hackthis_archive | 30 minute exorcism.

“Ordinary people are not like you and me, we’re the builders of their destiny.”
-Oasis ‘Go Let it Out’

Smallville
Jamais Vu

“I remember when you died,” is Superman’s opening gambit.

Lex doesn’t bother to turn his head. He’s perfectly able to picture the spandex-clad spectre hovering somewhere near the railing of the balcony without visual assistance.

Instead, he considers the drink in his hand, and how many of his taste buds are being killed as he swallows. He wonders when he switched from scotch to whiskey. He can’t pinpoint the exact date, however, he has distinct memories of the year and a college graduation not his own.

He swirls the liquid in his glass, and turns his head a fraction of an inch more to the left. He caught a glimmer of something red in the corner of his right eye, and that will never do.

Lex has nothing but disdain for such mockery.

“I remember when you didn’t,” he replies.

*

“I remember when you lied,” Superman says the next night.

Lex takes a sip of the vodka in his hand and turns to his right. Away. Always away.

He wonders how hard it would be to set up an enormous forcefield of some kind around the balcony, but then that might obstruct his view, and Lex likes his view. Lex likes his ability to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. He doesn’t have to answer to anyone anymore, and perhaps he’s not the last son, but he’s certainly a better heir than his father deserved.

“You started it,” Lex answers.

*

“I remember when you got married.”

It’s been almost a week, not that Lex has been counting or even waiting. He prefers his orange juice slightly chilled. Besides, he doesn’t have to wait, some things are unavoidable.

They are destined; and from the moment Superman ‘appeared‘, he’s taken an unhealthy interest in Lex Luthor’s life. Most people would be flattered; Lex is not most people. Superman’s not a person, period, and Lex has to wonder how many people can say they’ve had an alien as their best man. Or their lover. Or their enemy.

There are lots of people who can claim to have been saved by aliens, or a particular alien, but none of them are like Lex. Point of fact, despite whatever the press may say, none of those people would be around without Lex.

He is as responsible for Superman as Martha Kent or Lois Lane. He brought this upon himself and everybody else. Every memory he has will attest to that. “I remember when you weren’t there,” he says before turning around and walking back in the penthouse.

*

Superman enters through the balcony. Clark Kent comes through the front door. Even when they fight, certain things don’t change, and Lex’s ears are as sharp as any sort of superhearing.

There are eight tumblers in the top lock and six in the bottom once the locks are opened by the keypad. There’s the click of the door, thud of a briefcase, swish of a trench coat and the bump of one, two shoes being kicked off. All this takes place over the period of a few minutes because they don’t operate on Supertime at home.

Lex’s arms are perched on the railing of the balcony, and he takes another sip of the orange juice in his right hand, waiting. The view of the city, his city, their city, is amazing this time of night.

They always seem to wind up on the balcony after work.

“I remember the day you left.” Clark’s voice projects well, and Lex can feel the heat from his gaze long before warm arms are wrapped around his waist. There’s a nose nuzzling behind his left ear, and the glass in his hand slips slightly.

“I remember the day you came back,” he says by way of greeting. There’s a long silence before Clark takes the glass out his hand and sets it on the ledge. They’re close enough that Lex can feel Clark’s heart beating against his back. It hitches when Clark holds his breath; Lex learned that the first time they fought.

“Do you ever think it could have been different?” Clark asks finally, placing a kiss against Lex’s temple.

“There’s a certain probability to everything," Lex says matter-of-factly. "Anything is possible.”

-finis-

Notes: Jamais Vu: The belief that something is happening for the first time even though it’s happened before.