Here Be Monsters
Jan. 30th, 2004 01:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hackthis_archiveBad day – started off bad and stayed that way.*
Smallville
Here Be Monsters
The plastic nodes suck at Lex’s temples like leeches for the mentally diseased, but he wipes the history from his mind with a dismissive thought. Different venue, different circumstances, he’s in control this time, that’s all that counts.
His paleness is reflected in polarized windows and stainless steel cabinets, but the only person he sees is himself. No Louis. No dad. No Clark. Clearly this is a favorable start.
Any start without lies is bound to be an amenable one.
When the good doctor taps on the glass, Lex nods his head to acquiesce. He’s as ready as he will ever be, and while he suspects that he should be nervous, he’s not. He suspects his nerves have recently been removed, and while he doesn’t miss them, he’d like to learn a bit more about where exactly they’ve gone and why. He wants to know where a lot of things have gone recently.
It’s not being sentimental; it’s being practical.
At least he’ll remember this.
i. I’m lying in my bed/ The blanket is warm/ This body will never be safe from harm
There’s no way for Lex to describe the pain of the first charge. He’s been stabbed, shot, drugged, abandoned, set on fire, drugged again, he’s OD’d – three times, and he still can’t draw an adequate comparison for what it’s like. It’s like losing his mother over and over again. It’s like learning Julian is dead and Desiree has betrayed him.
Trying to find the last seven weeks is like letting Clark lie to him over and over and over again and calling it love.
It hurts only slightly less.
When Lex was small he stuck a pair of scissors in an electrical socket before Pamela caught him, and the quick jolt was enough to give his hair an extra curl or two. And yet, whoever said pain was temporary clearly hadn’t agreed to have thousands of volts sent through their body. So much pain just to remember seven weeks.
It’s really not enough time for so much effort.
When Lex is old and wrinkled, seven weeks will seem like the blink of an eye, but it’s not the length of time that’s important. What’s important is that he wants to remember and can’t.
It’s the free will that’s imperative.
It’s one thing for him to willingly forget, to turn a blind eye to sardine-can Porsches and flattened bullets. It’s something else entirely for his father to play God with his memory. Lex doesn’t have a god. That would require belief, and Lex only believes in himself -- and he believes in his right to know.
Even as his hands flex at the restraints and he bites down on the plastic mouthpiece, he can feel something emerging from the deepest recesses of his brain. An emotion he can’t remember feeling in a very long time.
He wonders what Pandora would think about his letting hope flitter around on a very short leash.
ii. If only you'd come back to me/ If you laid at my side/ Wouldn't need no Mojo Pin to keep me satisfied
He nods his head as disembodied voices ask him questions about the charge and the way he feels in the aftermath. He feels fried, what sort of inane answer is this man after?
When the doctor appears to remove the mouthpiece, Lex answers him curtly as nurses flit in and out of the room, changing this node, readjusting that one.
The second charge isn’t as painful. Less like massive voltage and more like a series of needles. Lex has plenty of experience with needles, and there’s a momentary flash of a large man looming over Lex and promising him that fighting will only make it worse. It’s disconcerting, but promising, and the third charge isn’t much different from the second.
So much for the aphorism that the third time is a charm.
The process itself reminds Lex of chipping at a block of ice with ninety-nine rubber picks and only one made of steel, and he wonders how long it will take for something to crack. He wonders how many trips he’ll have to make to find out the truth. He knows it won’t all happen at one time. To think otherwise would be foolish and fool-hardy. It would be like believing in Clark when he knows that Clark lies. But knowing Clark lies had never stopped Lex from needing him. From wanting his approval.
It’s possible that if Clark lied less then Lex wouldn’t be quite as eager to undergo this treatment, but that’s like saying if Lex were someone else Clark might trust him. Lex doesn’t do well with ‘might.’
Merlin always said that might didn’t make right. Or perhaps that was Arthur, it might even have been both, knowing T.H. White.
Lex chooses to focus on the scratchy cotton covering of the pillow behind his head instead of wondering about a dynasty that was brought down by a bastard child and good intentions.
As he prepares for the next charge, Hope continues to flitter on its little string in Lex’s consciousness, and he wonders where he saw the green rosary beads that are rolling through the recesses of his mind.
iii. Don't wanna weep for you, I don't wanna know/ I'm blind and tortured, the white horses flow/ The memories fire, the rhythms fall slow/ Black beauty I love you so
The charges aren’t just needles, they’re thousands of pinpricks from the allergist trying to figure out where Lex’s asthma went. The pain is like sleeping on a bed of nails that are on the wrong side of sharp, and Lex keeps waiting for something to break through his skin. He keeps waiting to bleed.
There’s a charge and the flash of a gun.
There’s another charge and Clark’s visage wracked with pain.
One more charge and there’s a warehouse -- and Kyle Tippett.
Except that Lex already has this memory well in place, but something tells him that this is something that was missing that he didn’t even know was gone. The hope he had, had nothing to do with this. He’s already accepted so much on faith, he wasn’t expecting all this, but there it is. A memory he didn’t even know he had.
Lex shot Clark -- and he’s still alive.
So, it really all was a lie.
Lex spits out the mouthguard and calls time.
While nurses mill around him, and the doctor quizzes him on his physical status, Lex’s mind roars with the headiness of newfound knowledge.
This isn’t the memory he was looking for, but it’s certainly good enough for one day. It’s a very small piece to what quite clearly is a much larger whole, and yet, Lex feels more invigorated, more hopeful than he was before he was strapped in earlier in the afternoon.
The process isn’t necessarily revealing what he was after, but that may not matter if he continues to recall memories such as these.
His first impulse is to find Clark and confront him, and yet, something tells Lex that’s not the smartest idea. He who has power must first learn how to weld it, and Lex has flawless memories of threats involving hammers, and Clark, naked, writhing underneath him, begging him to just let it go.
Lex suspects that not letting it go is what got him in this chair in the first place, but if insanity is doing the same thing over knowing the results, then it wouldn’t be right for him not to live up to his previous diagnosis. Maybe he’ll just tweak one or two things along the way.
Instead of giving into his impulses, Lex sets a time for his next treatment and walks out the front door. When he reaches the car, he pulls out his mobile and calls Smallville. Clark answers the phone, and Lex smiles at no one in particular. How he’ll progress really depends on Clark, and how much Lex is about to uncover regarding his lies.
For the right truth, Lex would give up everything; for the wrong lie, who knows what sort of harm could be done?
-end-
Notes: Beta’d by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
serialkarma, despite my peevish nature and crankiness. Title from the Ed Harcourt LP. Song Mojo Pin by the always amazing Jeff Buckley.
*Quote from Fray, Issue 1. Also, I should point out that I'm in a terribly foul mood, so if I'm snappish it's nothing personal.
Smallville
The plastic nodes suck at Lex’s temples like leeches for the mentally diseased, but he wipes the history from his mind with a dismissive thought. Different venue, different circumstances, he’s in control this time, that’s all that counts.
His paleness is reflected in polarized windows and stainless steel cabinets, but the only person he sees is himself. No Louis. No dad. No Clark. Clearly this is a favorable start.
Any start without lies is bound to be an amenable one.
When the good doctor taps on the glass, Lex nods his head to acquiesce. He’s as ready as he will ever be, and while he suspects that he should be nervous, he’s not. He suspects his nerves have recently been removed, and while he doesn’t miss them, he’d like to learn a bit more about where exactly they’ve gone and why. He wants to know where a lot of things have gone recently.
It’s not being sentimental; it’s being practical.
At least he’ll remember this.
i. I’m lying in my bed/ The blanket is warm/ This body will never be safe from harm
There’s no way for Lex to describe the pain of the first charge. He’s been stabbed, shot, drugged, abandoned, set on fire, drugged again, he’s OD’d – three times, and he still can’t draw an adequate comparison for what it’s like. It’s like losing his mother over and over again. It’s like learning Julian is dead and Desiree has betrayed him.
Trying to find the last seven weeks is like letting Clark lie to him over and over and over again and calling it love.
It hurts only slightly less.
When Lex was small he stuck a pair of scissors in an electrical socket before Pamela caught him, and the quick jolt was enough to give his hair an extra curl or two. And yet, whoever said pain was temporary clearly hadn’t agreed to have thousands of volts sent through their body. So much pain just to remember seven weeks.
It’s really not enough time for so much effort.
When Lex is old and wrinkled, seven weeks will seem like the blink of an eye, but it’s not the length of time that’s important. What’s important is that he wants to remember and can’t.
It’s the free will that’s imperative.
It’s one thing for him to willingly forget, to turn a blind eye to sardine-can Porsches and flattened bullets. It’s something else entirely for his father to play God with his memory. Lex doesn’t have a god. That would require belief, and Lex only believes in himself -- and he believes in his right to know.
Even as his hands flex at the restraints and he bites down on the plastic mouthpiece, he can feel something emerging from the deepest recesses of his brain. An emotion he can’t remember feeling in a very long time.
He wonders what Pandora would think about his letting hope flitter around on a very short leash.
ii. If only you'd come back to me/ If you laid at my side/ Wouldn't need no Mojo Pin to keep me satisfied
He nods his head as disembodied voices ask him questions about the charge and the way he feels in the aftermath. He feels fried, what sort of inane answer is this man after?
When the doctor appears to remove the mouthpiece, Lex answers him curtly as nurses flit in and out of the room, changing this node, readjusting that one.
The second charge isn’t as painful. Less like massive voltage and more like a series of needles. Lex has plenty of experience with needles, and there’s a momentary flash of a large man looming over Lex and promising him that fighting will only make it worse. It’s disconcerting, but promising, and the third charge isn’t much different from the second.
So much for the aphorism that the third time is a charm.
The process itself reminds Lex of chipping at a block of ice with ninety-nine rubber picks and only one made of steel, and he wonders how long it will take for something to crack. He wonders how many trips he’ll have to make to find out the truth. He knows it won’t all happen at one time. To think otherwise would be foolish and fool-hardy. It would be like believing in Clark when he knows that Clark lies. But knowing Clark lies had never stopped Lex from needing him. From wanting his approval.
It’s possible that if Clark lied less then Lex wouldn’t be quite as eager to undergo this treatment, but that’s like saying if Lex were someone else Clark might trust him. Lex doesn’t do well with ‘might.’
Merlin always said that might didn’t make right. Or perhaps that was Arthur, it might even have been both, knowing T.H. White.
Lex chooses to focus on the scratchy cotton covering of the pillow behind his head instead of wondering about a dynasty that was brought down by a bastard child and good intentions.
As he prepares for the next charge, Hope continues to flitter on its little string in Lex’s consciousness, and he wonders where he saw the green rosary beads that are rolling through the recesses of his mind.
iii. Don't wanna weep for you, I don't wanna know/ I'm blind and tortured, the white horses flow/ The memories fire, the rhythms fall slow/ Black beauty I love you so
The charges aren’t just needles, they’re thousands of pinpricks from the allergist trying to figure out where Lex’s asthma went. The pain is like sleeping on a bed of nails that are on the wrong side of sharp, and Lex keeps waiting for something to break through his skin. He keeps waiting to bleed.
There’s a charge and the flash of a gun.
There’s another charge and Clark’s visage wracked with pain.
One more charge and there’s a warehouse -- and Kyle Tippett.
Except that Lex already has this memory well in place, but something tells him that this is something that was missing that he didn’t even know was gone. The hope he had, had nothing to do with this. He’s already accepted so much on faith, he wasn’t expecting all this, but there it is. A memory he didn’t even know he had.
Lex shot Clark -- and he’s still alive.
So, it really all was a lie.
Lex spits out the mouthguard and calls time.
While nurses mill around him, and the doctor quizzes him on his physical status, Lex’s mind roars with the headiness of newfound knowledge.
This isn’t the memory he was looking for, but it’s certainly good enough for one day. It’s a very small piece to what quite clearly is a much larger whole, and yet, Lex feels more invigorated, more hopeful than he was before he was strapped in earlier in the afternoon.
The process isn’t necessarily revealing what he was after, but that may not matter if he continues to recall memories such as these.
His first impulse is to find Clark and confront him, and yet, something tells Lex that’s not the smartest idea. He who has power must first learn how to weld it, and Lex has flawless memories of threats involving hammers, and Clark, naked, writhing underneath him, begging him to just let it go.
Lex suspects that not letting it go is what got him in this chair in the first place, but if insanity is doing the same thing over knowing the results, then it wouldn’t be right for him not to live up to his previous diagnosis. Maybe he’ll just tweak one or two things along the way.
Instead of giving into his impulses, Lex sets a time for his next treatment and walks out the front door. When he reaches the car, he pulls out his mobile and calls Smallville. Clark answers the phone, and Lex smiles at no one in particular. How he’ll progress really depends on Clark, and how much Lex is about to uncover regarding his lies.
For the right truth, Lex would give up everything; for the wrong lie, who knows what sort of harm could be done?
-end-
Notes: Beta’d by
serialkarma, despite my peevish nature and crankiness. Title from the Ed Harcourt LP. Song Mojo Pin by the always amazing Jeff Buckley.*Quote from Fray, Issue 1. Also, I should point out that I'm in a terribly foul mood, so if I'm snappish it's nothing personal.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-01-30 10:01 pm (UTC)And damn--nice way to explain the reverse treatments. Particularly this line:
The pain is like sleeping on a bed of nails that are on the wrong side of sharp, and Lex keeps waiting for something to break through his skin. He keeps waiting to bleed.
The 'waiting to bleed' part is particularly vivid. You capture pain in a shockingly clear manner. Lex would be pleased, I think. You should write more when you're peevish and cranky. I really enjoy your dark stories just as much as the funnier ones of the past--the stark reality really ties into the coming canon *so* believably. Nice job!
Re:
Date: 2004-01-30 11:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-30 10:10 pm (UTC)*is amazed*
And lovely use of the Buckley tune, too. :)
Re:
Date: 2004-01-30 11:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-30 10:17 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-01-30 11:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-01 04:07 am (UTC)if insanity is doing the same thing over knowing the results, then it wouldn’t be right for him not to live up to his previous diagnosis
Re:
Date: 2004-02-03 01:06 am (UTC)Just something I wanted to say
Date: 2004-02-01 11:46 pm (UTC)My point is that, I'm trying to try and put all the stories ever written about OC in one place. There will be an Archive for the group later on, but for that, I need writers and I love your work. "Hetero Lifemates" totally rocks!. I was laughing over my keyboard when I reached the part "I'm sleeping with their son after they raised us like brothers" and then, darling Seth goes on with "let me get Captain Oaks." Lovely!
Well, getting back to the topic, I'd like for you to consider the idea, the group, and well, maybe consider joining. *bats her eyes* I just thought I'd tell you about it. Thanks. Really.
Regarding the story
Date: 2004-02-02 01:50 am (UTC)First of all, amazing story. I'm a firm believer that one is a better writer while being in a dark, cranky and pretty much shitty mood. Stuff just pours from your mind without you even knowing. This is proof of such theory.
I love this line: But knowing Clark lies had never stopped Lex from needing him. From wanting his approval.
That's something that has always surprised me regarding Lex. Lex knows Clark's hiding something, he has to know because, otherwise, he wouldn't be as clever as I know Lex is. He knows and still, he needs Clark, he seeks Clark to tell him, to make him feel, that he's not Lionel, that he's not Luthor, but Lex. That's important.
The memory... yesh, I had almost forgotten that memory. An old memory, worth almost as much as the one he's looking for, and giving up just as valuable information. Accurate, I love it.
Great story, really. I guess this means I'm just going to have to check out your page more often. *grins* Thanks for that story.