Archive of Our Own ^beta

Lex sits in his darkened room, going over the events of the day.

He'd been at the bank when it had been seized. When the thieves came in Lex had concealed himself, he didn't want to be seen and be singled out to become a "special" hostage. He had been fairly certain that if he had been discovered by the thieves and taken for ransom that his board of directors wouldn't save him, that they'd give in to the demands. No one had tried to save Lex in years. Lex had felt cowardly hiding, he had felt that someone should save these people, but he wasn't the one to do it. Besides Metropolis had its own mysterious superhero. Superman, who always came in with a blur and saved the day, always in the right place at the right time---it reminded him of Clark. Many things reminded him of Clark. There was a blur of motion; the thieves were foiled, everyone was saved. Expect Lex. Somehow, Lex was never truly saved. And then his world shattered when he heard these words:

"Is everyone safe? Wait here until the police come."

Superman had slowed down, but somehow he was still blurry and out of focus. But his voice was clear and perfect, his voice was recognizable to someone who heard it in his sleep, in his dreams, in his thoughts--to someone who replayed it endlessly in his head.

"Is everyone okay? Wait here until the police come."

Lex wasn't okay. He had never been okay, never been right. He had always been waiting for something, for someone to rescue him. Lex flashed on the first night he saw Clark, the night he thought he'd killed Clark. Lex remembered how his world shattered as his car shattered the railing, how his world shattered when he came back to life with Clark's mouth on his-- rescuing him, saving him. Clark breathing life into his body, breathing life into his soul. Clark had given him a second chance. Everyone else expected him to be like his father, but only Clark expected him to be Lex. Clark could rescue him, Clark could save him, Clark could absolve him.

"Is everyone okay? Wait here until the police come."

Lex hasn't been okay in years; he's been far, far from okay. At times Lex doubts his sanity. His world has been shattered so many times he wonders about his obsessions, his addictions: do they make him insane? He knows they've made him unstable, driven him to sitting in dark, laying his soul bare to memories and his mind bare to that which was lost: Clark.

Lex had lost Clark in away he'd never imagined. He'd always thought he'd be the one to end their relationship, that he'd be cruel and cutting and tell Clark it had been fun and games, but now he was ready to move on. Lex thought he'd get out of the relationship before things got too complicated and too involved, before he was in too deep and in too far, before it was too late. And then it was. Instead, Lex had stood there trying to comprehend the words Clark stumbled over, words that ended, words that shattered. Lex had held everything in, held everything back and flatly asked, "Is there someone else?"

Clark looked down and blushed. Lex remembered wondering when was the last time he had seen Clark blush? Years before, ages before when Clark was young, when Clark was his. And then Clark was gone, no longer his, but still the man he loved. Still the man he wanted but---gone. Lex had assumed that Clark's new man was someone younger, someone more carefree, someone less like Lex. Someone without secrets, who didn't cling to Clark in the dark, desperate for absolution. Someone who wasn't too proud or too scared to expose his emotions in the daylight, who need didn't the cover of darkness to bare what he could of his soul. Someone who wasn't addicted and desperate and pleading in the dark. Lex had let Clark go without a fight or fuss. Lex didn't beg or plead, not in the daylight. He hadn't even looked to see who the new man was. He didn't torture himself in daylight, where all could see. He only tortured himself, in the darkness, baring his soul only to pictures, to memories, to flannel. He was still addicted, still dependent. He wanted to destroy the one who stole Clark from him, but he knew he couldn't. He knew if he did Clark would hate him and look on him with contempt. Lex was weak enough--he couldn't handle that.

"Is everyone safe?"

Lex sits in the darkness, running his hands over flannel, replaying the voice in his mind.

"Is everyone safe?"

Clark had always come running to his rescue, been there to save him, and yet somehow never absolved him. Today he was there again, without even knowing it--saving Lex, rescuing him. Lex had fought the urge to call out Clark's name. It was on his lips now--

Clark.

The name was always on his lips in the dark, when he indulged his addiction, his desperation, his secret. Lex had many secrets. He'd kept most from Clark, just as Clark had kept secrets from him. They'd both known they were keeping secrets, both skirted the issue, neither one pressing the other. It was as if they both knew if their secrets were revealed they might shatter. Now Lex knows Clark's secret. He knows why Clark and who Clark left him for--Superman. But Clark doesn't know Lex's secrets. He doesn't know all that Lex hid from him while they were together, he doesn't know all that Lex has hidden while they were apart.

Lex understands now, finally understands, for Clark to truly rescue him, to truly save him, to finally give absolution, he needs to know all of Lex's secrets. He needs to know that Lex knows his secret. Lex understands what he didn't when Clark left: that in order to get him back Lex has to lay his secrets out in the daylight.

He knows now, with perfect clarity. He will lay his secrets out in the daylight and his secrets will draw Clark's secret to him and their worlds will shatter.

Lex understands now, finally understands. For Clark to truly rescue him, to truly save him, to finally give absolution, Clark needs to know all of Lex's secrets. He needs to know that Lex knows his secrets. Lex now understands what he hadn't when Clark left: that in order to get Clark back, Lex has to lay his secrets out in the daylight.

Lex runs his hands over flannel, over pictures, over memories; he seems to know with perfect clarity. Lay his secrets out in the daylight. His secrets will draw Clark to him, and their worlds will shatter.