Fic: All the Difference, part 4

[xparrot]

Am I posting too much fic? ^^; But I can't stop writing! Lex & Clark have quite invaded my brain. We've gotten to 5th season in our show-watching, which is squeefully Clexy in its own way, at least until the Lexana appears; then I shall have to go spork my eyeballs.

Gratitude to gnine for beta'ing this, she's been doing a great job with that thankless task (I am the worst person at taking criticism in the world. I whine. And carry on like every word I've written is a precious son or daughter, perfect the way it is, unless of course I deem it necessary to change. Fortunately she tells me anyway, especially good in the case of this fic, because either Lex is given to exceedingly long and unwieldy sentences; the guy's thoughts are twisty.)

Smallville: All the Difference, 4/? {4,002 words}
PG, Clark/Lex, futurefic, AU (in a manner of speaking)
Lex Luthor wakes up in his own bed in his own penthouse, infinitely far from all he knows. Meanwhile, Lex Luthor wakes up in his own bed in his own penthouse, just as far from home...



All the Difference (4/?)



This was not one of Lex Luthor's better days.

A conspiracy vast enough to include Clark, Mercy, and the JL Watchtower's computers was too far beyond the realms of feasibility. That this was a virtual reality simulation designed to pry his secrets from him was ruled out when his false password triggered the Protocol 86 flag on his computer.

A hallucination was the most likely explanation. Lex hadn't put his faith in Occam's razor in years (few one-time residents of Smallville did). But there were a few criminals in the Justice League's database who could pull off such a trap, though John Dee was supposedly dead, and the Mad Hatter was safe in Arkham and responding to treatment. LexCorp's alliance with the League wasn't public in part to avoid such vengeful targeting, but as one of the richest men on the planet Lex had enemies enough in his own right. But if this were an artificially induced hallucination, it was surprisingly detailed and internally consistent.

Unless he only believed it to be so--but that way lay madness, and no point in helping a hypothetical attacker along in their goal. Besides, what purpose would it serve to put him through a washed-out version of a nightmare? Better to proceed forward than to second-guess everything through the filter of his possibly compromised psyche.

The EPA meeting was too important to cancel; he needed approval on the emergency tower generator, if they were going to break ground next week. Going ahead with it proved to be a mistake, however. Of the four bureaucrats, Lex knew three of them. Hartnett and Edlund were decent, though he was used to more cordial relations than the chilly handshakes he received today.

But MacNeil was a sycophantic parasite he had driven off the board last year; the man would sell out to anyone, and as useful as that flexibility could be, there were limits. A worm who would okay toxic waste storage next to a kindergarten for a few thousand bucks couldn't be allowed in the position to make such decisions. Not in Metropolis. And the last man was a wall-eyed and coyly obsequious sort, who Lex had never seen before, but who smirked at him like they were the best of acquaintances.

The meeting itself went no better than the awkward greetings. Not only did the matter of the generator not come up, but Edlund spent most of the time making oblique allusions to a LexCorp research facility on the Metropolis docks, which implied allegations Lex denied, claiming to know nothing of what she might be referring to. Quite honestly claimed, as last he knew said facility didn't exist.

Lex might have managed a better performance if he hadn't been preoccupied with a greater game. None of their unsubtle insinuations mattered for anything, if this were a hallucination--or a nightmare, one of his recent dreams, extended...but none of those had been like this, as vivid as they had been.

Two nights ago he had dreamed he was attending Jonathan's funeral, standing in the freezing cold and watching the services through falling snow, not beside the grave but paces away, making no move to approach and offer his own respects, or to share Clark and Martha's grief. He had felt the cold wind and the burning kiss of snowflakes falling on his head so clearly that hours after awaking he hadn't been able to shake the memory. He finally had called the Kents and invited them to Metropolis for dinner next week, but even hearing Jonathan's hearty voice on the phone hadn't totally banished that false ghost.

But he hadn't dreamed anything last night, that he recalled. And this, sitting in this office now, his office, was more straightforward and prosaic than any dream. And more disturbing for that. Better if it were a dream, or a hallucination, or some VR sim he could escape. The most possible explanation was the most incredible, and the most alarming. That this was not his office, not his desk, not his computer--not his life.

Lex looked at his right hand, flexing the mechanical fingers. Time travel was a theory, but a theory with strong support, even if the mathematics to resolve the paradoxes of altered pasts had yet to be devised. And parallel universes were more than theory; he had followed enough of Dr. Hamilton's work to know that much.

A Lex Luthor's life, but not his.

"If you'll excuse me," Lex said, over MacNeil stumbling through a bald-faced bribery demand--the man couldn't even manage his own corruption competently--"we've covered your stated agenda, and my schedule today is quite full, so if you could see yourselves out."

The bureaucrats shot him glares but showed little surprise at the dismissal. The little toad whose name he had failed to catch even winked at him on the way out the door. Like he saw through Lex's master plan of winning himself a moment's privacy to think. It was all Lex could do not to throw the gaudy gold-framed portrait of Lionel Luthor after him.

Presumably he was only using the man. Lex couldn't bring himself to believe that any Lex Luthor would see fit to actually befriend the likes of such trash as him or MacNeil, no matter what sort of man he might be in this hallucination or universe.

Which begged the question of what sort of man he was here. The docks facility was a possible indication; he started searching his database for why the EPA suspected him of polluting the bay, only to find the LexCorp Tower schematics.

The first plans he came across were preliminary suggestions, or perhaps idle speculation. Maybe contest submissions; he had sponsored competitions before that had netted ideas almost this...eccentric. But the actual implemented designs, when he found them, were one step better--or worse, he realized with a warring mix of disbelief and awe. While his own LexCorp Towers had been accused of being a fortress (one reporter had joked about fending off incursions from King Kong) he had never actually installed a laser canon on the roof. Much less four. Forget giant apes; he could repel an invasion by the national guard.

But then, if he couldn't count on the League's protection--or even Superman's, perhaps...

"Your two o'clock appointment is here," his secretary said over the speaker. "Shall I send Mr. Wayne in?"

"Yes, do so," Lex replied, keeping relief from his voice with effort. He could use the break.

That relief lasted until Bruce Wayne walked into his office. Because this was Bruce Wayne, and yet wasn't him--not the real Bruce, but the showroom model, the playboy facsimile. Like they were out at a public media event, but he was performing now only for Lex's benefit.

Lex had last talked to Batman two weeks ago, during the League's battle with the Sasquatch mutant up in British Columbia. He had helicoptered in a couple LexCorp seismic dampers before the thing's titanic foot stomping set off a quake, trusting their arrangement to Batman, while Clark and Diana took down the monster.

He hadn't talked to the public Bruce Wayne in years, not in any private conversation. Bruce didn't bother with his facade when he was with those he trusted. And Bruce hadn't looked at him like this in nearly a decade. They might not see eye to eye on every business practice, and he wasn't sure that Bruce would go so far as to call Lex a friend, but they had worked together often enough, had partnered on more than a few ventures, and they respected each other. They had for years.

"Lex, good to see you." Bruce shook Lex's hand now with a cordial smile. Prattling small talk streamed from his lips, and nothing could have told Lex what kind of man he was as clearly as the veiled contempt in Bruce's blue eyes.

"Bruce, likewise," Lex smiled back, and responded to the conversation as banally as what was offered. He sat back behind his desk and let the empty byplay flow over him, feeling nauseous, whether from disgust or rage he couldn't tell. He didn't focus on what they were saying until he realized Bruce was staring at him stupidly, and not entirely feigning it. Trying for dumbfounded dumbass and pulling it off a little too well.

Lex mentally reviewed their last exchange. Bruce had said something about the youth hospice project, asking whether Lex could recommend any Metropolis contractors; Lex had offered to have his secretary draw up a list of LexCorp's preferred companies, and then suggested Bruce run them through a security check on the League database.

In retrospect, he perhaps should have closed his mouth before that suggestion.

"I...don't know what you mean, Lex," Bruce said after a beat, chuckling in an artfully mystified manner. "The League? Like, the Justice League? Why would they give a damn about this?"

"Ah, just joking, of course," Lex said smoothly. "I just presumed they might be interested in a...ah...such a do-good project as this. With their other charity and community efforts, this would be right up their alley."

"Charity efforts? I guess..."

Confused was a more agreeable look on Bruce than contemptuous, but not by much. "Was the contractor advice all you wanted, Bruce?" Lex asked. "I can collect some bids for you, if you'd like. And Wayne Enterprises will be handling the hardware, but will you want LexCorp technicians installing the software?"

"Would I what?" Bruce was staring again. "Uh. No."

So LexCorp really wasn't involved in this project. Odd. "If you change your mind, you know how to reach me. Anything I can do, let me know."

"Er, thanks," Bruce said, standing with him.

"Not at all," Lex said as he walked him to the door. "You and your foundation are the ones doing Metropolis a favor, Bruce. The hospice will be a boon to my city." His only regret was that he hadn't thought of it himself.

Bruce stopped. "Lex, are you...feeling all right?"

You have no idea, Bruce. When was the last time you woke up in your own bed an infinite distance from home? "Absolutely."

Bruce didn't push it, though Lex caught the briefest of sharp-eyed speculation and knew he had blown something here. Maybe his cover; maybe just his reputation. Hopefully not enough to earn a nocturnal visit. If amiable playboy Bruce Wayne showed him this much disdain he didn't want to think what Batman's attitude would be like.

Which might have been why he took the parting shot. Or maybe it was because with the office door open, in hearing range of his secretary, Bruce's public act felt almost normal. "Have a good day, Bruce. I hope you'll enjoy Metropolis's nightlife as much as you do Gotham's."

Usually, hamstrung by the audience, Bruce would have glared at him in an instant of impotent irritation, and the belittling comments about treating secret identities like a game would be saved for when Clark was around to chastise him.

Now he didn't look at Lex at all, didn't obviously flinch. But one hand tightened into a fist and Lex rather thought that were it not for his watching secretary, he would be sporting a black eye around now. Or worse. Bruce left without another word.

Lex would have felt more vindicated if it weren't for the bitter suspicion that he might deserve the contempt.

He retreated back into his office, returned to the computer and the diagrams of the LexCorp towers. And found what he unconsciously had been looking for, the proof he hadn't wanted. The roof cannons were nothing, nor the doubled security forces. Not compared to the kryptonite.

It was everywhere, green diamonds dotting every floor plan, set in the walls, in the weaponry, in the lighting fixtures. Ridiculous overkill. The designs showed no less than three compartments marked in his own office. Lex went to the window, the wide bulletproof panorama overlooking Metropolis, ran his hand under the ledge until he found the niche. He slid it open to reveal an emerald sliver, shimmering in the sunlight.

Such a tiny piece. More than enough. He snapped the lid closed, shielding the dangerous radiation behind lead.

His cell phone rang. Mercy, reporting in from the morning's errand. Lex grabbed it. "Yes?"

"I'm done with the lab inspection. Everything seemed in order here."

"You're sure?"

He was only stalling for time; he should have known better than to question Mercy in any universe. "The hell should I know; send a scientist if you want to be sure. They told me everything's going smoothly and they know better than to lie to me. That's all I got."

"Of course. Thank you, Mercy. You can take the night off." Better if she weren't around; if this LexCorp paralleled his own, then she could invoke Protocol 86 in the event of particularly deviant behavior from his norm. Being as Lex had little idea what that norm was, it was safer not to risk it.

Though judging by her stunned silence now, his offer had been riskily deviant enough in its own right. "If you say so, Lex," she said finally. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yes. Oh, Mercy, one more thing."

"Yeah?"

"Refresh my memory, please. When was the last time I met Superman?"

Mercy paused. Suspicious, or just thinking? "Last week," she said finally. "Tuesday evening, as far as I know. He stopped by your office for a chat about the Witkens Pharmaceuticals theft."

So Superman did come to him. Kryptonite or not. "Ah, yes, of course. Thank you."

"Lex?..."

"Good evening, Mercy."

"Yeah. 'Evening, boss."

Superman would come, and Lex was ready for him.

Or thought he was, though when his computer chimed a soft alarm, the proximity alert outside his window, it was all he could do not to spin around in his chair. He turned slowly instead, dignified. Much earlier than expected. Outside the window the sun had only just set, Metropolis's first lights glimmering to life and the sky still streaked with color.

Superman's cape snapped and rippled in the evening breeze as he hovered outside, a crimson banner, opposite of a white flag. No peace offered, no quarter given. Lex passed his fingers over the controls on his desk, triggered the window latch. It whispered as the glass slid aside, and Superman glided into his office and touched down on the floor before his desk, perfectly vertical the whole time, his arms crossed in defiance of gravity, or defiance of Lex.

Lex stared at Clark, drinking in the sight of him. Same beautiful face, if disturbingly stern now; same thick black hair, even the same curl over his forehead. Same costume, and the less said about that the better. It was either discouraging or relieving to have evidence that no Lex Luthor could influence that particular fashion travesty.

It was all he could do not to say Clark's name, not to reach out and touch him.

He kept silent instead, let Clark make the first move, set the tone.

"Luthor. What are you up to?"

Accusatory, but not really angry, not as he had been this morning. Lex could work with that. "What do you mean?"

Clark's hesitation was barely a second; it might have been hours, for a man not gifted with his speed. "You called me this morning. Why?"

Interesting. He must have already known that Lex Luthor knew his secret identity, to confess it so easily here. "I wanted to talk to you," Lex said, honestly enough.

"To who?" Clark asked. "To Superman, or to Clark Kent?"

Lex hadn't known Clark capable of such bitterness. "Both, either. Does it matter?"

"You were the one who told me Clark Kent was dead to you," Clark said. "You were the one who said that the people we once were, were nothing but lies, and you couldn't be bothered to remember them. And you know damn well that the Clark Kent I am now, the klutz reporter, isn't any more a real person than the Lex Luthor you pretended to be in Smallville." He took a single step closer to the desk. "Smallville was a long time ago; we're in Metropolis now. So what do you want, Luthor?"

Lex's artificial hand twitched. Mastering the electronic interface apparently took a different sort of control than that he was practiced at. He concentrated on stilling the fingers as he met Clark's steel blue eyes. No warmth in them, no understanding and no wish to understand. Lex worked his dry lips. "I may have made a mistake."

"A mistake. Calling me this morning? Or something else?"

"Something else. A great many things, it sounds like," Lex said before he could help himself. He wasn't used to being anything but completely honest with Clark, after having made that effort for years. Odd that something that had once been such a strain came too easily now.

At least he hadn't totally lost the upper hand; Clark's brow was furrowing in a way that suggested anger but Lex knew in truth to be confusion. "What did you do, Luthor?"

"That is the question. Just what I'd like to know." In more ways than one. Though asking Clark for their mutual life history would probably be more trouble than it was worth. Still, it would help if he had some handle on what the changes actually were.

"If this is meant to distract me from something else you've got going on--What is it? More black-market arms? Smuggled biological agents? Or sabotage?"

"I'm not trying to distract you from anything--you're the one who came here, if you recall. Besides, I don't know what you're talking about."

"And the LexCorp bayside labs' latest experiments, I don't suppose you know anything about those? Nothing about the recent street people disappearances? Or the bodies in the bay?"

"The what?" Lex said, blinking. "Clark, you know I wouldn't--"

He didn't see Clark move; Clark's arms were folded as he stared at him over the black expanse of the desk, and then his big hands were grabbing Lex's collar, hauling him to his feet. "No. I don't know. I never knew you, Luthor."

He shoved his face close, blue eyes flashing with rage, near enough to kiss, and for a single instant Lex thought this was all just a game, the roleplay they on occasion indulged in. Superhero versus villain, and Clark was about to drag him back to the penthouse to punish him in all manner of erotic ways.

Then Clark released him, the world tilting as he was shoved too fast down into his chair, then righted itself again. Wronged itself, everything off-kilter, warped and unreal. Unbelievable as the honest hatred in Clark's voice.

Lex stared up at him, readjusted his collar, straightened his tie. His traitorous artificial hand was shaking like it had electronic palsy. "No," he said, and at least his voice was steady, "you don't know me."

Clark stared down at him. "I won't play your game."

It had already occurred to Lex that this Clark, unlike his own, would not have any knowledge of Protocol 86. His lover was one of the few people who could enact the protocol on event of bizarre behavior, but Lex had no need to be so careful with this Clark. For that reason, he had considered telling Clark the truth from the start. He might very well need help, and who better to go to in any world than Superman?

It hadn't really crossed his mind that explaining the problem to Clark might be impossible. "I'm not the man you think I am. Not now."

"What are you talking about?" He sounded bored. Distasteful, as if he were only giving Lex a chance because it was his obligation as a hero.

"Long story," Lex said. Over a decade long, if he were estimating rightly. "The upshot is, something's happened to me. I'm not yet entirely sure what, but its effects..." What should he tell him? Divergent memories, alternate timeline, parallel universe...hallucinations. Amnesia. Insanity. He didn't want to lie to Clark, but that was difficult when he didn't know what the truth was. "When I woke up this morning, when I called you, I..." I was thinking we were lovers, not enemies, and what if that was the hallucination? What if this was reality and everything he knew the dream? His hand twitched again and he closed the fingers into a fist. Grasping empty air because there was nothing else to hold onto.

"Lex?" Clark grabbed him again, his hands not on his collar but on his arms, and the pressure through his suit jacket was almost enough to bruise, but not quite. "What's wrong?"

Clark's voice was hard, the clinical impersonal concern of a surgeon, but when Lex looked up Clark was watching him, blue gaze fixed on Lex's face, searching, intent.

That was not revulsion. Not hatred, and that concern wasn't impersonal, and Lex almost thought he might risk hoping. "I need your help. If we can work together--"

He thought perhaps if he were honest, if he said it straight and true and desperate, that it might punch through Clark's defenses, strike the heroic chord in him. But Clark's face twisted and he let go like Lex was made of kryptonite, took a step back.

"I'll never work with you, Luthor," he said. "I told you so already, in this office, years ago, and that will never change."

Lex stared. Because that had never happened, in all the time he knew, in all the memories he had.

And yet he remembered it. Had dreamed it months before. He had stood by this window while Superman had hovered outside. "Together we could rule this world," Lex had said; "Never," Superman had answered.

"I'll rule the world with you anytime," Clark had said, when Lex had told him about that dream; and Lex had replied, "We aren't already?" and Clark had laughed and kissed him.

Not just a dream. How had he known?

Clark had turned away. "Clark," Lex asked, "just one question, please. Is your father still alive?"

Clark stopped, pale, his jaw squared. "You know I'm the last of my--"

"Not your birth father. Your dad. Jonathan Kent."

Clark's jaw tightened more, his eyes flashing. "You know," he ground out.

This was wrong. All wrong. He was going to be sick from it. "Was it in the winter? Was it snowing at his funeral?"

"Play your sick games with someone else," Clark said. "I've had enough."

"Clark, wait--" Fifteen years ago Clark had listened, had stopped at the door.

Tonight he didn't turn around. "I've got better things to do than listen to this, Luthor," he said, facing the open window, his cape fluttering in the breeze from the heights.

"The League meeting, I know," Lex said, checking his watch. "Could you come back after that?"

Clark's back under the cape stiffened. "How do you--no," and he shook his head. "No. And don't call me again. I'll hang up, if you do."

Lex stood, folding his hands together, real and artificial fingers interlaced, to curb the automatic urge to reach to him. "Clark," he said quietly, "please, just hear me out. Give me a chance to explain."

Clark's shoulders might have been carved from granite, every angle of muscle rigid and more solid than any stone. "I don't have any chances left to give you, Lex," he said, and vanished out the window, only a far-off speck in the twilight sky, a flicker of red that was gone the next instant.

Lex watched the sky darken until he could make out the tiny false star of the Watchtower, in its orbit high above. Then he shut down his computer and headed to his penthouse apartment in the west tower. It was far too early for him to leave the office, but hell, it had been a long day, and he needed a drink.


tbc...

Comments

[ender24]

omg, I need a drink as well... and then I am going to kill someone.
not sure, before or after I have been fired, coz damn, you with your
//Am I posting too much fic? // , by this rate, I will read fic at work.....damn *hugs lex*

[xparrot.livejournal.com]

heheheheh *laughs evilly*
--well, I don't want to get you fired! That would be Bad. But very glad you're enjoying it ^_^ *hugs Lex with you*