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Lex comes into consciousness slowly, becoming aware of the pain in his leg before anything else.
The gritty texture beneath him registers next, and he’s caught momentarily off-guard and somewhat disgusted. Is he lying on a sidewalk?
There are markings beneath his hands, and he pulls them away to note that they aren’t chalk but blood. His blood. Although the pain radiating from his leg is the most overwhelming, it’s not the only point on his body that aches. He’s covered in cuts and bruises, expensive suit ripped in multiple places. Lex thinks, with a surge of irritation, that he’ll have to replace it.
As his vision clears, it becomes increasingly clear that he may not even get a chance to do that.
He’s perched on the edge of a precipice, body only supported by some kind of interstitial ledge. Its status as a safe haven is in question, however, since the angle of its curve cannot sustain a human body for long.
Beneath him, darkness. An abyss. Lex stares into it, mind racing. He cranes his neck to look above himself. Escape from whatever hole he’s fallen into is less than ten feet away, but it quickly becomes clear the situation is hopeless. Surrounding him on all sides are sheer concrete walls, not a single hand- or foothold in sight.
Also, his leg is pretty obviously broken. It folds up beside him at an uncanny angle, though thankfully no bone is visible, so it’s not a compound fracture. It seems like a no-brainer that he probably couldn’t move even if climbing the wall were possible.
Given some time, Lex is positive he could manage to find some way out of this. But since he swam into awareness, he’s felt less alert than usual. His head’s pounding, too. He thinks he might have a concussion.
No, there’s only one way he’s getting out of this alive, and Lex thinks death might actually be preferable.
The option had surfaced in his mind the second he’d noticed the precariousness of his situation, of course. Because Superman is always on Lex’s mind, every second of every day.
Lex is revolted at how easy it would be, to call for his aid. How many citizens of Metropolis have done just that—only for Lex to look at them like ants? It would be absurdly simple to obtain divine intervention in this situation, really. Lex just has to say three syllables, and he’d be safe.
Well, Lex won’t do that. If the only human way out of this situation is death, then so be it. His expectation for the rest of the world is that they should fix their own mistakes without relying on Superman’s interference, so why should it be any different for him? Even if there’s no one else around to call him a coward or a hypocrite, Lex would know. And so would Superman, which is far worse. Better to die here than have to carry that knowledge with him for the rest of his life.
Lex begins to rapidly reconsider this position when he feels himself sliding toward the darkness. His hands slow the descent, concrete digging into his already-injured palms and coaxing a groan of pain and hopelessness from him. The difference ends up being only a couple of inches from where he started, but he’s not just perched on the edge anymore. He’s actively dangling.
If Lex died right now, would there be anyone left to recognize the existential threat Superman poses to humanity? He doesn’t really think so. Everyone who lets him rant about the alien, whether on TV or in his personal life, seems like they’re only doing it out of politeness, eyes glazing over the longer Lex speaks.
A new, wholly unwelcome, thought occurs to him. If Lex died right now, would...would anyone care?
He can think of exactly one individual who would claim to care. The only one he technically has access to right now.
Allowing the name to exit his body feels like reaching inside of himself to pull out an organ—one of his lungs, maybe. He can’t keep Superman’s name out of his mouth on any other day, but the context this time—it’s the most humiliating thing imaginable, lack of witnesses be damned.
But he does manage it. “Superman...”
Lex’s voice has far less volume than he’d intended, making himself even more pathetic in his own eyes. Well, fine. If that wasn’t enough for the freak of nature to hear it, at least Lex can die saying he tried something.
Lex isn’t sure whether he’s disappointed or relieved when Superman shows up within the minute. He takes a few seconds to assess the situation; first, his eyes widen when he identifies Lex, then his expression softens in sympathy when he sees the injuries and the way Lex is about to fall. Lex hates it. He’s not something to be pitied, and he never will be.
Lex makes eye contact with Superman, but won’t give him the satisfaction of hearing any more from Lex, as he wordlessly pushes against his palms and into the drop.
See you in hell, he thinks as he begins the freefall, but the phrase isn’t even complete by the time Superman catches him. He...hadn’t really been expecting anything different.
He’s set down gently a few seconds later, on some rock in a small grassy area. Lex finds something to complain about anyway. “My leg is broken, you know. Did you really have to jostle me around so much?”
“I could have lifted you a lot more carefully if you hadn’t jumped! Why would you even call for help if you were going to do that anyway?”
“If I’m going to die,” Lex says, the thought only now coalescing into words, “you have to see it.”
“Why?!”
Enjoying the bewildered anger he’s inducing in the alien, Lex answers, “Because the same goes for you, the other way around. Obviously.”
Superman actually rolls his eyes at that. “Just—how did you even get down there?”
“I don’t know.” He still looks suspicious, so Lex presses a hand to the side of his aching head. More quietly, he adds, “I can’t remember.” He’s not even acting.
Looking around, Lex is finally able to place their whereabouts. They’re near a hydroelectric dam, and Lex had somehow fallen into a spillway. He recognizes the facility as being owned by LuthorCorp, which explains why he was there, but when he reaches for his memory, it’s hazy and vague. The only image that appears in his mind is more like the one he’d get when he’s anticipating doing something, but hasn’t actually done it yet.
“I think...I might’ve been visiting here for some kind of inspection? I own this facility,” he says, gesturing behind them.
Superman smiles widely. It makes Lex’s skin crawl. “Hey, that’s great! You’re venturing into renewable energy.” Lex considers shutting down the whole thing based on Superman’s approval of it, plus the fact that it somehow came close to killing him just now, but tables the thought, as he’s not thinking clearly at the moment.
Possibly trying to determine the extent of his amnesia, Superman asks, “So you’re not sure how you got here, but you remembered you could call me?”
“I’m thinking about you 100% of the time. Obviously I remembered you.”
Superman’s brows furrow. “What?”
“You cannot possibly be surprised by that. Just get me to a hospital.” There don’t seem to be any vehicles nearby that Lex could use, even if he were capable of driving with a broken leg, and the area is deserted. He has no clue where his cell phone is.
Superman doesn’t react for a minute, just stands there in front of Lex, the wheels of his mind still turning, apparently. “What are you waiting for, a thank you?”
“What?” Oh good, his vocabulary’s been reduced to one word.
“Here’s your fucking thank you,” Lex growls, and he’s definitely not thinking clearly because he reaches out, pulls Superman down to his level by the collar, and kisses him hard. It’s a punishment, and a promise. This way, Superman will have no choice but to be thinking about Lex 100% of the time in return.
He’s taken off guard, but returns the kiss. After a minute, though, he stumbles back. His mouth opens, and Lex says, “If you say ‘what’ one more fucking time—”
“Do you have a crush on me?”
“No,” says Lex, absurdly.
“...I don’t even need to hear your heartbeat to know you’re lying.”
“Fuck you.”
“Um, buy me dinner first?”
Lex refuses to say anything else, because with each word he’s digging his own grave deeper. This makes things extremely awkward when Superman lifts him by the armpits, minimizing contact with his broken leg, and flies him to the nearest hospital.
To his horror, Lex realizes once he’s on a morphine drip, the medicine does nowhere near as much to make him forget the pain as the dopamine hit he got from kissing Superman did.
Some time later, he hears the door to his room open, and in walks the idiot.
“What else could you possibly want from me? Were you in the waiting room the whole time? Creep.”
Superman seems completely unfazed by Lex’s insults. He looks a little shy, actually. “Just wanted to let you know that if you ever wanted to ‘thank me’ again, you can always just call for me like you did. I’ll answer.”
“I won’t,” Lex calls at his retreating back.
He will.