionally.”
Lex spills his coffee across his keyboard. He curses and jumps out of his seat and searches for something to mop it up with while Clark sits there, watching him rush around the penthouse and avoid the subject.
Bruce is the first one to catch on. He pulls Clark aside next time they cross paths at the Watchtower.
“Tell me if you need help,” he says quietly. “Any time of the day or night. Call me.”
“Don’t worry,” says Clark. “It’s been calm so far.”
“I hope it stays that way. Genuinely, I do.” Bruce meets his eyes. “For everyone’s sake. But if it goes wrong, I won’t gloat. I’ll be here for you.”
Half an hour later, Diana hugs him and says, “Be careful.”
“I will,” promises Clark.
He’s sort of afraid that word is going to spread to the rest of the League, even though he’s aware that Bruce and Diana are probably the most capable of keeping his secret. It’s not that he’s ashamed of Lex, but he knows the others won’t understand, and it’s not fair to expect them to.
Maybe if Lex manages to make some significant changes… but that will likely take years of effort. In the meantime, the knowledge will only worry his teammates, and they already carry the weight of the world. He won’t add to their burden.
“I know you think you can’t change,” says Kal a couple days later. He’s fallen into the habit of stopping by in the evening, and Lex has subsequently fallen into the habit of refusing to schedule any meetings past seven. “You’re wrong.”
Lex sips at his wine and stares at him and says nothing. They’re on the roof, and the air is a little cold, but not unbearably so.
“You’re wrong,” repeats Kal.
“This isn’t going to work out, is it?” asks Lex conversationally. “Someone will take a picture of us together and your image will be ruined, or I’ll accidentally wipe out an entire neighborhood when an experiment goes wrong and you’ll finally snap and beat me to death.”
“Neither of those things are going to happen,” says Kal. “I would appreciate it if you’d consider taking some measures that might help you stop hurting people, but I’m not going to twist your arm.”
“There’s no way to avoid hurting people. Not when I’m working at this scope.” He waves his hand broadly. “It’s inevitable.”
“You could at least try.” Kal looks like an affronted child. “You could stop buying up residential neighborhoods and building factories and warehouses where homes used to be. That’s not so hard, is it? For a start?”
Lex doesn’t have an answer for him. If Kal’s first request is something so simple… if it’s to refrain from something, if it’s the absence of action… perhaps there’s no harm in acquiescing.
“Fine,” says Lex. “Though I don’t see the point.”
“How can you not see the point?”
“You could ask anything of me, and you ask me to do nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” says Kal. “How can you say it’s nothing? It’s nothing to you, maybe, but to all the people you might have displaced, I promise, it’s not nothing.”
“Your standards are low.”
“I don’t understand why…” Kal’s expression shifts from confusion to disbelief. “No, wait. I do. It’s not grandiose enough for you, is it? It’s not flashy. It’s small, and simple, and you hate that, don’t you?”
“You are oversimplifying—”
“No I’m not!” Kal laughs incredulously. “Would you be happier if I asked you to shut down your entire company?”
“Of course not,” says Lex, “but I’d expect it from you.”
Kal breathes in deeply, like he’s trying to maintain his composure. “You expect me to ask you to put a few hundred thousand people out of work?”
“It seems like the sort of thing you’d want.”
“I think it seems like the sort of thing you’d want,” retorts Kal. “Something big and loud to get everyone’s attention and hurt a lot of people and accomplish nothing.”
“If that’s what you think of me, why are you here?”
“Because that’s not what I think of you!” Kal grabs him by the shoulders, and he almost drops the glass. “You might actually be the single most intelligent human being to ever live! You could—you can—do almost anything! That’s why it kills me when I see you get wrapped up in ridiculous, destructive projects!”
Kal tries to force eye contact, but Lex stares steadfastly at a point just above his ear.
“Goodness isn’t something you achieve once and hold onto forever like a trophy. It’s hundreds of little things, every day, for the rest of your life.” There is a hint of desperation in his voice. “I thought if we started out small, it would be easier. You can’t change overnight, nobody can. It wouldn’t be fair of me to expect you to.”
“You deserve better.” Lex doesn’t know why it’s easier to be honest in Kryptonian, but it is.
“You think I don’t understand how you were raised?” asks Kal, shifting languages with him. “You think I don’t realize how difficult this will be for you?”
“I do not credit my father for my success. Nor will I blame him for my choices.”
“Your father taught you there was nothing more important than gathering as much power as you possibly could,” says Kal. “So you did exactly that, and used it to break free of him and protect your sister. Of course the lesson stuck. I’ll never fault you for that.”
Lex has no reply for him. Kal kisses his forehead.
“I will fail,” says Lex flatly. “Sooner or later, I will fail and you will hate me.”
“No.” Kal releases his arms and wraps him in a hug instead. “I won’t hate you. I expect you to fail. Does that help? What I’m asking you to do is incredibly difficult. You’ll slip. You’ll decide it’s not worth it. You’ll fail, but it won’t matter, because everyone fails, and I will never hate you.”
Kal might mean it now, but Lex isn’t so confident that he’ll still feel that way in the wake of whatever disaster is waiting for them down the road.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… that nobody’s ever said this to you before,” Kal could shatter his bones like glass if he wanted to, but he’s incredibly gentle, “but I’m not going to stop loving you the moment you stop doing exactly what I want.”
Lex will believe that when he sees it, and not a moment sooner, but he no longer has the energy for an argument. His future has never been more uncertain, but at least Kal’s arms are warm and there’s nothing that needs fighting tonight, so he says nothing and hopes Kal interprets his silence as an agreement.
Clark borrows a crystal from Kara’s precious collection and watches The Lost Sea with Lex on a Friday night. It’s a good story, a romance and an adventure wrapped in one, and the lead actress reminds him a little bit of Lex. She plays a devoted scientist leading an expedition to discover why one of Krypton’s seas dried up a few decades previously. The journey takes them deep below the surface of the planet, and along the way, she falls in love with the artist assigned to document their journey.
At the end of it, she stands in the middle of the empty sea basin as torrential rains beat down. Her colleagues try to drag her to safety, but she will not be moved, for the artist she loves has refused to break off his engagement to another woman. In the end, they are forced to leave without her, and the newly restored sea becomes her grave.
Clark, who prefers to see his protagonists alive and happily married, suggests that maybe next time they should watch something happier, but he can tell Lex loves it. I knew it would have a tragic ending from the start, he claims. The soundtrack gave it away.
Clark falls asleep on the couch without really meaning to, and wakes a little later to see Lex sitting in front of the projector, deep in conversation with a hologram of a Kryptonian woman he does not recognize. A memory backup, he supposes, similar to Jor-El's. She is handsome, though not exactly beautiful, with red curls and dark eyes.
“Did you receive much backlash when you began writing poetry instead of stageplays?” Lex is asking, and Clark smiles at the innocent nerdiness of the question.
“I think the guild was more irritated than the public,” replies the woman. “They wanted loud, flashy, objective successes after all. The most mediocre show will always receive more attention than the finest collection of poems.”
“It is the same among my people.”
“The collection wasn’t as well received as the guild hoped, but it was in line with what I expected. I hadn’t written it for mass appeal. I wrote it for myself.” Her face darkens, twists, and Clark recognizes her as the starring actress of the production they just watched. “After all I gave them, I think I was owed a moment of freedom. Perhaps even more. What I took was so small, compared to what I was owed.”
That sounds a little ominous to Clark.
“When was your memory backup made?” asks Lex.
“You’re asking if I know how my own story ends,” says the woman. “I know what I intended. I do not know if I succeeded. If I did, it happened after my memories were copied to a neurocomputer.”
“I believe you did,” says Lex.
Clark wants to ask what they’re talking about, but they seem immersed in their conversation and he doesn’t want to bumble in.
She nods. “From the questions you asked, I thought I might have.”
“Do you think you regretted it, once it was done?” asks Lex.
“Certainly not. His name will be written beside mine forever. I’d have preferred a monument, but he was so terribly uncooperative. I could have given him so much more, if he’d only accepted it.”
Lex switches the projector off abruptly, sinking the room into darkness. He’s breathing heavily enough that Clark would be able to hear it even without superpowers.
“Lex? What’s wrong?”
“Kal.” He’s just barely able to make out Lex’s silhouette shifting to face him. “How much of that did you hear?”
“I don’t know. A bit? I didn’t understand it.”
“Good.” Lex is still breathing like he’s just fought off an attacker. “I hope you never understand.”
Lex announces his intentions to run for senator at a press conference a few days later. He’s honestly shocked at how shocked everyone appears to be. For him, it’s the logical progression of his ambitions, and dovetails nicely with Kal’s apparent mission to shut down his more objectionable enterprises over the next few years.
His conversation with Eila’s ghost had been the final push he needed. She’d shown him a brief but excruciatingly vivid glimpse into a future he did not want. Her work is magnificent, and he understands her all too well, but he will not allow himself to follow in her footsteps.
Lane asks him a pointed question about his criminal record, and Lex rattles off the answer with practiced ease. As the questions continue to pour in, his eyes drift back in her direction. It’s not Lane who has captured his attention today, though. It's the tall man standing beside her.
Lex has seen him many, many times before, though he’ll admit he’s always thought of him as an extension of Lane’s will rather than a true individual. He’s about as memorable as a cinderblock, and the same approximate shape. He might be handsome, in a suburban sort of way, but his washed-out sweater vest and oversized glasses are doing him absolutely no favors.
What’s his name? Lex can’t recall.
The conference goes on for another hour. When it’s finally over, Lex allows Mercy to lead him back to the car. He checks his phone and finds the Legion group chat is currently exploding, and his twitter notifications are a disaster, but there is no message from Kal yet.
On the other side of the parking lot, Lois and the tall man are discussing something. Mercy starts the engine, but Lex steps out of the car.
“Sir?” she asks.
“Two minutes,” he says, breaking into a rapid stride.
“—restrictions against running for office based on criminal record—” Lois is saying as he approaches.
“There aren’t,” says the tall man, opening the passenger’s side door for her. Kent, Lex recalls suddenly. His name is Kent. Clark Kent. “And besides, we need to consider—”
“Excuse me.”
The two journalists turn to look at him. Lois bristles—on principle, he supposes, because he’s made a special effort to not do anything horrible today—and steps in front of Clark protectively.
Clark rests a placating hand on her shoulder and smiles a bit awkwardly.
“Mr. Luthor,” he says. “Can we help you?”
The posture. The sweater. The rumpled trousers and scuffed shoes. How many years has Lex spent staring past him, around him, through him?
Lex reaches out very slowly and removes Clark’s glasses from his face. Lois gasps softly, but Clark’s smile shifts from awkward to genuine.
“I think we’ve been overdue for that,” he says.