Burying the Hatchet

by a campbell

Smallville, Clark Kent/Lex Luthor, PG

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My Muses are still only communicating to me in monosyllables at best. I can't imagine what I did to make them angry. But, anyway, this little Clex bit, PG, is for oxoniensis for being the sweet, cool, kind and generous person she is. Here you go, Signe: the closing scene in "Talisman," unfolding a bit closer to the way you wanted it to. With only one "hiss"! (I really held myself back!)

I believe there's much more going on in this scene than I was able to tap. Maybe if the Girls start speaking to me again, I can play again later.

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Lex was tired.

Of deception. Of lies. Of trying to be part of Clark Kent's life for a couple of years without success, and of being held at arm's length despite claims of friendship. Tired of wanting for, yearning for love from this beautiful, suspicious, remote, quicksilver boy.

Things had changed. They weren't even pretending to be friends now.

Tired, but way too proud to beg. Resigned to having lost. So why couldn't he stay away?

He scuffed to the top of the barn staircase to find Clark seated, bending over a book in his lap, tracing a drawing with his finger. Golden light from the rafters fell on the open pages. Lex didn't have to ask what was pictured there. Cave drawings. Again.

Might as well try a little humor. There was nothing to lose. Since the first day Clark had shown him the caves, they had been nothing but a wedge between them.

"Surprise."

But Clark didn't laugh, didn't even smile, just stared at him with that dark, disappointed midnight-blue gaze he'd worn so often lately. Wasn't even going to greet him, or speak to him. Lex bit back a sharp remark, and looked down at the dusty loft floor in chagrin.

Tough it out, he told himself. Nothing to lose, remember?

"You know, I've been thinking a lot about this prophecy. I've got a new interpretation. Want to hear it?" His voice was easy, and as calm as he could make it.

Clark's response was almost a smile, but Lex had to squint to see it. He looked more wary than anything, and Lex steeled himself for refusal. "Sure," Clark surprised him by handing the book over and waiting quietly as Lex hefted the book in his hand.

"This Numan guy is supposed to come from the stars, have the power of ten men, and shoot fire from his eyes, right?" He heard Clark rise to his feet behind him as he prepared to continue.

"It's just an allegory, Lex," Clark's voice was clipped and again, Lex thought, how things had changed since happier days when Clark would just grin and let him expound on any subject as long as he wanted.

"I know. But if one person could do all that, he would be a formidable enemy. He could conquer the world. He could become a tyrant if nobody kept him in check."

A shadow of what might have been fear, but was no doubt just concern, passed over Clark's face. Lex ached to touch him, hold him, but swallowed the impulse and just kept talking. Those days were over.

"So, I've been thinking. Anybody willing to fight him would have to be pretty brave."

Clark said nothing.

"Clark. Did it ever occur to you that maybe the hero of this story is Segeth?"

Clark turned away.

Now, thought Lex, he'll say it's pretty late. That he's tired, has school tomorrow and that will be my cue to say goodnight. But I'm not making it easy for him. I'm going to make him say it.

He waited for Clark to respond to his words. His declaration of enmity, if it had to be.

"Lex, I don't know what you're trying to do. But, in my book, you are a hero. Even if you don't always do what's right. And sometimes you drive me crazy. For the past few weeks, we've been like enemies." His breath came out in a low hiss. "I hate it. I don't want us to be against each other, Lex. I'm tired of fighting."

Lex sighed, even as a white-hot beam of light seemed to brighten the gloomy barn. "I haven't been too keen on it myself, Clark."

He stared at Clark's back, waiting for him continue. Saw Clark's shoulders gradually begin to shake, and Lex felt his heart jump with something like horror. Clark was crying. He hadn't expected...

Lex knew a wise man would resist, but his reached out to touch Clark's arm, his resolve to be strong, distant, resigned crumbling like the walls of Troy.

Clark turned around, and gazed down at him, lips trembling, face flushed. He snuffled and wiped his wrist over his face. He tried to speak but broke down in tears again, and, "Shh." Lex pulled him close, folded his arms around Clark's broad body and soothed him as though he were a child. "It's okay, Clark, it's okay. Hush." Clark sobbed into Lex's neck, warming Lex's flesh with his breath and his spirit with his words.

"I love you," Clark gasped, "Have, for so long. You don't have to love me, but, can we try to forget how mean we've been to each other and try to start again?"

Must be good to be able to cry that way, Lex mused. But Clark was grasping him so hard it made him gasp for breath. He gave himself over to the strong embrace, felt Clark's grip release and his big hands wander up to cradle his head, hold him steady as their lips parted for a kiss.

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The pale light of dawn shone on the horizon across the fields when Lex drew on his jacket. He bent to smooth damp curls on Clark's brow, and when he spoke, it was really to himself, for Clark still slept.

"Let's not be bound by prophecies, Clark. Whatever the future holds, we'll face it together. Friends or foes."

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