look to the stars

—Lex.  It froze  him  in  place,  blinking  once  right  when  Clark  said  it,  a  low  flick  of  recognition.  It  pulls  his  jaw  to  flex,  those  formalities  dropped.  His  fingers  stopped  instantly….dragged  them  to  his  knee  and  squeezed  the  jumping  leg,  somehow  didn't  notice  that  either.  Honestly  annoying.  His  head  hurt,  took  way  longer  to  respond.  Still  turning  over  the  reporters  words, like reading  the  same  passage  over  again  before  he  registered  what  he  said.  Rooted  to  the  moment  he  heard  his  name.  For  some  reason  unknown  to  Lex,  hearing  it  never  left  him  feeling  more  exposed.  Human.  Too  personal,  coming  from  this  man.

It  sounded  like  it  had  been  said  before.  Yes,  he  was  called  Lex  plenty,  really  preferred  it.  But  not  by  him,  felt  somehow  recent.  Or  years  ago?  He  couldn’t  tell.  The  wave  of  it  momentarily  dis/oriented  LUTHOR'S  line  of  thought,  scraping  across  his  brain,  down  his  throat.  It  catches  right  there  knotted,  doesn't  let  it  travel  behind  his  ribs  because  he  actually  feels,  how  it  carries  a  subtle  weight  of  vulnerability  before  Clark  clamps  down  on  the  next  question,  pulls  him  right  in.

The  facade  held,  but  just  barely,  straightening,  Lex  exhaled  a  thin  breath  through  his  nose,  voice  calm  again  when  it  came.  ❝ Ah  yes,  so  you  say…  I  suppose  we'll  see  when  it  prints. ❞ thinly  quipped,  pale  eyes  drift,  not  looking  back  up  this  time,  his  temple  grew  tense,  the  light  above  too  fucking  loud.  Another  long  sigh  drew  from  his  nose,  thinking..  yes,  calculating  a  favorable  response.  Mistrusting  &  highly  suspicious.  He  shifted,  gaze  flicking  up  to  the  clock  on  the  wall,  Lex  was  promised  extra  time,  was  on  his  best  behavior  to  even  be  granted  this. After  a  pause.  ❝ They  don't  need  to  know  anything.  I  want  them  to  think, Mr.  Kent. ❞  swallowed  thickly,  pursing  his  lips,  shoulders  lowered,  looking  to  meet  the  others  features.  Let  the silence  stretch,  pinned  ice  to  blue  through  glass  and  large  frames. ❝ Clark. ❞ tested  the  name,  and  that  was  possibly  worse  than  hearing  his  own.  Lex  leaned  forward,  the  phone  turned  tighter  in  his  grip,  cadence  steady. ❝ For  years,  they’ve  consumed  a  version  of  me  that  fit  their  morality  play.  I  want  them  to  recognize  the  machinery  behind  it.  Cause,  effect,  motive.  Every  choice  came  from  something  human.  fear,  conviction,  I’ve  learned  to  see  that  in  myself  now. ❞ Lex glances  past  Clark  briefly,   choosing  his  next  words  carefully.  ❝ My desired outcome  is simple. ❞  a  laugh  barren  of  warmth,  ❝  The  public  loves  redemption  arcs.  They  won’t  get  one  [  .iwont.  ]  What  they’ll  get  is  context.  If  that  softens  my  image,  it’s  incidental.  The  goal  isn’t  to  be  liked  or  forgiven.  It’s  to  be  understood. ❞ 

and there it was — language weaponized. the way he called him by his name had almost sent a cold ripple straight down his spine. it was eerie, deeply uncomfortable, to watch this version of luthor mimic the ghost of the man he thought he’d left behind in another life.

with every passing second, clark was fighting a war on a shifting front. trapped in the friction between who superman was when confronting lex, who clark wasn't when standing in front of luthor, and where, exactly, that left the two of them. two men split into two identities, creating four separate, warring dynamics. yet here, in the stale air of this visitor's room where a mere sheet of plexiglass separated them, those fragments were violently colliding, melding and mending themselves into a singular, suffocating truth. clark was staring at lex, searching for the man he once was; lex was reaching through the glass, trying to find the clark that could have once been part of his past life.

it was getting too intense ; the boundaries were blurring.

clark forced a quiet breath into his lungs, manually reorganizing his thoughts, slamming the door on the personal history he had no business dragging into a professional, investigative interview. he had a task. he had a script. he just needed to stick to the job, do the work, and leave this man locked in the dark the moment he hung up the receiver.

"...to be understood," clark echoed, the words tasting like ash. he let out a soft, skeptical "huh," the sound barely a breath as his pen scratched deliberately against the lines of his notepad. It was a calculated move ; half-baiting the trap, half-venting the genuine frustration of being the target of the hatred lex so casually leaked into the world.

he capped his pen, the small plastic click echoing in the quiet space, and looked lex dead in the eye.

CLARK KENT & LOIS LANE SMALLVILLE | 09.03 ''Rabid''

SEE YOU IN THE FUNNY PAGES ! an independent, selective & mutually exclusive blog for smallvile's chloe sullivan. words per minute counted by dee.

Lex’s  rake  paused  mid-motion,  glanced  up  from  the  pile  he  was  collecting, the  curve  of  his  smirk deepen,  ghosting  his  features with mirth. Fingers  curled  around  the  handle,  leaning  his  weight  in,  looking  past  Clark  and  over  to  the  yellow farm  house's  porch.  Wind  tugged  at  the  last  stubborn  leaves  clinging  to  the  trees,  scattering  gold  and  copper  around  them  like  careless  confetti.  MORE  LEAVES  SEE.  USELESS.

❝ Pumpkin  carving..  ? ❞  he  echoed- tone kept  smooth,  edged  dry  amusement.  ❝ I  nearly  forgot  until  you  mentioned  it. ❞   not  really  a  tradition  he  was  use  to  entertaining,  wasn't  that  he  didn't  care  for  it,  only  never  had  the  opportunity  growing  up  to  enjoy  it,  experience  it  in  the  way  that  meant  something.  Has  he  ever  carved  a  pumpkin?  Lex  straightened,  gaze  slipping  away  from  the  house,  and  back  to  Clark,  swallowed,  laughed  a  little sheepishly..  ❝ You  know,  I  never  actually  done  it.  ❞ bare  honesty  in his words,  he  brushed  a  few  leaves  from  the  label  of  his  long  trench,  hues staying level. ❝ Maybe  it’s  not  too  late  to  learn. ❞

lex's words prompted clark's head to turn, the rake in his hand abandoning his task momentarily. " wait— you're serious? " clark's eyebrows shot up in a kind of surprise intended to be dramatic for the sake of his argument that followed, " oh, now you have to do it! " he exclaimed, enthusiasm getting best of him as he turned to the nearest fence to set his rake aside.

" au contraire, farm boy. you sitting is the exact reason i need to holler. " she's in planner mode & he's way too relaxed for her liking. " up, get up ! " clipboard tucked under her arm, her hands move in frantic upward motions, prompting him to hurry. & finally, when he's standing, she proceeds to push him through the chaos, outside the barn. " clark, my cousin is getting married today. did you know that ? " he's not allowed enough of a pause to give the obvious answer. she goes on. " i'm asking because there's a buttload of people in there, prepping the place for her big day. you look like you're prepping to take a midday nap. " or maybe that's just what everyone looks like after you pound three espressos & counting. " did you get a hold of the photographer like i asked you to ? someone needs to document this shindig, damn it ! "

dimples rise to her cheeks, rosy from the cold, and she can't help but chuckle: clark kent, painfully self-effacing by proxy. at least he didn't spend his free time memorizing his flexed biceps like all the other guys ― sans whitney, of course.