Archive of Our Own ^beta

Technicolor Blind

Disclaimer: Not mine! Belong to WB, DC Comics, and whoever else owns Superman's rights these days. Done in absolute, utter and amused adoration for the characters. <3

The first time Lex Luthor saw Superman, he was waiting outside the Cafe du Chat Noir for Clark Kent.

He had just asked to be moved to a table inside, because the sun was a little too bright and a little too hot, when a scream cut through the everyday noise of the busy Metropolis streets outside. Everyone looked, including Lex; animal instinct taking over.

Seeing it was a woman chasing after a purse-snatcher, he nearly looked away too soon. Petty crimes were common on the Metropolis streets of late. But he didn't, and next thing he knew he was blinking back surprise at the sight of a man swooping down out of the air, red cape flapping and bright blue spandex leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

There were more screams around him, some of surprise, and some delight. He'd certainly read about Metropolis's new hero, who'd already made five appearances in as many days. He hadn't expected ... this, however. Some boy's Saturday morning dream come to life, brain bombarded with too many cartoons: eye-searing colors painted like a second skin over bulging muscles, complete with dramatic red cape and trademarked logo. He supposed the red underoos were for modesty. After all, anyone in that getup couldn't be too concerned about his dignity. Lex Luthor found himself laughing while applause broke out around him.

Purse-snatcher subdued, Superman handed back the woman's belongings with absolute gentility. "Here you go, ma'am," he said, breaking into a smile; Lex reigned in his laughter and found himself staring at the brightly emblazoned "S" on the man's chest. Knuckles rested on his hips, feet firmly planted, Superman looked like he was posing for the cameras before he leapt back into the air with a jaunty, "You take care now."

Lex tugged absently at the lapel of his stylish grey suit jacket and wondered just what kind of a jackass would be caught running around in an outfit like that. As the applause around him died down, he tapped the shoulder of a waiter and cleared his throat. The man jumped, snapping out of his daze, and hurriedly gestured towards the door leading to the inside of the caf.

He had barely taken a seat at the new table when he saw Clark waving to him from across the restaurant. "Lex! Hey!"

Clark practically collided with a waiter as he made his way between the tightly packed tables, saved from a tomato-bisque bath by sheer dumb luck. Still stuttering apologies, he dropped ungracefully into the chair across from Lex with his ears crimson and his thick-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose.

"Since when did you start wearing glasses?" Lex said, settling back in his chair.

"Huh? Oh. These." Clark pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose, but they started to slide again. "While I was in school-- away. I guess I read too many books, or something."

"Surely you could have picked nicer frames, Clark. If you want, I could get you an appointment with Dr. Samson's office. The image consultants there are really very good--"

"Thanks. But it's okay." Clark fumbled with his menu, nearly knocking his water glass over in the process. "Sorry."

It had been a long time since they'd seen each other, five years actually, so it was understandable that Clark was a bit distracted, Lex thought. Certainly he was trying to reconcile some of this older, wiser -- clumsier -- Clark with the friend of his youth.

Underneath the awkward glasses and the slightly rumpled suit, Clark looked mostly the same: wide shoulders, boy-scout good looks, sheepish grin. Clark glanced up, caught Lex looking, and positively beamed; Lex found himself half-smiling back. It caught him off guard, even though it shouldn't have. Clark always kept him amused. "So what have you been up to these days?"

The waiter came back. Lex ignored him, waiting for Clark's reply; Clark handed the waiter his menu and said, "I'll just have the, um, smoked turkey sandwich. And a coke. Please."

Clark looked at Lex expectantly. He sighed. "I'll have the smoked salmon and dill crepe." He waved the waiter off, and returned Clark's look.

"This is a nice place."

"It's convenient."

"I'm working at the Daily Planet," Clark finally supplied. "It's not bad. What about you, what's up with you?"

"Chloe finally converted you to the church of journalists, huh?" Lex stirred his coffee, watching Clark fold his napkin into squares and back out again. "I'm sure you've heard as much as you ever wanted to about LexCorp at the Planet."

Clark dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry about your father."

"I'm not," Lex replied automatically, before he could take it back.

But Clark only smiled. Lex frowned, and hid his expression behind his coffee cup. Something about that smile made him want to cover up the joy he'd felt when his father had finally passed away. And having to hide from Clark -- well, they'd always had their secrets, but Lex had never been quiet about his contempt for his father. He'd been much more discreet about other feelings towards Lionel Luthor, but never about his contempt.

"You haven't changed a bit," Clark said, still smiling.

Lex raised his eyebrows. "And you're the same as ever," he replied, dryly.

They switched to safer topics after that: old friends, Lana Lang, memories of Smallville, Superman. Clark wouldn't say anything about his long absence beyond vague references to "wanting to see the world," so Lex left it alone and figured he would find out soon enough one way or another. But after they'd eaten, and he'd gotten the check, he ventured one last question.

"What made you come to Metropolis? Why not Gotham, or back to Smallville, or somewhere else?"

Clark shrugged, ducking his head, but Lex didn't miss the look he got out of the corner his eye. "Old friends," Clark said, "All my friends seem to have moved to Metropolis. And... I just have this feeling. Like I'm needed here. Like it's home."

Lex would have laughed, but Clark looked so serious that he kept a straight face on. "My home is your home," he said instead, gesturing around him.

"You sound like you own the city!"

"I will soon," Lex grinned, and he was only half-joking. Clark laughed as they stood, and made an aborted motion towards Lex that he realized was an attempt at a hug. For a moment, they stood both frozen, hesitant; then Lex extended his hand. "It's been good to see you, Clark."

Clark's grip was strong, and halfway through their handshake he pulled Lex forward, embracing him, hastily adding a manly slap to the back before they broke apart. "I'm sorry I didn't keep in touch," he said awkwardly.

Lex felt old feelings flood through him, regret and admiration and other things, along with a sentimentality he though he'd long since abandoned. He cleared his throat to cover it up, gave Clark a tight smile. "We should do this again sometime. I can always use a few more friends in the press."

Clark smiled and waved, and Lex stood there for a while, feeling oddly disconcerted.

#

Lex wasn't used to reviewing his casual lunches in his mind all day. He hadn't expected to find his old interest in Clark revived, his old affection -- if that wasn't too strong of a word -- but that wasn't it. Something had been different about Clark, despite what he said, something just different enough to linger in the back of his mind.

It came to him as he was standing in the shower, water sheeting over him, thinking about Clark's smile. That beautiful ridiculous boyish grin, all white teeth and goodwill, still the one thing that made Lex Luthor lose it for a moment and smile back without proper motive or consideration.

But that particular smile -- it had made Lex feel guilty. There wasn't much that could make him feel guilty, these days.

There had been no nervous laugh, he realized, that accompanied Clark's smile, no drop of dark eyes, no embarrassed duck of the head. For one moment, Clark had been different. And Clark's eyes. Five years became less of a difference between them as time passed, but Lex Luthor had never thought to look into those eyes and see more years than in his own marked there.

For that one moment, Clark had been confident, and Clark had been humoring him.

Clark. Humoring him. He frowned, turned the water off, and wondered when their positions had reversed so drastically.

#

Lunch with Clark Kent was the second time Lex saw Superman up close without recognizing who he really was. He blamed the costume. But really, it was brilliant, insofar as any disguise without a mask was brilliant. Blind thine enemy with the sight of technicolor full-body Lycra.

#

His current habit was to have the news on while he was working. In fact, he had installed a full wall of flat-screens in all his offices. He would often leave the sound on for at least one of the newscasts, if not several; though most men would have considered it a useless distraction, he found his subconscious had a particular way of ferreting out information he would need later. This had proved useful on several occasions.

Almost a week after meeting up for lunch with Clark, he was in his office late, attending to some final paperwork that needed his approval before they could buy out a Grandville chemical plant. The work was going slower than it should have, which was always an annoyance. But worse still, it was going slowly because his attention kept wandering back to old times, Smallville and his youth and Clark Kent.

Sighing, he put down his pen and laced his hands behind his head, and tried to think of anything else. Cynthia, his latest arm-decoration. Mergers. Plans for a retreat to the Philippines for a month.

A familiar voice wormed its way into his thoughts; a familiar voice speaking with an unfamiliar cadence, and he thought of that smile Clark had given him the other day. No ducking, no blushing, no shy glances or shrugging. Humoring him. Hiding his true feelings. He'd seen it before, that smile, before that hasty dinner with Clark Kent -- all grown-up. He was thinking of where he'd seen it when he looked up--

--and saw bright blue and a bright grin, before the flash of a red cape swept the image of that unfamiliar familiar off the screen.

"Superman," the newswoman supplied helpfully, and he laughed until his sides hurt, until his eyes teared up.

"No, no," he corrected her, still chuckling. "Clark. Clark Kent."

It was then that he placed the smile. There had always been something closer than friendship between he and Clark; but one night, his head throbbing from yet another kick-Lex-around-Smallville mutant incident, he'd been so grateful for Clark's help yet again that he given into his baser urges and kissed him.

Mouth to mouth, lip to lip, he swore Clark kissed him back; but when he broke away, he'd seen that smile, that curious, blinding smile.

Superman's smile.

"Guess you got hit harder than I thought!" Clark had said, laughing it off as a joke, even though his eyes said something else, even though his fingers lingered too long on Lex's arm. Lex had given him a tight smile, and they pretended it never happened.

Lex pretended so well he'd almost forgotten it.

And now this. Clark Kent. Superman. He didn't know how he hadn't seen it before. Superman's face had been splashed all over the front of every newspaper for a week now, and he'd been too busy staring at the "S" on his chest to pay notice to who he was really looking at.

Maybe he wasn't deserving of the title of "genius" after all.

But it wasn't like Lana Lang or Pete or any one else who knew Clark was screaming his secret out either; maybe they'd all been rendered blind by the camp sixties superhero spandex. Clever. Who would have thought?

Clearly, he and Clark needed to have a little chat. Friend to friend, one upstanding citizen of Metropolis to another. One upstanding citizen with secrets to another.

#

No one in Metropolis was outside of the realm of Lex Luthor's beck and call these days, not even Superman. And if he had to be a little undignified about it, throw in a few fires to get his attention, he deemed it was all worth it in the end. When warehouse #32 went up in flames, Superman arrived in record time, and Lex was waiting for him.

"You should have gone all out, Clark: red, white and blue," Lex greeted him. "And a mask. You should really consider getting one."

Clark only smiled, without looking at his feet or his ears turning red. He was alarmingly confident, so different from the man whom Lex had met for lunch the past week. He didn't ask how Lex had found out or what he was going to do about it. "Thanks for the advice," was all he said, "but a mask wouldn't go with this outfit, don't you think?"

"You don't go with that outfit," Lex answered. "Since when were you Superman?"

"Since always." Superman -- Clark -- paused. "Since I realized I could be saving more than just Smallville." He glanced left and right at the flames advancing towards them. "What do you say we get out of here and continue this somewhere safer?"

It was Lex's turn to shrug. "The fire won't go past the support beams over there." He gestured towards the far end of the warehouse. "It should die out completely in a few minutes. I just needed to get your attention."

Clark's smile faltered, but he didn't show any other signs of surprise. Lex wondered if he wasn't the only one keeping tabs on his old friends.

"What's up? Why didn't you just ask at dinner the other day?" Clark momentarily let go of his Superman act, himself again, the man Lex had known since Clark was 16, even in his gaudy costume and his comic-book pose.

"I didn't know the other day," Lex said, and he was surprised by his own honesty. "Look, Clark, I'd like to have your help."

Clark blinked. "Really?" Disbelief was heavy in his tone. "I'd be glad to help you, Lex, but I don't see how--"

Lex folded his hands together, resisting the urge to smirk. "Anything you want in this city can be yours, Clark. All you have to do is ask. And," he locked eyes with Clark, the smirk winning out, "I'll make sure your secret is kept. By myself, the press, anyone who happens to find out... I'll make sure you can stay just Clark Kent for as long as you want. All you have to do is a favor for me now and then. It will be like it's always been, looking out for each other. This will just be a little more formal."

Around them, true to Lex's word, the flames died down to nothing. Lex waited for Clark to fidget uncomfortably, to otherwise reveal that innocent Kansas farmboy underneath the muscles and blue stretch fabric. He waited for his old friend, even knowing they had both changed since the relative idyll of their shared youth in Smallville.

When Clark didn't reply, he played his last card. He put on his most sincere face, let honesty bleed into his tone. "I want you to work for me. I want Superman to work for me. Both of you. All of you. I just want ... you."

And for a moment, fleetingly, he saw what he was looking for behind the eyes that had seen too much. There was the desire to always believe in Lex, the desire to follow where he led. The mutual admiration that had only grown and deepened as they grew older, until they eventually drifted apart.

Lex tasted satisfaction, certain that Clark would say yes. Of course he would say yes. He had to.

Instead, Clark said with absolute seriousness, "Things are different now, Lex."

He recovered smoothly, feigning injury. "What? Aren't we still friends?"

The illusory remnant of Superman dissolved. Clark ducked his head, evaded the question. "We are. But. Well, it's been awhile."

"Sure, it's been a long time. But we can pick up where we left off. Just like old times."

"You --" Clark paused, sighed. "You're not the same anymore."

"We've both changed, but that doesn't change who we are to each other."

Clark frowned. "You weren't this interested in me when I was just plain old Clark Kent."

"I'd have to disagree with that." Lex thought of the kiss, thought about how much he'd been thinking of Clark the past week. He wondered if Clark was remembering the same. He lightened his comment with a smile he didn't mean. "I just didn't have anything to hold over your head that time. Think about it. LexCorp and Superman. This will be the most mutually beneficial merger since we took over Genetex Chemical."

Clark didn't meet his eyes -- familiar, confused Clark in the unfamiliar superhero outfit. He looked like a little boy in daddy's oversized flannels. It somehow reassured Lex; there was the man he knew, the man he could trust. Superman was a wild card where Clark was the good old reliable. He took a gamble, stepping in close, laying a hand on Clark's shoulder.

"Come on, Clark. What do you say?"

Clark looked up at him, dark eyes searching his face for something, a deep furrow driven between the black slashes of his brows. He opened his mouth, hesitating; Lex waited for him to say yes.

"No, Lex. I can't." Clark straightened up, calm and determination suddenly radiating off of him, all trace of his usual slouch gone. His perpetual confusion and naivete vanished like a mask stripped off easily. The look he gave Lex was piercing, as if he could see every dirty secret Lex had ever had. As if he had never trusted him. It was a startling transformation, man to Superman before Lex's eyes. "I can't be a part of what you've let yourself become, Luthor."

Lex nearly laughed with disbelief. "And what exactly is that?"

"Why did you close down the plant in Smallville?" Superman said, slowly and deliberately. "What were you really making in that factory that went radioactive last month? Why did the land mines they found in that village in Vietnam have LexCorp stamped on them?"

Lex took a half-step back, stopped himself before he could lose any more ground. "So we've expanded since my father's days. Business is business," he said angrily, "I've always believed that. You know that."

"That was your father." Lex detected a hint of Clark. "You used to care. You didn't want to hurt people back then."

"Didn't I? Maybe you just didn't find out about it."

"What happened to you, Lex?"

Lex's fingers caught the single open button on his jacket, fastened it without thinking. "Maybe," he said, words soft and hostile, "You weren't there to save me from my father's fate."

Superman had nothing to say to that.

They stood, two of the most powerful men in Metropolis, eyes locked and mouths tight. But Clark finally spoke up, breaking the tense silence. "You were always there for me, Lex, nevermind why or how. I... Cared about you." He let the loaded words dangle, and Lex opened his mouth to reply, but Clark had more to say. "I never knew how to help you, even though I wanted to so badly. And I don't know how to help you now."

Lex could feel the hot flush of anger creeping up his neck, over his bare scalp. He was realizing, slowly, that he had never calculated for Superman, not once he'd discovered his secret identity. He'd assumed he'd be dealing with Clark. But he had a growing suspicion that Clark Kent, the boy he'd seen grow up in Smallville, the young man he'd felt compelled to look after like more than a brother... That man was gone. Clark Kent was dead. Long live Superman.

"All this time, I thought I'd discovered Superman's secret identity." He walked up to Superman, one corner of his mouth twitching. "But here I find what I've really got is the man behind Clark Kent."

He snapped off the end of his sentence abruptly, feeling his hopes break off with it, a dry twig snapping in half. If his loveless upbringing had taught him anything, it was that caring for things was a foolish endeavor best left to schoolgirls and men doomed to fail. He'd made a mistake even Superman hadn't made: he'd let sentimentality drag him down, let his old fondness for a man who had no loyalties to him blind him to what he should have known from the moment he read the latest headlines. He wouldn't make that mistake again. He couldn't.

"Lex...." Clark said softly, old beloved Clark, Clark-mask on the Superman. "Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm giving up too soon." The plea in his voice was louder than his words, clutching at Lex, begging to be proved mistaken.

"No, Clark," Lex answered, drawing on his own mask, the face men called "ruthless" and "heartless" and other, worse things. He knew that mask better than his own face, and it gave him strength against Superman, against the sight of desperate hope. "You were right the first time. You could never help me." He looked at Superman in that crayon-colored outfit, shoulders sagging, one hand half extended towards Lex, and he felt filled with contempt. Superman had stolen the last thing he cared for outside of money and power.

"Goodbye, Clark."

Lex reached out, gripped Superman by the shoulders, and unable to pull his solid weight forward, leaned in and pressed their lips together. With a kiss he marked his enemy and bid farewell to his friend; in one breath, he gave up all his hope, gave up that part of himself that he had held onto since Smallville, since Clark left without hello or goodbye. He gave up what was left of his guilt, his conscience, and he gave up Clark Kent forever.

When he stepped back, he said simply, "The next time we meet, Superman, we won't be friends." He did not allow himself to register the grief in Superman's face, the fingers that lingered too long on his sleeve and grasped at air as he pulled away. He did not see anything but a glare of color and the man who would be everyone's hero but his own.

Hands in his pockets, Lex walked away and never looked back.