“the shadows never overcome the light.”

You realize just how filthy you are when he sets you briefly on the edge of the bed. Your clothes are torn and dusted with dirt and grime, your skin streaked with dried blood. You smell like iron, smoke, and sweat. Lex’s eyes sweep over you once, jaw tight, and he mutters, “Not like this.”

Before you can ask what he means, he’s already tearing off his tie, tossing it aside. He pushes up his sleeves, movements brisk but purposeful, then bends to hook his arms under you again.

“What are you-”

“You need to be cleaned up.” He states, voice short. “I’m not leaving you like this.

Hm. Normally, such a statement would have resulted in a snarky comeback from you, but you were too exhausted to even bicker. And he was right. 

“Let’s go” He guides you towards the bathroom, ignoring your swearing with every step. 

Lex sets you down on the edge of the closed toilet, then makes his way to the shower, pushing up his sleeves more, and turning on the water. You watch as he sticks his hand under the stream, pulling it out when it reached a decent temperature. 

He turns back to you, then narrows his eyes, as if calculating just exactly how this was going to work out. 

“I can handle myself,” you say, as if reading his mind. 

He glances at your bruised wrist. It’s halfway healed.

Then to the buttons on your shirt. 

You huff and start undoing them with your good hand, awkwardly but slowly. “See?” You try to prove, but unfortunately they broke your dominant hand. 

Then he steps forward. He crouches down to your level, and lifts his hands to your chest. “Let me.”

He doesn’t give you options. You drop your hands and exhale, avoiding eye contact with him as he undoes your shirt in seconds. 

Your heart is hammering in your chest. 

“I-I can do the rest,” you stammer once he finishes, leaving your chest partially exposed. Your face feels hotter than normal, and you’re desperate for some distance. 

“Fine.” He takes a step forward and turns around so his back is to you. 

You realize he’s not going to leave you alone. It’s a silent invitation to undress. 

Although you’d never admit that a small part of you wants to undress for Lex, you just didn’t expect it to happen under these circumstances. 

You clumsily peel off the rest of your clothes, eyes fixed on his broad back in case he decides to whirl around. The act of sliding off your skirt sends a bolt of pain through your broken leg, and you bite your cheek hard enough to stifle the cry that wants to escape. 

The skirt hits the floor with a muted thump.

“Ready?” He asks, as if he hasn’t been listening to every tiny sound you make. 

“Can you hand me a towel or something at least?” 

Lex exhales like you’re the one being difficult. “I won’t look.” 

But he grabs one anyways, extending it behind him without a glance, and you snatch it quickly to wrap around yourself. 

He turns around just as you cover yourself adequately, then helps you back to your feet and to the shower. He slides the frosted glass to the side, then averts his gaze, allowing you to slip off the towel and hand it to him as you step under the stream of water. 

Lex lingers just outside the glass without another word. 

You lean against the shower wall and let the hot water run over your body, washing off the harsh environment you were rescued from. You pass a foamy hand over fading scars and bruises, and while most of them aren’t in any pain, you play back the moments, recoiling slightly at the memory. 

Your shin is… starting to heal. You can sense it. But like your broken wrist, it’s taking its sweet time recovering. 

A sharp knock raps against the glass. “Enough.” 

“Ugh,” you groan, but turn off the faucet obediently. 

His silhouette waits outside, clutching the towel. As you crack open the shower door, you start to wobble, and he grabs your arm to keep your balance. 

“Careful, he rumbles, and while keeping his eyes trained on the space above your head, he wraps the towel around you in one smooth motion. Once you adjust it under your arms, his eyes shift back to yours. 

He doesn’t lift his steadying hands off of your shoulders. His gaze flickers to your glistening collarbone, then back up.  

“Wait here. I’ll get you some clothes.”

He allows you to lean back against the wall as he disappears back through the door, then returns with a neatly folded pile. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, taking the pile in your one good hand. “I think I got this.” 

He gives you a calculating look, as if assessing if you were capable of dressing yourself, then shakes his head doubtfully and leaves the room. 

Once the door shuts, you pull the clothes on as best as you can, grateful he picked out sweatpants and a simple shirt, biting back a hiss as your leg protests every movement. 

When you finally emerge from the bathroom door he lifts his head ever so slightly, his eyes looking down at you. 

“You’re still limping,” he says flatly, approaching you. “Must take a while for you to recover from broken bones.” 

“Excellent observation, Sherlock,” you mutter, adjusting the hem of your oversized shirt. 

He ignores your comment, and instead, steps into your space. Without another word, he slips an arm familiarly around your waist like before, lifting you off your broken leg. He’s slightly hunched over to reach you, and his hand rests warmly on your waistband. 

A rush of nerves tingles through you. 

“Bed.” He orders, then guides you forward to the mattress. 

You want to argue with him. You should argue, but when you take your first step and a sudden flash of pain shoots up your leg, he’s there. Lex practically lifts you off the floor, and guides you across the room till you’re at the edge of your mattress. 

He doesn’t just abandon you either. Lex lowers you gently, letting you first sit on the sheets, then lifts your broken leg gently on top, with the utmost reverence as to not cause any more suffering to you. 

You watch him through heavy eyes as he adjusts your pillows, slides another beneath your knee to ease the swelling, his hands lingering on your leg longer than necessary. His brows are furrowed, every movement deliberate. 

He knows you’ll be healed by the morning. 

He knows that the pain will be over soon once your body reverts. 

And yet, he’s here, hovering over you, with an expression you hadn’t actually seen before without the guise of jealousy. 

There’s no arrogance in his face. And he’s not drunk either. 

Knuckles graze your calf as he adjusts the blanket over you. You feel the heat of his hand after he pulls back. 

His hand lands on the headboard above your head to steady himself before making one last adjustment to your pillow. 

Then his eyes lock onto yours 

It’s completely silent in the room. 

“Lex,” you whisper, fighting to keep your eyes open, voice frayed at the edges. 

His hand curls tighter on the headboard, muscles straining as he leans closer. His gaze flicks to your lips, just for a second, and for a heartbeat you’re certain he’ll break. That he’ll let go of control. 

The room is suffocating. The weight of his breath, the gravity of him looming over your defeated body. 

But then he exhales sharply, and releases the headboard. He rises slowly, and keeps his eyes trained on you. 

“You’ll be fine by the morning,” he says flatly, stripped of any softness. “Try to not get kidnapped again until then.”

He turns on his heels and aggressively rolls down his sleeves, leaving you staring after him. 

Your chest aches, and before you can name the feeling, you’re blacked out. 

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗ ‗‗‗‗‗‗ ‗‗‗ ‗‗ ‗

By morning, every sharp pain in your body is gone. 

Erased. 

The scientists hanging over you, their vile grins and academic excitement at your pain and healing process, well… that remains clear as day. 

And last night. Lex Luthor, helping you undress, guiding you to your mattress, hanging just inches away from your face…

You sit up in bed. Around you are the pillows he propped up, and over your body rests the blanket he gently laid over yourself. 

Where is that Lex now?

Probably calculating his next move with the military force he has full reign over. 

Or maybe figuring out a way to reverse your healing abilities. 

A darker thought crosses your mind for a second. 

…Or maybe he knew. He knew and he let them take you. After all, Lex Luthor is driven by innovation, by science, by intelligence. Maybe he wanted them to test you, for him. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Lex bent the world to get exactly what he wanted. 

The way he not only carried you out of the lab, gunning down every single scientist, with rage in his eyes, but also delicately helped you take a shower, and put you down in your bed… it didn’t fit the picture. 

Still, you can’t shake the suspicion. 

But in the end, he’s probably not actually thinking about you. 

You as in, the normal you. The you that causes his control to slip, just even for a second, to reveal the sliver of humanity underneath his well-tailored armor. 

Roll out of bed, landing on your newly healed leg, you exhale. Wiggling your toes, enjoying the freedom from torment. 

You make your way out of the guest room. 

Lex… is home. He looks up at you from the couch. There’s no phone in hand, no distraction, he’s simply waiting for you. 

You take a step closer into the living area, and perch on the arm of a sofa adjacent from him. 

“I’m all better,” you say, pointing to your leg, and showing it off. 

His eyebrows are practically fused together in deep, intense thought. 

“What?” 

He speaks up finally after a long sigh. “The medic that helped you. I traced your kidnapping back to her. She mentioned the phenomenon to a friend, someone who worked for Cale-Anderson Pharmaceuticals. They have a branch just outside Metropolis. That’s how they found out. How they found you.” 

Your heart drops. As a journalist, you know first hand that word spreads fast. But damn, you didn’t expect it to be that fast. 

“Lex, that’s impossibly fast,” you muse, sliding off the arm of the sofa and standing. “Too fast.” 

His blue eyes narrow. “What are you suggesting?” 

You swallow, and fold your arms, like you’re defending yourself. “Of all people, you’d be the first to experiment and test on something, someone like me.”

Lex’s lips curl at the corners. “And?” 

Your blood runs cold in your veins. Is he baiting you?

“And… so maybe the kidnapping was your idea.”

The smirk stays spread on his face as he pushes off the sofa and rises to his feet slowly. He takes a step towards you. 

“Is it true?”

Lex lets out a low chuckle. “No. If I wanted to get all the data from your new DNA, I wouldn’t let some inferior scientists in a warehouse do it. I’d get it myself. That’s what we were going to do today, but luckily I scraped their databases for all the test results they ran on you. I have everything I need, for now.”

He tilts his head and continues, “and don’t worry darling, I wouldn’t have been so cruel. I'd've put you under a heavier sedative for the rest.”

This absolute, son of a-

Your hands clench in fists tighter than the slick necktie around Lex’s collar. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” 

“Not better, just more informed. You accuse me of orchestrating your abduction, but then you give me too little credit.”

You gawk at him. “So you don’t care that they strapped me down like a lab rat and tortured me. All you really care about is just getting your answers.”

He doesn’t flinch at your accusation. If anything, he seems entertained. 

“They proved that your body is worth more than you realize. And that makes you a liability. A dangerous one. One obviously where people would go to lengths to kidnap you.”

“A liability?” You’re almost fuming. 

In one swift motion, Lex catches your hand. His thumb drags slowly across the inside of your wrist, the one that had been broken yesterday, now fused back together. He studies it like it’s proof of a secret only he knows. For a moment, he’s captivated. 

Then he drops your hand. 

He closes the space between you with deliberate calm. One hand lifts, settling against your cheek. His palm is warm, his touch startling gentle for the same man who killed an entire team of scientists just to save you. He caresses your skin the same way he did your wrist. 

Curious.

Controlling. 

Reverent. 

“Yes,” he says quietly, blue eyes piercing yours. “A liability. But not one I’m willing to lose.” His thumb lingers just beneath your jawline, sending your pulse racing. His voice drops lower. “I won’t let anyone take you from me again.” 

The words hang heavy, the weight of his confession pressing down on you. Something human, no, passionate flashes in his eyes before it vanishes behind the usual steel. 

You feel it in his touch, in his words. You belong to him, and he knows it. 

And maybe worse, you want it. 

Abruptly, he pulls back, hand leaving your skin like a sudden chill. He snatches his pinstripe jacket off the sofa, movements clipped, precise.

“Get some more rest,” he tosses without looking back, his tone back to business. “Don’t even think about leaving the penthouse. We’ll decide what to do with you tomorrow.”

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

Lex turns abruptly, striding down a sand path. “I suggest you keep up,” he calls back to you over his shoulder. “You don’t exactly have the clearance to be here. Trespassers don’t fare well.” 

You clutch your heels tighter and jog after him, muttering under your breath. 

“I’m pleased you actually took the medication.” 

You frown. “Why?” 

Lex chuckles. “It’s actually only been tested on monkeys. You’re the first human subject.” 

“What?” You shout, shaking your head in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?”

“Relax. You’re still alive, right? And you’re not sick. It worked.” 

You flip off his stupid bald head. 

He doesn’t look back. 

“Put your shoes on.”

“Have you ever tried walking on the beach with heels on?” You fire back, enraged by his sheer audacity. 

He hums. “You’ll need something more practical. You’ll be coming back here again.” 

It’s not a suggestion. It’s an order. 

And you groan. 

The camp unfolds around you. Soldiers pitching tents, technicians running cables into huge generators, guards pacing the perimeter. It's controlled chaos. 

A glint of metal to your right catches your eye. From a smaller tent, emerges a towering figure, clad in green and black armor, weapons strapped to every inch. The helmet closely resembles a spider’s face with multiple “eyes”. 

You falter as three more follow, their heavy suits clattering. One removes their helmet. 

Officer Ludlow. 

You were surprised you still remembered his name.

He spots you immediately, a grin splitting his face as he jogs awkwardly in the armor. 

“Miss Harper,” he greets you, ducking his head in a short bow. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” 

“I wasn’t planning on being here, but congrats on the upgrades,” you eye his suit. 

He beams. You notice his dimples and your face feels just a few degrees warmer. 

“Check it out,” he turns in a circle slowly, allowing you to admire the suit. “Raptor unit.” 

You can’t hold back a short giggle. “You look ridiculous.” 

Ludlow reads your sarcasm. “Come on. I know you’re jealous. Maybe ask Mr. Luthor to make one for you. Though they might not make them in your size.” 

You open your mouth to speak- 

And someone behind you clears their throat. 

Ludlow snaps to attention. You don’t even need to turn around to see who it is. 

“I apologize for my secretary’s… behavior. I assure you she won’t be distracting you for the rest of the evening,” Lex sneers, taking a step forward. 

He dismisses Ludlow. He hurries off back to his three fellow Raptors. 

Once the officer was out of sight, Lex clasps his hands behind his back and turns to you. 

You whirl on Lex. “Secretary? I am not your secretary.” 

That damn smirk. “Though I’m sure you’d like to be.”

Your mouth gapes open. 

“You’ve been begging for it.”

It hits you again. Just like that night at the press conference. His hand brushing against yours. 

He’s marking his territory. 

He won’t admit to kissing you, but he sure as hell won’t let anyone else touch you. 

Two can play that game. 

“But you’re too scared to make me your secretary,” you counter, letting your words land deliberately. “You’d have to actually promote me. A reward for all my…hard work.” 

Your gaze slides down Lex’s perfectly tailored suit. Slowly.  

And you give him a rare sight: a smile. 

Lex’ glowers back. 

Victory tastes sweet. 

But before you can really savor it, he changes the conversation. “We’re testing the pocket dimension tonight.” 

You tilt your head in confusion. “Am I supposed to know what that is?” 

He straightens his tie. “If you were any accredited scientist, yes. But they’re only theoretical. Until I started making them.” 

“Okay…” 

Lex points to the largest tent, the furthest from the water. “We have one there-”

Then he jabs his finger west. “And one about a mile that way. We’re testing a full scale version of them now as we continue to set up camp.” 

He checks his watch. “We’re about five minutes to demonstration. Come.”

He strolls to a red cooler, popping it open, and tosses you a beer bottle. You catch it one-handed. 

“Let’s get a good view,” he hums, heading towards a half ring of chairs facing the tent. 

You sigh, barefoot in the sand, beer in hand, and follow.  

Sitting in the vacant seat next to Lex, you look around nervously at the other scientists waiting. Some are in white lab coats, others are in… patterned Hawaiian shirts. You’re not sure what the vibe exactly is, but at least you don’t stand out among the conglomerate of personnel. 

You lean over to a scientist with thick glasses. “What’s a pocket universe?” 

He looks at you like you just asked the stupidest question on planet earth. In Lex’s world, you most certainly just did. 

“Fine,” you groan to yourself, shifting away from him. 

Two technicians open the tent flap, revealing a circular structure, about the height of the Raptors. One of the techs starts flicking on switches, and the machine powers to life, a low hum vibrating the sand beneath your feet. 

You glance at Lex. He’s calm, watching the setup unfold intently. 

“Is this safe?” You ask him, voice raised over the noise of the camp. 

“We’ve tested it on a smaller scale hundreds of times. There shouldn’t be any issues.” 

A scientist scribbles numbers down on their clipboard and says something under their breath. 

You’re not convinced. 

The second technician in the large tent holds up three fingers, then after a moment, yanks down the biggest lever. 

A low hum swells into a roar. The machine's inner ring flares up, blue lights sparking and pulsing. It grows brighter and brighter-

Too bright. 

“Stop!” Lex lunges out of his chair, but it’s too late. 

The machine explodes. 

The blast rips across the camp, blowing over tents and hurling bodies into the sand. The shockwave slams you into the ground backwards and suddenly you're flat in the sand.

Everything goes dark. 

You cough, spitting grit, trying to push up on your arms. A stabbing pain shoots down your right arm, hot and sharp. Your legs are shaking and scream when you move. 

You try to cry out, but all that comes is a hoarse squeak. Sand has coated your throat down to your lungs, and you gag, coughing harder until there’s stars dancing in your vision. 

Through the ringing in your ears and blurred eyesight, you make out Lex. He’s already on his feet, brushing himself off. A Raptor soldier to his left stumbles to the side and you can see his suit is scorched from the blast. He must have thrown himself in front of Lex. 

He’s unscathed. 

Around you, the camp is in disarray. Soldiers groan, scientists drag themselves to their feet, and medics are rushing to pull people off the ground. Someone beside you cradles a broken arm, another bleeds through her lab coat. 

You glance at yourself. A jagged gash runs down from your shoulder to elbow, and you’re bleeding, a lot. The pain finally registers, and it’s unbearable. 

You bite your tongue, fighting the urge to scream. 

A medic sprints to Lex. He barks something at her, and her head snaps over to you. She abandons him immediately, racing over to… you.

“Luthor wants you treated, now.” She crouches, reaching her hand out to you. “Can you stand?” 

You nod, even though you’re only fifty percent sure. She hauls you up, your legs nearly buckling. White-hot pain slices your arm again. 

“Sorry,” she mutters, wrapping a steady arm around your waist, half-dragging you to a nearby tent. Inside, there’s a few other medics tending to scientists, presumably important to Lex. 

She sits you down on a bench, opens a kit, and presses a pre-soaked towel to your arm. 

You yell, jerking away, but she holds down your arm. 

“Stay still, I know it hurts, but I need to clean out the sand. You’re lucky this is pretty surface level” 

Tears sting your eyes as she continues to press the cloth, alcohol searing the gash. 

She stops. “There. Worst part’s over. I’ll bandage you, then we’ll transfer you to LuthorCorp’s labs. Luthor doesn’t want this incident to go public.” 

You sit up straighter. “Why not a hospital? This really hurts.” 

She nods and shuffles through the first aid kit. She pulls out a syringe. 

“Painkiller,” she says before sticking it into your shoulder. The prick of the needle is incompatible to the pain you’re already feeling. A few moments later, the throbbing starts to subside. 

“S.T.A.R. labs is racing him to the pocket-universe tech. He wouldn’t want them finding out that he had a failure. He’d rather they experience it themselves too,” she starts, while unwrapping gauze for your arm. 

“In my opinion, it’s a stupid idea, I’ve heard of the dangers of opening a pocket universe but-” She’s still rambling when suddenly she freezes. 

Her eyes widen. 

“What the hell-”

Your heart stops. “What? What’s wrong?”

She drops the gauze into her lap and grabs your arm, moving it to get a better look at the gash. 

“The cut, it’s… closing.” 

You whip your head down. The torn skin is knitting itself together. As the edges pull tight together, it leaves a thick scar. Within seconds, the gash is gone. 

The pain is gone too. Probably in part from the shot, but mostly because your wound is healed. 

You press a finger to the scar, skeptically. 

“Hey!” The medic snaps, batting your hand away, but then she mimics your action, poking the scar. Her eyes dart to yours. “That doesn’t hurt?” 

You shake your head. 

At the same time, you look around the tent to the other victims of the blast. No one else’s wounds are healing miraculously. Just yours. 

The medic looks paler. “Has this happened to you before?” 

Your throat goes tight. “No, never. I swear.” 

As time continues to pass, even the aching in your leg diminishes and the ringing in your ear has subsided. 

The atmosphere stills when the tent flap snaps open. 

Lex strides in, flanked by a Raptor. His eyes rake over the scene, till they land on you. 

He approaches and the medic steps back, hands half raised. “Sir, I don’t understand.” 

He steps right up to you, looks down at your arm, and freezes. You shrink, fearful of his next reaction as his face remains emotionless. 

“Everyone out.” 

“No, Lex, it’s fine-”

“Out, now!” He roars. 

Medics help the other victims to their feet and they all file out, till it’s just you and him, alone. 

Your hands are instinctively clenched in sweaty fists. You stare at him, as his eyes follow the last medic, then he turns. 

“Let me see.” His voice is hushed. And there’s actually a touch of curiosity in his tone. 

You raise your arm enough for him to get a good look. He slides a warm hand under your tricep, holding you steady to inspect. 

“Lex, I-”

“Don’t.” 

Oh no. 

“Do you have any idea what this means?” He drops your arm, squeezing his eyes shut, then pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I didn’t ask for this,” you mutter. His head snaps back to you. 

“No one ever does.” His lips curl. “This is the type of thing I’m eradicating from this earth. Abnormalities. Outliers. Metahumans,” he spits like it’s a slur. 

“I am not a metahuman! What the hell do you have against them anyway?” 

He laughs poisonously. “Oh. Just the fact that they cheat humanity in every way. They’re offensive to the progress and capacity of our species.” 

You shake your head. “You’re insane.” 

“I’m right. Now, how did this happen…” he begins to pace the area in front of you. 

Then it dawns on you. 

“Lex. The medication. You said it hadn’t been tested on humans before, if you’re serious, then maybe this is a side effect.” 

You see it register in his face too. He accepts your hypothesis. 

“You did this to me.” 

You wish you hadn’t said anything. 

Lex lurches forward, grabs the front of your shirt, and yanks you off the bench, forcing a sharp yelp from you, his face is inches from yours, fuming.

“I gave you a remedy, not a mutation,” he hisses in your face. “Now you’re not a PR liability, you’re a science experiment gone wrong. The formula was meant to accelerate immune response. Nothing more. It went too far.” 

“What?” 

He continues. “Your body reacted. Something in your chemistry, or genetics, triggered the effect. If I gave the medication to someone else, it might do the same thing, or nothing, or even kill them.” 

The implication sinks in. “So, I’m what? A freak accident?”

“Not a freak,” he says quietly. “An anomaly.”

You don’t know if that’s any better. 

Lex leans in closer. “Do you even understand what this means? If I released this formula to the public, every opportunist, every warlord, every pathetic senator would scramble for it. Half would die, the other half, if they survived, would wield a power none should have.” 

Your mouth dries. “You’re not gonna give it to them.” 

He scoffs. “Of course not. I don’t hand out godhood to the undeserving.” 

There’s a flicker in his gaze. Hunger, fascination with you, something has struck a personal chord in him, and he’s not hiding it. “Which leaves me with one problem.”

You stiffen. “Me.” 

Lex gives you a bitter grin. “You.” 

Your lips quiver, voice hushed. “So what then? You’re gonna lock me up? Treat me like a test subject then throw me away when you’re done with your research? Pretend you don’t care, even after last night?” 

His jaw flexes, and he finally releases your shirt. He looks away, like the sight of you is unbearable. 

“I don’t get attached to liabilities.” 

But he doesn’t sound sure of himself. It sounds more like he's trying to convince himself than you.  

His blue eyes meet yours, and he takes a deep breath. 

“I’ll need to fix you.”

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

a/n: guys would this even be in the dc universe if we didn't get some metahuman type stuff in here? sorry if it kills the vibe, it's not going to detract from the story, i promise. hopefully lex lives up to his promises lol

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- i -

You ran.

Your voice tore through the bond, dragging at Obi-Wan with every shred of desperation you had left. Warning him. Begging him.

But the hallway closed in around you, shadows pressing at your heels. At the far end, a crimson glow hissed to life, buzzing louder with every step it drew nearer.

A lightsaber.

The sight hollowed your stomach. Your legs gave way beneath the weight of it. There was no escape.

The burning red of the lightsaber walked slowly your way until you recognized the woman from your dreams.

A hand clamped over your mouth before you could scream, but did not keep the air in your lungs. An arm locked across your stomach, lifting you off the ground.

“There is no need to be so childish,” Dooku whispered into your ear, the vibration of his voice sinking beneath your skin.

You thrashed in silence, screaming only through the bond, clawing at it as though you could tear it wider. 

But Dooku carried you back into the studio as if you were no more than a wayward kid.

He set you down on the couch—that couch, where his hand had traced comfort into your skin. You looked up at him through tears that blurred him into a shifting shadow, and still you pulled at the bond, though every tug felt weaker.

“Who is she?” Your voice trembled, fragile as glass.

With every shred of strength, you clawed through the Bond—each pull making the room tilt, your breath falter.

Dooku’s head inclined, almost indulgent. “My apprentice.”

“Is she going to kill me?”

“You have been under my care too long to believe I would permit anyone to harm you.” His voice was velvet, patient, as though soothing a child.

“She has harmed me before,” you rasped.

“Yes.” His brows lifted slightly, the faintest curl at his lips. “She can get a little… jealous. But it will not happen again.”

He regarded you with a rare openness, hands folded with effortless composure, as if the truth itself were a gift.

“You—you’re a Sith.” The words tore out of you, little more than a pant.

Your head pounded with every desperate pull toward Obi-Wan—silence meeting you at every turn.

“Have I taught you nothing?” Dooku grimaced, stepping closer, his shadow pressing into yours.

“I can’t—” your breath hitched, breaking your words, “—trust you now.”

“Nothing has changed,” he murmured, “but the lens through which you choose to see me.”

Your mind scrabbled for an answer, but all your strength was bound in the silent screaming across the Bond.

“He won’t hear you.”

Your eyes widened, snapping to his.

“Master Kenobi is… occupied. At this very moment, he struggles to escape the images in his mind.”

Your stomach twisted, hollowing out. “Wh—what?”

Dooku’s head tilted, that unsettling tenderness flickering across his gaze as he sat beside you. His nearness stole the air from your chest.

“It has been… endearing, watching you weave your little facade.” His voice was low, coaxing.

You gasped, clutching your dizzying head. “You—you knew?” 

“Oh, I knew, princess.” His hands ghosted across your cheek with unbearable tenderness. “I know you’ve lied to me from the start. But it’s alright.”

Your vision darkened around the edges. All you could see was him.

You shook your head, desperate, words tumbling with sobs. “I—I didn’t—no, I—”

“Shhh.” His thumb grazed your lip, pressing silence into your mouth. “It’s alright. I lied to you too.”

It happened too fast.

His fingers pressed firm to your temple.

You screamed, but it was a sound that never left your mouth.

A violent snap, like a string stretched past breaking point.

It lashed back like a whip.

And then—silence.

Your skull felt hollow. Too wide, too empty, every corner echoing with absence.

The bond was gone.

Your lids felt heavy. “What—why?” you rasped. Breath snagged on the words. “It… it hurts.”

“It will pass,” he cooed. “It will take time to get used to, but don’t worry.”

Your head landed on his shoulder like a stone. His hand found your back, steadying you.

“I knew about you.” His voice warmed, low and deliberate. “I’ve known since your parents begged the Jedi for help—because their little princess had visions that made her dangerous. Her beauty became an asset to be married off for power; those visions turned her into a tool. I’ve known all along, little one.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. “I wanted to train you. To make you powerful.”

“Why didn’t you—” It wasn’t a question so much as a challenge, your slurred voice trying to carry it.

Dooku scoffed. “The Jedi wouldn’t trust me with you. They trusted my former padawan. Qui-Gon would come to me for advice when the princess’s visions turned dark. I taught him how to shield you. With your parents’ permission, he dampened your connection to the Force, showed you a few tricks, and called it done.”

Air left you. Everything you’d believed tilted—what had been an opportunity was a decision to keep you powerless. Hot tears tracked down your cheeks.

“But you are so much more than that, child.” With his free hand he cupped your cheek and raised your face to his. “We could be so much more—together.” There was a strange honesty in his eyes as they searched you.

His thumb caught your tears and held them for a long, soft minute until you asked, “What is it you want from me?”

“Your trust.”

“Why?”

He hummed, a smile without warmth. “Listen closely.” His gaze softened then sharpened. “You see further than most. The Jedi will not let you—they’ll bind your gift, call it intuition, chain it with their ‘ethical—’” he mocked the word gently, “—dilemmas. But knowledge is power. When you can see the future, my girl, you can shape it.”

“I don’t see the future,” you choked. Your throat burned. “I see nightmares.”

He sighed—almost a touch—the sound smoothing your hair. “Pain is the toll one pays to master power. Endure it, and even nightmares will kneel to you.”

“No.” The word came sharp and small. “I don’t want them to kneel. I want them gone.” Your voice cracked on the last sentence.

A white-hot pain lanced through you and you shuddered. Night swallowed the room as your head fell back into his chest. His hand slid up the back of your neck—cradle and claim. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. The Force has awakened in you. You can either serve it—or be served by it.”

- ii -

When you saw the arena, you finally understood what the Force had been trying to tell you for the last month.

The buzzing that had haunted you night and day was not you turning into a beetle—it was this sound. The shriek of lightsabers cutting through waves of droids, the metallic clang echoing like a dirge. The Force had been guiding you here, whispering warnings you had ignored, dragging you toward this moment of reckoning.

Your weary eyes found Obi-Wan in the chaos, and your heart nearly stopped.

Tears streamed unchecked down your face, dripping into the crimson silk of your dress. The weight of the tiara dug into your skull, the cuffs around your wrists biting into your skin as you stood trapped on the balcony. Powerless. Watching your friends being cornered like prey.

And above it all, Yan—no, Count Dooku, looked down at them, lips curved into a cold smirk, his composure untouched by the storm he had unleashed.

“Please,” you begged, again and again, the word a broken mantra on your lips. You had been pleading since the very moment Obi-Wan had been chained to the execution post. Each heartbeat, each clash of metal, ripped the word rawer from your throat.

Dooku’s gaze cut to you, sharp and disdainful.

“It is unworthy of you to whine,” he said, lips curling in disgust.

But you couldn’t stop. Your eyes sought Obi-Wan again. His wrist flicked in a practiced circle, blue light carving through metal, his movements a symphony of control in the madness.

The bond was gone—but you swore you could still feel him.

His life was on the line, yet it was your body trembling, your breath breaking, your heart collapsing under the weight of fear.

And before you lost your chance, you let the words slip through the invisible tether that no longer bound you, praying somehow they would reach him:

‘I love you. I’m sorry.’

Your chest ached, your heart stammering in your ribs as his eyes found yours, even mid-battle.

‘You were right.’

And in that impossible instant, he smirked at you—just before cutting down a green-skinned beast.

It undid you.

You staggered back inside, pressing your forehead against the warm stone wall. Sobs wrenched free as you clawed at yourself, thrashing against your own foolishness, your own ruinous decisions that had brought you there.

It felt like hours before Dooku returned.

He entered with a sudden, cutting urgency in his stride. His crimson cape billowed behind him like a shadow on fire, his eyes dark yet alive with intent. He crouched before you, his presence swallowing the space between you.

You were curled into yourself, knees pulled to your chest, arms coiled around them, cheek pressed to the wall.

“Child.” The word slid from his mouth in a voice so soft it might have been mistaken for love. 

You raised your head only enough to glare at him through narrowed, tear-stung eyes.

“It is not my intention to make you a prisoner.”

You did not graced him with an answer.

He sighed and sank fully to the floor across from you, folding himself into something almost human.

“I will give you a choice. Come with me, and nothing will ever harm you. Or stay with them—and neither your life nor your kingdom will be spared from what is coming.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears, so loud it drowned your own thoughts. A scream clawed at your throat but did not escape.

“They are outnumbered,” he pressed, his voice low, coaxing. “The Republic is already in the grip of a Sith Lord.”

You exhaled shakily, grief crushing your chest. But you forced your voice steady as you recited words that were not yours, but Qui-Gon’s.

“I don’t turn toward the light because I think someday I’ll win some cosmic game. I turn toward it because it is the light.”

The faintest, sorrowful smile crossed his lips. Grief softened the edges of his expression, making him, for a heartbeat, look like the man he might have been. The man you had been able to see and meet.

“They won’t win,” he whispered, and for once, his eyes were stripped bare—honest, kind, unarmored.

Your body shifted almost of its own accord. Balancing on your knees, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Your hand lingered on his face, tender, aching, a goodbye hidden inside the touch. And in that fleeting instant, knowledge rose in you like breath—knowledge you hadn’t realized you carried until you spoke it aloud.

“Neither will you.”

His hand caught yours, turning so his lips could press a kiss into it. A vow he could never fulfill.

Your fingers brushed the tiara.

But his hands shot out, covering yours. His voice broke—deep, rough, threaded with the tenderness he never allowed anyone else to see. “Don’t you dare.”

The silence stretched as you stared into his eyes where you found a broken, almost apologetic confession.

“For whatever it’s worth…” His jaw tightened. “…I would’ve tried to make you happy.”

Your heart clenched so violently it was painful. You nodded—just barely, the smallest surrender.

“I know.”

- iii - 

The warm rays of sunshine woke you, seeping through the curtains like strands of liquid gold and kissing your skin with their gentle heat.

Before your eyes could even flutter open, you heard it: noise.

The hum of engines rising and falling, ships darting through the atmosphere. The world outside was awake and bustling.

You jolted upright, chest tight, until your surroundings settled into focus.

You were home.

The air was familiar, the ceiling above you no longer foreign stone but your own apartment’s tiles you knew by heart. The sheets smelled faintly of cedar and soap. A sigh tore itself from your chest, heavy with relief.

It was over.

Something tugged at your hand beneath the covers—a warm weight pulling you down. You turned, finding Obi-Wan sprawled beside you, drowsy and unguarded, the heavy fabrics that clung from his shoulders bringing warmth into both of his hands wrapped tightly around yours as though it were something he couldn’t risk letting go.

Your heart faltered.

His hair, always so meticulous, now tumbled across his forehead in messy, burnished strands. He would never allow it while awake, yet here he was—rumpled and vulnerable for your eyes only. His beard was untrimmed, catching the morning light in soft auburn threads. His lips, delicate, slightly parted as he breathed.

But it was his hands that undid you.

Rough, elegant, powerful. The hands of a warrior holding yours with the reverence of a cleric.

He stirred. A small, endearing grunt rumbled low in his chest as his lashes lifted, revealing eyes still clouded with sleep. He blinked at you slowly, as though you were part of a dream he was reluctant to leave.

“Hey, you,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your pulse racing so fast you thought it might betray you.

“Hello there.” His reply came in a tone you had never heard from him before—rough, husky, warm in a way that almost unmade you.

“You brought me back.” The words slipped from you like a confession.

He sank deeper into the pillows, the corners of his lips quirking faintly, eyes falling closed again. “Saving the princess never gets old.”

“Thank you,” you teased softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted.”

“I figured” you jested slipping out of bed. But the fabric tugging at your skin drew your attention—you glanced down at yourself, realizing you were wearing a hospital gown. “Where’s my dress?”

Obi-Wan cracked one eye open, his gaze lazily skimming your form with deliberate slowness. “Oh, I’m sorry—did you want to keep it?”

You gasped, rolling your eyes at his mockery. “It was pretty.”

“It must be shredded in some dumpster near the Medical Bay of the Temple.” He mused, still from the bed.

Your eyebrow quirked up, “I’ll have to stop by and fetch it, then.”

 “And it wasn’t me who took it off, by the way.” An adorable blush reached his ears.

“Mmmm” you hummed as you passed by his laying form on the way out, “boring.”

You padded into the living room. Everything was orderly, pristine… except for the small constellation of discarded things over the couch—your dress tossed carelessly beside his brown robe and weathered boots. A sight so ordinary, so domestic, it almost made you cry.

The familiar ache of the unattainable reached your chest again.

It was over, you were home, safe, with him, but you had lost the closeness and support you had found in Serenno’s Count.

In the kitchen, you busied yourself with breakfast. The rhythmic motions steadied you, but your mind wandered back through the chaos, the darkness you had endured. And only then did you realize with a start—last night, there had been no nightmares.

Soft notes filled the air. Music. The velvety rhythm of jazz drifting from the old record player Obi-Wan had given you on Life Day years ago. It wrapped the room in warmth.

Footsteps approached, steady, unhurried. You felt them before you heard them, your breath catching in anticipation.

A hand slid between yours and your hip, deft fingers flicking the stove off before you could react. In the same movement, he turned you toward him. The ease of it made your knees weaken—it was as if your entire world could be rearranged with one simple gesture from him.

You looked up, the wooden spoon still clutched in your hand like a talisman. His body was so close, his presence so consuming, that your chest tightened. His devastating eyes looked into you with a depth that made you feel stripped bare.

“Hi,” you whispered the only word you remembered.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his hands rose, cupping your cheeks as though they had belonged there all along. His lips pressed to yours feather-light.

Your breath fractured.

Then his forehead rested against yours, his breath unsteady against your lips. His fingers threaded into your hair, trailing to the nape of your neck. His arms folded around you slowly, carefully, until you were enveloped entirely in his hold.

You were dreaming. Surely.

He couldn’t be—he wouldn’t—

But then he kissed you again. Firmer this time. Needier. One hand buried in your hair, the other anchoring your waist against him, sealing every possible distance between you.

Your body finally responded, hands flying to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt. The wooden spoon echoing on the floor.

You let him lead. You let him take you.

The kiss grew, insistent, overwhelming. His lips moved over yours with a desperation he could no longer mask, his tongue brushing, coaxing, his breath hot against your mouth. Beneath your palm, you felt it—his heart hammering, wild and unrestrained.

His kiss wasn’t a sudden urge, a raging desire or a futile whim. It was an urgent request to be loved. So you did.

When at last you broke for air, his gaze pinned you, stormy and vulnerable all at once. Fear and tenderness.

“I need more,” he rasped, voice broken at the edges.

Your brows lifted, heat surging to your face. “Mor—”

“Settle down with me,” he blurted, the words almost colliding with your skin as he leaned closer.

Against all odds, you pushed away to search his eyes. “What?”

“Marriage, partnership, family, home.” His arms closed around you, pulling you impossibly closer. “Name it however you want”

“But the Jed—” you tried, but his lips silenced you again, crushing against yours with fervor.

“Anakin is getting married as we speak.” 

Your eyes widened.

“A war just started.” He shrieked. “I can’t do this any longer. Not like this.” His throat bobbed, a line of water threatening his eyes.

“Obi-wan” your fingers climbed through his beard, “you can not bend.” The words echoed in your skull, as they had done for several weeks.

“Bend?” he asked with a scoff, “I will break.” He confessed against your mouth, the sound fraying into a desperate whine. A man revered as a general, a master, turned into only a homeless child begging at your door to let him in.

His voice was trembling when he said: “I need you.”

Your hands stilled on his cheeks. You looked into him, into the breaking storm of his eyes, voice regal as you said, for his ears only but for a lifetime as well:

“I am right here.”

Epilogue

“Do you have everything?” you asked from the doorway.

“I believe so, darling.” His voice carried from inside the room, warm but frayed at the edges. “If not, I’m sure someone will let me know.”

A wry smile tugged at your lips. “Who says they won’t fight for the last of General Kenobi’s belongings?”

Obi-Wan stepped into view and, for a moment, you forgot how to breathe. He wore an Onderonian suit, the deep blue making his eyes blaze brighter, the cut of the shoulders broader than you had ever seen beneath Jedi robes.

“Prince Obi-Wan of Onderon, please.” He mocked, though you spotted the pride beneath his quivering lips.

“Ready?” you managed.

“Ready.” He leaned in, brushed a kiss against your shoulder, and shut the door behind him—quietly, as if sealing a life he would not return to.

The farewells had been given at the ‘degradation’ ceremony—though it had not been a degradation at all. Instead of being stripped from the Order, Obi-Wan had been blessed by the Council to walk away. To live. Just as Anakin had.

His fingers found yours, firm and certain, leading you down toward the hangar.

“Are you sad?” you dared.

His answering smile was soft, unshaken. “Why would I be? I’ll visit often.”

“Oh, will you?”

“Yes,” he said with solemn playfulness. “My wife must attend Council meetings to discuss her visions.”

“Mm. That.” You grimaced. “Good thing I’ll have a master nearby to help me through them.”

He tugged you closer, his arm slipping over your shoulders, steadying your breath. “Always.”

A polished mirror caught your eye as you passed, pulling you to a stop. For a heartbeat, you simply stared. Two figures reflected back: a free man, no longer cloaked in war; and a woman draped in a gown, and duty, heavy as stone. On your left hand, a ring gleamed in answer to his; twin bands woven together. And an ancient garment rested against your hair; blue kyber stones, taken from Obi-wan’s lightsaber, glittering where red sapphires had once shone.

Obi-Wan pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “We’ll be late,” he murmured.

You exhaled, one last look at the reflection. 

The heavy grief of the past clutched at your chest. Your instincts now crowned with reverence, and the uncertainty of the future that awaits, as somber or bright it might be, it sits to wait for your step nonetheless.

You stared at your joined hands.

“My wish wasn’t little.” You whispered.

“Mmm?” Obi-wan’s eyebrows rose.

“Nothing,” you smiled up at him, “we should get going." 

Adjacent to the note is a familiar cup, an iced coffee, like the ones that he’d give you at your regular meetings. 

Just the way you liked it. 

Was he trying to win me over in some sick, twisted way? Getting me my favorite coffee again, making my guest room perfect before I even arrived…

You crumple the note onto the table, but pick up the coffee and take a sip. 

It’s the worst internal battle you’ve had. Yes, you may hate Lex’s guts to the moon and back, but you can’t help but notice evidence of something human inside him, something that bleeds out of the cracks once in a while, and is evermore noticeable now that you’re closer than ever to him. But it’s shoved to the side by his own ego, his self serving attitude to get what he wants, when he wants. 

The clock reads 8:54AM. As much as you didn’t want to see Lex and you were quite enjoying the peace of the morning, there was a stab of curiosity of what he wanted from you next. 

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The moment you enter his office, the mood shifts. 

“Glad you found my note.” 

You roll your eyes. “You left it… in my room.” 

He grins. “Your room, at my place?”

You cross your arms, ignoring what he was putting down. “You know, you could’ve just texted me.”

“Where’s the charm in that?” Lex leans back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head. “Besides, I wanted you here, early.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why?”

His smile sharpens. “Because we’re making our next move.”

You wait, warily. “Meaning?”

He gestures to the monitor on his desk, the logo of The Sphere News emblazoned across the screen. 

Your stomach twists.

“No.”

“Yes,” he counters, standing up. “You’re going to sit down with Cleavis Thornwaite tomorrow night. The public has questions about you. Your credibility, your relationship to me, your so-called ‘fall from grace.’ While they’re distracted on whether you’re trustworthy…” His eyes glint mischievously. “…I’ll be three steps ahead.”

You furrow your brows, but keep your tone even, with a false tone of curiosity. “Three steps ahead how?”

He sighs and tosses his hands in the air. 

“Let’s just say, the military’s been dragging their feet on PlanetWatch. After tomorrow, they won’t be.”

You frown. “So I’m your diversion.”

“You’re so much more than that, you’re my proof.” He says, walking closer to you. “Lex Luthor isn’t the mysterious corporate shark that people think he is. You’ll clear your name.” 

“People won’t believe me,” you interject. “They already think I’m a sellout. What makes you think they’ll believe what I say after you’ve been on the show a dozen times?”

“Because you’re not me. That’s the point.” 

You blink, and he continues. 

“People expect me to lie. That’s why I’m putting you in the chair instead. You’re the ‘rouge journalist.’ The one who doubted me before anyone else did. The one with nothing to gain standing by my side.”

He pauses, studying your face, letting the weight of his words sink in. 

“They’ll start to believe you,” he continues. “Because you were dragged in the mud for your work. And no one in their right minds will think you’d willingly align with me, unless it was truth.”

You uncross your arms, clenching them in fists at your side, letting your nails dig into your palms. “And if I refuse?” 

Lex smirks, anticipating your response. “Refuse? And go back to your little apartment, unprotected. Within a week, those men in grey suits won’t just be following you down the produce aisle, they’ll be dragging you into vans. You’re still a target. You’re still associated with me.” 

He closes the distance between you, voice low now. 

“Or… you can walk into that studio tonight and remind the world exactly who you are. A journalist. Unbought, credible. You tell them you’re independent, everything you’ve published was true, and they’ll listen to every word. That gives you leverage. Us leverage.”

You swallow, heart sinking. Most of what you’ve published is true. But is purposefully leaving out details, details that you know about, true?

He watches the gears turn in your head. “The choice is yours. You’re familiar with the public, they’re fickle. They’ll flip on the smallest word. This-” he points to the notecard in your hand, “might be your chance to claim them back.” 

You lift your chin, defiance sparkling behind your eyes. “Fine.” 

His lips curl in satisfaction. He wins this one. 

As you turn the prompt card over in your hand, the words blur, already twisting into something else. Because if Lex Luthor thinks you’re going to be his naive mouthpiece… he’s underestimating you. 

You smile faintly to yourself as he walks away to his desk again. 

Let him think he’s in control. For now.

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The air in the studio feels significantly colder than outside. 

Producers holding clipboards pass by you, conversations clipped and hurried. Microphones squeak on and the lights hum as the main stage is prepped for tonight’s live interview. You.

A makeup artist passes a fluffy brush tipped with powder across your forehead as you watch the scene, trying to take in every second. It’s overwhelming, and you can’t imagine doing this for a living. 

“We’re live in five,” says a loud voice over the speaker system. People start running back into the dark, and you’re escorted into the spotlight to the sofa on the right side of the stage. 

Your pulse is racing. Sure, the idea of Cleavis Thornwaite drilling you on your relationship with Lex is terrifying, but that’s not the main reason why you can feel a droplet of sweat roll down your spine despite the arctic room. 

No. It’s the thought that somewhere, out in the maze of Metropolis, Lex Luthor is watching you. Ready to hear you say the words that he’s scripted out for you. 

You spot teleprompters on the ground by your feet and next to cameras pointed in your direction. Everything you say is rehearsed, deliberately written to paint Lex an honest man. Transparent. Visionary. And you’re just an independent journalist trying to make her mark in the world.

The back of your throat as the clock directly above you counts down, and Cleavis steps up to his chair. He nods, knowingly at you, and for a moment you think, is he backing Lex too?

“And live, in three, two-”

The lights shine even brighter, nearly blinding you. 

“Good evening, Metropolis! Tonight, we’re joined by a journalist who’s been at the center of controversy ever since her reports on LuthorCorp surfaced. You all know her by her pen name, Harper McNeil. Welcome to The Sphere News!”

The show’s theme song plays, and the cameras point to you. There’s an audience in the far back of the room, and you can’t see them through the shadows, but you can hear their applause.

You force a polite smile, eyes shifting to the teleprompter and back to Cleavis. 

“Thanks for having me,” you say softly. 

Cleavis leans forward and clasps his hands together. “Let’s get right into it, Ms McNeil. The question on everyone’s mind. Are you working for Lex Luthor?” 

The script rolls: I’M AN INDEPENDENT JOURNALIST-

Screw it. Screw Lex Luthor.

“No.”

Cleavis blinks, realizing that you’re not following the script. 

“You really want the truth?” You turn and face in the direction of the audience. “Lex Luthor gave me these lines.” You point to the prompter. “Every single word… is his.” 

Gasps ripple through the studio. Everyone is stunned. 

“Wait, are you saying Mr. Luthor is controlling the narrative of your reporting?” He’s quick, but looking nervously at some producers standing to the side. 

Time seems to slow down. “No, I’m saying he’s tried. But I’ve been writing about LuthorCorp long before I met him, and I’ll keep writing whether he likes it or not. He doesn’t own me, or my pen.” 

To your shock, the audience bursts into applause. Cleavis raises a hand, attempting to control the interview again. 

“Are you suggesting that Mr. Luthor is lying or has something to hide?”

There’s a panicked producer trying to wave you both down to stop, mouthing the words “CUT TO BREAK”, but the cameras are still rolling. 

You take a breath. 

“PlanetWatch. Ask him about it. Why projects are buried before they’re finished. What the true purpose of it is. How large he’s planning on scaling. I’ve seen the documents, or at least… I saw them before they vanished from my desk.” 

The audience gasps again and you can’t help but grin mischievously. A heated murmur rolls through the crowd. 

Cleavis clears his throat and looks directly at the main camera. “Well, there you have it. This is certainly… a bold testimony from Ms. McNeil. We’ll be back right after the break.” 

The lights dim and you exhale, listening to the audience as some cheer, other booing demanding answers. 

Cleavis snaps back to you. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he hisses. 

“Real journalism,” you shout over all the chaos.

Cleavis leans in one last time, voice low enough for only you to hear. “You think you exposed him? Lex is untouchable. You’re not. You just put a target on your back.” 

You shrug and stand, brushing off your skirt. “I’m used to it.” 

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It’s almost 2am. Reporters held you back at the newsroom for hours after you were on air. They pestered you with questions, comments, and cameras. You’re certain you’ll be plastered all over the internet tomorrow. 

You hadn’t thought too much about the repercussions of throwing Lex under the bus, you were just desperate to get back at him publicly after embarrassing you in front of your coworkers, manipulating you to write his narrative, and dragging you around, making people doubt your credibility. 

A storm rolled in during the night, and although you had been escorted by Lex’s drivers, you still got soaked on the way out of The Sphere News and walking up to Lex’s penthouse.

On the drive back, you had a moment to scroll on social media, and to your amusement, the reaction to your words is mostly… positive. 

People compliment your boldness. Your candor. Some call you fearless. Others call you unconventional. 

You even get a text from your boss, Perry, telling you to come back to the Daily Planet as soon as you can. 

You arrive at the top floor of the building, heels drenched, hair dripping slightly, and a tightness in your chest. Half of you is burning with pride, that you finally got some truth out in the past few weeks, the other half is petrified, anticipating Lex’s response.

As you trudge through the penthouse front door, you peel off your wet heels and let your feet land softly on the pristine floors. 

You stop in your tracks when you see Lex, lounging in a chair facing the windows, looking out at the darkened night sky, flickering periodically with lightning. 

There’s a crystal glass balanced delicately between his fingertips, and he’s rolling the amber liquid around slowly. 

“You went off script.” He remains seated, unmoving. 

“I was being honest. You should try it sometime.”

He sets down the glass hard, rises to his feet, and turns to you. He’s discarded his jacket and his tie is loosened around his neck. You’ve never seen him this unraveled before. Your heart stammers, seeing a new side of the typically professional Lex Luthor. 

Lex just… watches you. His expression is unreadable. His eyes trace your wet hair down to your bare feet. Uneasy and unsure of what to do next, you walk up to him, folding your arms. As you near him, you see dark circles under his eyes.

Is he… drunk?

You talk, in attempt to fill the void. “What? Don’t tell me I offended you. Embarrassed you. If anything, your empire will save you and you’ll be back to doing what you normally do in a few days, making business deals, creating sources of power and control in governments and militaries, but you know what, Lex? All you were doing was saving your own reputation, at the very expense of mine-”

You take a step forward, toe to toe with him now. His silence is infuriating. “Did you ever think of that? You don’t even care for me at all-”

Lex grabs you by the arms and pushes you towards the windowpane behind you, pinning you against the cold glass. 

A flash of lightning illuminates his face, putting his angry features on display. His hands grip your arms tighter, holding you in place, but you’re frozen in shock. 

“I do care.”

The words come out, ragged, raw, like he’s been holding them back for too long. 

And that’s when it hits you for the first time. 

Oh. 

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